Author's disclaimer: This story is in no way affiliated with UPN or Pet Fly Productions. The characters are their property, and this story is not meant to infringe upon their copyrights.

Author's notes: Thanks so much to Sheltie for a quick beta on very short notice!

Choosing Laughter
By Myrna

Blair Sandburg steered his wheelchair out of the bedroom, thinking only of his first cup of coffee. Jim was already up, and in addition to bucking for sainthood by making the coffee, he'd opened the front door to let fresh morning air into the cabin. Blair glanced out of the screen door and sighed when he saw the dead gopher lying front and center on the porch, an offering from one of the many cats that roamed their forest.

Blair swore it was kinship between Jim and the generous felines that resulted in the tokens of esteem left for them nearly every morning.

Looking for a tool of some kind, Blair went into the kitchen and grabbed a frying pan left on the stove to dry after it had been washed the night before. He let himself out the front door and maneuvered over to the gopher corpse, intent on scooping it up and disposing of it as far into the woods as he could go in the chair.

He must have been too close to the first step because as leaned down, the chair shifted slightly, then mightily, tossing Blair over its back and down several wooden steps. "Son of a bitch!"

Jim, having finished shaving, was out in the kitchen ready to fry up a little bacon. Wearing only black silk boxers, he'd just tied on an apron in deference to the grease that would no doubt be popping from the pan, when he heard the crash.

He ran outside and sized up the scene in an instant-- the wheelchair on its side at the bottom of the stairs, Sandburg, looking more disgusted than injured, lying there beside it with the pan still grasped in his hand and the dead gopher miraculously there inside it.

Ellison picked up the pan and tossed the carcass into the woods, then whirled back around to face Sandburg.

"Dammit, Sandburg this is a 400 dollar William Sonoma frying pan! What the hell were you thinking using my best pan to scoop road kill?"

Lying flat on his back, Blair looked up at Jim, looming tall above him, brandishing the frying pan over his head and dressed in what looked like a summer sundress. There was no choice but to laugh his ass off. "God, you are such a homo!"

Jim gave himself a once over and joined in, laughing so hard, his knees gave way, and he weakly sank down on the stair. "Have I turned into a screaming queen or what?"

That started Sandburg off again, and Jim followed right behind.

Jim recovered first, wiping his eyes on the edge of the apron. "Are you okay?"

Breathing heavy, Blair gave Jim a look of mock concern. "I can't feel my legs."

Jim lifted an eyebrow. "Yeah? You should probably get that checked out."

"I'll mention it at my next check-up."

Jim pushed himself up and trotted down the rest of the stairs. He set the chair upright, squatted down next to Sandburg and began checking to make sure there were no real injuries, especially to legs Blair could no longer feel. Satisfied at finding nothing serious, Jim brought Blair up to a sitting position and made a move to lift him.

Blair shook his head. "Just bring the chair over and set the brake."

Jim did as instructed, feeling antsy just standing there and watching while Sandburg dragged himself into position and lifted himself into the chair. "You're gonna be all black and blue for the folks in Cascade."

Blair groaned as he gingerly tested his arms and neck. "Aw, jeez, the guys are never gonna believe you stopped beating me now."

"Hardee har har. Tell me, these acrobatics of yours-- you trying to get out of telling Simon we're staying out here?"

Sandburg headed around toward the ramp while Jim climbed the stairs. They met at the screen door. "Hey, man, I'm just playing the good wife. You're dropping the bombshell."

Jim set the frying pan in the sink, retrieving a bottle of Clorox from under the sink in which to soak it. He washed his hands and pulled out another pan for the bacon. "You think it's a bombshell?"

"On a scale of one being you're a grouchy bastard after a day of paperwork and ten being you're screwing your devilishly handsome roommate, I'd say this is a seven, eight at the most." Sandburg removed three of the pieces of bacon and returned them to the package, slapping Jim's hand away when he tried to grab them back.

"That makes no sense and is completely UNreassuring all at once."

Sandburg shrugged. "You asked."

"You're not really going along with this for my benefit, are you? You can tell me if you..."

Blair groaned dramatically, rolling the chair up and back in frustration. "You're killin' me, you know that?"

"I just want to make sure, that's all."

"Where's all that concern when I want to watch the Yankees and you have to see the Mariners, huh?"

"A man can only be so selfless."

"You can't be selfless at all when you're holding the remote."

"Hey, I handed it over just last night when you wanted to watch that Learning Channel thing..."

"For a *blowjob!*"

"Well, yeah. I was all set to watch my show, Chief. I was well within my rights to demand some kind of compensation."

"Your 'show' was a Dukes of Hazzard rerun."

"It's a classic."

"Your problem is you're confusing selfless with *shameless.*"

Jim grinned into the frying pan. "I don't have a problem."

"You're lucky we're leaving tomorrow, 'cause I'd never get through the list even if I started today."

Jim waved his spatula at Blair. "I don't get why everyone thinks I'm the anal one. I mean, I'll cop to being the clean one, but you're the one obsessed with order. You make a list before going to the john. 'One: take a piss; Two: wash hands; Three: forget to flush; Four..."

"Speaking of lists, did you add 'Stand-Up Comic' to your potential new career list?"

Jim knew better than to answer that loaded question, so he just pointed at the stove where Sandburg was supposed to be scrambling the eggs. They both spoke at the same time with comic precision.

"Smartass."

The next morning Jim was tossing their bags into the back of the truck when he heard Sandburg cursing. "Shit, not today, not today!"

"What's the matter?" Jim called as he entered the house.

Blair answered from the bathroom. "Fucking tremors."

"The fall yesterday." Jim hoped he hadn't missed a more serious injury to the leg. Sometimes the muscle spasms were simply reaction, but other times they were a precursor to ill health. There was no physical pain associated with them, but they tended to unsettle both Blair and Jim.

Jim stuck his head in the bathroom door. "Maybe we should do another once over."

Blair shook his head. "You were thorough enough last night, Sentinel Man. It's just reaction. Dammit, they'll all think it means something, and we'll spend the whole time we're there making everybody feel like crap because it doesn't."

Jim winced, remembering the euphoria and then the crushing disappointment after Blair's legs first began shaking. Both of them had thought it meant feeling would return, that the paralysis was receding like it had in Blair's hands and arms. When the doctor explained it was merely randomly fired muscular impulses, Jim's heart broke all over again, and Blair didn't speak for nearly a week. It was the darkest his depression ever got following the accident.

"I hate being the paraplegic poster boy, you know?"

"What are you talking about, you're not their poster boy for anything."

Blair had such an incredulous look on his face, Jim was compelled to ask, "What?"

"I am SO Poster Boy, it's not even funny. The guys are like apes at the zoo when something they've never seen before is shoved in the cage. They've gotta paw it and push it and lick it and..."

"Whoa, whoa, one of those bastards starts licking you and I'll..."

"I represent all things disabled now, and this whole visit is gonna be like, Welcome to Sandburg's Malfunctioning Nervous System."

"But you're still you. The guys'll be a little awkward, and then they'll see that and be fine."

"Awkwardness I can take, it's the embarrassment that makes me want to tear somethin' apart." Blair rolled out of the bathroom and went to pour himself one last cup of coffee. "Simon grew, like, intimately familiar with the tops of his shoes when he was here. Every time I needed help with something he looked like he wanted to crawl through a crack in the floor." Blair set the cup down, his hands beating a nervous tattoo against the kitchen table.

"For the first day or two." Jim picked up one of Blair's hands and kissed it. "Then he hardly noticed."

Blair's shrug conceded the point to Jim. "You're probably not going to believe this, but there was a time when I kind of...courted the spotlight, you know?"

"What, Chief? You?"

Blair smacked him and continued without missing a beat. "It was pretty much bound to happenI mean, I was invisible in junior high and high school, but in college I was suddenly BMOCpeople knew who I was, and I...well, I liked it. And the trial by fire at the station kind of continued the notoriety. I liked feeling that energy when I walked into a room. But now, man, I'd give anything to be invisible again. Everyone stops, and they see me, but for, like, none of the reasons I'd choose."

"Don't wish yourself invisible," Jim said, all amusement set aside. "You're the best anybody has to offer. The absolute best. I want everyone to see you."

Blair grinned. "You're biased, Ellison."

"Me? No way, Chief. I'm the picture of objectivity here. Just callin' it like I see it."

Blair's face melted into that soft, adoring look that made Jim feel invincible. "I love you, Jim."

Blushing like a little kid, Jim ducked his head for a second before blustering, "What's not to love?"

Blair took Jim's hand and held it to his chest. "I couldn't stand any of this without you. You know that right?"

Jim smiled, warmed by the words. "I know, Chief." He kissed the top of Blair's head. "Come on then, let's go." He made sure he was out of arm shot when he looked over his shoulder and said, "You figured out yet what you're gong to say to Simon?"

Jim thought that if someone was looking to torture a sentinel, stuffing him into a commuter plane had to be up near the top of the list. The deafening roar of the engine was particularly grating, but Sandburg's creative ways of keeping his other senses engaged certainly made up for a lot of that discomfort.

However uncomfortable the commuter was, it was light years better than the alternative. They'd only flown commercial once since Blair's accident. The impatience of other passengers as they followed behind them in the airport, or as they waited for Blair to take his seat and then deplane came out as barely concealed contempt, and by the end of their journey, both Jim and Blair were fried. They'd gone to Hawaii to visit Naomi who was house sitting for a friend, and between her bursting into tears at the slightest provocation and Blair fretting the whole time about the flight back home, it hadn't been a particularly restful trip.

Jim squeezed the hand he held and couldn't imagine this trip being any more relaxing.

This was their first time back at the loft since the accident. They had gone straight from the hospital, to rehab, to the cabin. Later, Jim realized he'd been trying, ludicrous as it was, to keep Blair from the reminders of how much he'd lost, as if the chair in which he sat because of legs that no longer moved wasn't reminder enough. Well, Jim had never been famous for his rationality.

"You okay?" Blair called over the din of the engine, knowing Jim had dialed down his hearing.

Jim nodded. "Nothing like a little four-seater to rearrange your kidneys, huh? You okay? Back's okay?"

"I'm good. You wishin' we'd taken the truck?"

Jim shook his head. "No way. Then we'd be at the other end of the spectrum--trip home would be way too quiet."

Blair grinned, rocking forward in excitement like he did every time they talked about the specially equipped van they were picking up. He laughed at Jim's smirk. "I know I'm lame--it's like I'm 16 all over again. People take driving for granted, but mobility oughta be right up there on Maslow's hierarchy."

"Freedom, aye Chief?"

"You said it. I'll chauffeur you around for a whole week, how's that for fair trade?"

"A week?" Jim gaped at his lover in disbelief. "After I lug you to Seattle so you can learn how to drive that contraption, you're just giving me a week?"

"Jim, my man, I have got places to go, things to do and gas to guzzle."

With a sigh to show how long-suffering his life truly was, Jim moved Blair's hand over his groin. "All right then. Hey if you wanna pay in trade, I've got an idea that's a lot better than driving duties."

Blair squeezed Jim's cock through his jeans, laughing when Jim gave a girlish squeak and jumped in his seat.

"Don't start something you can't finish," Jim warned.

"I'd finish," Blair said, pretending to be offended at the very thought. "I bet Finch would have something to say about us mile highin' in his plane, though."

"Shoot, he could double his price on the publicity alone."

"Double of nothing is nothing."

"It's still double."

"But how would you know for sure?"

Jim laughed. "Stop right now--this is heading toward one of those Sandburgian philosophy jags, and I haven't had lunch yet."

"You know what sounds good? Black bean soup from Tapatio's. And their nachos from hell."

"We've gotta do deli from Krumpke's first. I've been dreaming of that roast beef on homemade wheat bread for three days. Mmm with the special mayo..."

Blair lifted his eyebrow and smirked at Jim's wistful demeanor. "That explains the wet spot I keep waking up in," he said wryly. "Okay, Krumpke's for lunch. Tapatio's for dinner. No one's expecting us 'til tomorrow, right?"

"Right. Except for Mrs. Brown. She'd worry if she heard sounds from the place, so I let her know we'd be in tonight."

"She'd worry, huh? And the chocolate cake that 's probably sitting on the kitchen table had nothing to do with it."

With a shrug, Jim tried to control his smug grin. "I can't help it that the woman likes to bake."

Since he was as much a sucker as Jim for Mrs. Brown's home baked goods, Sandburg didn't belabor the point. "How about stopping by the hospital after lunch? I want Paul to see me movin' around under my own steam. And Sheila and Donna and everyone else too."

"Okay. We'll get an order of chopped liver at the deli and see if anyone can tell the difference between it and me."

Blair laughed. "Aw, poor Bubby. I won't let them ignore you." He patted Jim's thigh, then rubbed it affectionately.

Jim settled his head on Blair's shoulder, encouraging the contact. "I'm a sensitive man," he said, only whining a little bit. "You gotta look out for me."

They were picking up their van the following afternoon, so they rented a car at the airport and set off toward the city. They had a leisurely lunch at the deli, then spent several hours on the floor of the hospital where Blair had recovered during the first two months after the accident. Of course Blair had been a favorite of the nurses and physical therapists, and they rejoiced over seeing him looking so well. Dinner at Tapatio's turned into a celebration when the owners, old friends of Naomi's, caught sight of Blair. It was close to eleven when Jim and Blair finally drove up to 852 Prospect. Blair held their bags so Jim was free to maneuver the chair through the antiquated front door. He'd forgotten that the door was not automated, and he hated thinking about how hard Sandburg would have had to work to get it open by himself.

As they left the elevator on the third floor, Jim cast an annoyed look at the uneven threshold. "We oughta report this place," he said irritably. "It's totally non-conforming to the accessibility codes."

"It's a co-op, man. You're shootin' yourself in the foot. One of us needs to keep the old gams in working order."

Jim opened the door, then took the duffel bags so Blair could wheel himself inside.

Mrs. Brown had come through with a double chocolate cake, which had Jim moaning about eating too much at the restaurant and having to wait until breakfast to have some.

Blair was slowly roaming around the living room. His face reminded Jim of the way he'd looked the first time he came over to the loft. Jim hadn't known then where Sandburg was living, so he'd thought Blair's wistful reaction to the barren place was somewhat obsequious. One look at that monstrosity of a warehouse, and Jim had cut him some slack, figuring that even his place was homey by comparison.

"God, look at this place," Blair said, sounding breathless. "When did we get so much stuff? It's gonna take us a year to pack everything up."

"We'll take a good load back in the van--all the books, the stereo. You want to put the TV in the bedroom?"

Blair lifted a single eyebrow. "Have we already run out of things to do in there?"

Jim shrugged and answered with a grin tugging at his lips. "I don't know, you planning on making a regular thing of taking headers down the stairs? I mean, if you're gonna be on the DL off and on, I'll need something to keep me occupied."

"Skip one night with you, and you turn absolutely pitiful."

"Fine, no TV then. We'll put it in the guest room. We don't need anything out of the kitchen, do we? Wanna give that stuff to the mission on 8th?

Blair was over by the stairs, looking up toward the bedroom. "Shit, this is too much to think about...it's our first place together, and we're talking about dumping stuff."

"I'm pushing too hard, aren't I?" Jim said. "We could afford a remodel. Look, if you want to come back..."

"Would you relax? The place has sentimental value, that's all I'm saying."

"So we forget remodeling and buy some new place here in town..."

Blair stopped roaming and turned to face Jim. He slowly approached and reached for Jim's hand. "If I didn't want to move, I would tell you. I would have told you one of the eight thousand times you brought it up. Trust me that much, man, all right?"

With a sharp inhale, Jim squeezed Blair's hand. "I do, you know I do, more than anything."

Sandburg popped him one on the ass and went back to exploring. "So quit acting like I'm making some kind of sacrifice. I may be feeble of body but the mind's workin' just fine."

"The body wasn't working all that bad the other night, was it Chief, if I can remember that far back."

"Damn straight."

Jim gave himself a mental shake and changed the subject. "So what do you thinkrent the place out or sell?"

"Renting with us out of the city is just gonna be a headachearranging maintenance and all that. And I can't imagine that we'd clear enough to make it worth our while, can you?"

Jim shrugged. "I don't know. I heard Morgan was getting eighteen hundred a month for 227."

"No way! Heard like, Mrs. Kravitz told you in the elevator or heard, like, tingly Sentinel senses kicked in during the negotiations?"

"Chief, I'm surprised at you. You know I only use my powers for good."

"Hey, man, hearin' we can get eighteen hundred a month for this place is as good as it gets."

"You give off this whole tree-hugging, granolaeating, sandal-wearing vibe, but dangle a few
greenbacks in front of you..."

"How do you think I pay for granola and sandals? Eighteen hundred? Still, what do you think we could get if we sold? We could put a major chunk down on the cabin and pay back what we owe your father...What's the name of that tax guy he put us on to? We'd have to make sure the capital gains doesn't kill us."

"My lover the stock broker. When did this happen, Chief? I mean, three or four dinners with Dad and Steven and suddenly, you're going over to their side."

Blair grinned. "I'm not switching sides anytime soon--I like the team I'm playin' for."

Jim tsked and shook his head. "Money grubbing AND sexually depraved. I'm shocked, Sandburg."

"Why, man? I'm the perfect Republican. Ba dum bum."

"Shecky returns, terrific." He motioned up the stairs. "I'm beat, you ready to call it a night?"

Blair shook his head and shrugged, his look one of mild embarrassment. "I know it's demented, but I'd feel trapped up there. With the stairs, and if somethin' happened, and we needed to get out..."

"Not so demented," Jim said, remembering some of the security breaches the place had suffered. He took a set of sheets down from the top shelf of the linen closet and tossed them to Blair. "Hey, you want to know a secret?"

"This isn't one of your 'pull my finger' tricks is it?"

Jim followed Blair and leaned against the doorway while Sandburg made up the downstairs bed. He'd meant to tell Sandburg as soon as they left the hospital, but they'd started discussing the best way to get to Tapatio's and he'd forgotten.

"Sheila's pregnant."

Blair looked up from the hospital corner he was making. "No way, really? What, you heard the heartbeat?"

"Loud and clear."

"God, that's so awesome! I never thought of that. You must hear little biddy baby heartbeats all the time, huh?"

Jim shrugged. "I don't know, maybe I do. Guess no one we know real well has been pregnant before now because I never really noticed."

"That's so cool. You think she knows?"

Jim thought back to the strength of the heartbeat he had heard and nodded. "Yeah. Probably just waiting awhile to announce."

Blair opened his bag and took out his dop kit and a change of clothes for the next day. They both began their evening chores of washing up, brushing teeth, locking doors. Sandburg was already in bed when Jim came in and crawled over him, sliding down into the small space closest to the wall.

Blair looked at him like he'd grown a third eye. "What are you doing?"

Jim thought it was pretty self-explanatory, but gave Sandburg a recap anyway. "You said you didn't want to sleep upstairs, so we're sleeping down here."

"Jim, this bed hardly fits me..."

"We fit."

"Yeah, but we don't have to."

"Come on, Chief, we've got a record going here. We haven't slept apart since the day you got out of rehab. Actually a couple of weeks before that after Nurse Ratchett transferred."

"Great, we're the Paul and Linda McCartney of the gimp world."

"You want to get t-shirts made?"

"You know what I really want? A neck massage."

Jim groaned. "I'm tired, Sandburg."

"Please?"

"No, go to sleep."

"Please? Please, please, please?" Blair's talented fingertips found that spot, that damned spot right below his navel, trailing down toward his...

"Sandburg!"

"I'll trade you one just-let-me-finish-this-chapter."

Both Sandburg's hands and his proposition had promise. "Hmm, interesting. How about you throw in a but-the-party-just-got-started?"

"I'll throw it in, but then we move to full body massage."

Well now, that required a little thought, a little planning. "Hmm. What are you wearing to the Cooper's barbecue?"

"What?"

"What are you wearing to the Cooper's? I gotta picture what you're gonna look like when I say 'let's take it on home,' and you say 'but the party just got started.' How do I know now if it's worth the full body massage?"

Tugging at Jim's arm until Jim was lying on top of him, Blair forced Jim's face toward his and planted a few encouraging kisses. "Has it ever not been worth it?"

Jim went through the exaggerated paces of thinking it over. "You gonna tie your hair back?"

Blair grinned. "I don't know. Maybe I'll start with it tied back, but a breeze will kick in and feel so good, I'll have to let it down."

Jim shifted so Blair could feel the effects of that answer. Then he groaned as he got out of bed to look for lotion and set about, as usual, giving Sandburg exactly what he wanted.

The next morning, Jim was in the shower when Sandburg got out of bed and headed to the kitchen to get the coffee started. Jim cursed himself for not putting it on when he awoke. The coffee maker was on a shelf, set back against the wall, and Blair's chair kept knocking against the cupboard as he tried to find an angle that would allow him access to the machine.

Jim knew it wouldn't matter if Blair did manage to get the maker within reach because the filters were in the overhead cabinet.

Blair tried for a good three or four minutes before giving up with a frustrated, "Fuck!" He rolled out into the living room, where Jim heard the tell-tale sounds of Blair's foot against the metal of the chair--another muscle spasm. Breathing heavy, Sandburg waited it out, and it wasn't until it was over that Jim realized his own breathing pattern matched Blair's.

Blair shouldn't have come, Jim thought in sudden despair. 'I'm supposed to look out for him, not lug him around like some kind of security blanket!' Jim knew he could have resigned over the phone and hit up Simon to help arrange the sale of the loft. He could have sent Sandburg off to visit Naomi in Timbuktu or wherever the hell she was while he packed up everything, and that way Blair never would have had to come back to this sorry ass place again. "Dammit, I'm sorry!" he whispered to the wet tiles of the shower wall. "I'm such a fuck up! I'm sorry!"

As if Blair were listening in, he interrupted Jim's downward spiral, calling out in an annoyed voice, "Hey, we're not at home with the humungous water heaters, you know. I've still gotta clean up!"

"Sorry, I'm done!" Jim called back, turning off the water and stepping out onto the bathmat. He felt another wave of desolation as he looked at the combination bathtub-shower. How in the hell was Sandburg going to take a shower in here?

Jim wondered if he couldn't dawdle long enough to make Sandburg forego taking a shower, but he'd just be postponing the inevitable. He was pretty transparent where Blair was concerned anyway, and it pissed him off when Jim tried to play him like that.

Besides, Jim had come in Sandburg's hair last night, so a shower was somewhat mandatory before facing the public.

Taking a deep breath to try and calm his elevated heartbeat, Jim could hear the voice of their rehab counselor droning on about exaggerated emotional reactions to small, isolated events. If it didn't relax him, at least his focus changed from anguish to irritation at the counselor's pat observations of a life she sure as hell didn't have to live herself.

"Hey," Blair said brightly when Jim finally came out of the bathroom. He was holding a plastic yard chair from out on the balcony. "Lookee here. We can set it in the tub for my shower."

Jim just stood there, feeling a little drained and a little foolish, and couldn't think of a thing to say.

Blair cocked his head to the side and looked Jim over. His eyes softened. "It's okay. It's just a pot of coffee. I mean, God knows if we were stayin' here we'd be divorced in less than a year, but..."

Recovering from the momentary shock of Sandburg's omniscience, Jim barked a laugh. "Hell, less than a week. You're the grouchiest bastard I know without a steady stream of caffeine in you."

"At least I can be medicated."

Jim staggered back as if struck. "And mean. You're so mean without it."

"Make my coffee before you go licking your wounds."

Jim looked thoughtful as he scooped coffee grounds into the filter. "That licking thing sounds kind of interesting, Chief. You're still bruised up. Whaddya say I lick your wounds?"

"Sometimes I forget what a master of the come-on you are. You oughta teach a class."

"I am good at it, aren't I? You know, I don't have to work at it at all, either. It just all comes naturally." Jim set the coffee to brewing and cut two huge pieces of cake and brought them over to the table. He leaned down and kissed Blair's neck as he rolled by. "Mmm, you smell like me," he said, taking a deep whiff of that long hair.

Blair laughed. "I smell like a little girl," he said. "I still don't believe the only lotion we had on hand was glittering Strawberry Yum Yum."

Jim shrugged. "I'll tell Steven to clean up better the next time they come over. I kind of like the way you sparkle though. Sure don't need a night light to get up and go to the bathroom."

"Uh huh. Spoken like a man who can dial down his sense of smell. Okay, so here's the plan. While I'm in the shower, you return Mrs. B's cake thing, we pop over to Hargrove for a little meet and greet, swing by the station for your stunning announcement, then finally, FINALLY, my van will be ready to roll!"

"How come I gotta return the cake thing by myself?"

"Ah ha! There's a method to my madness, Whiny One. If I'm still in the shower, you've gotta come right back to give me a hand, so no time for a lengthy visit this morning. We'll invite her to brunch before we head back."

"Okay. Good thinking. So when you say 'little meet and greet,' what are we talking, five, maybe six hours?"

"No, see, I'm all jazzed about the van, right? So I'm gonna be in a hurry to get out of there and get to the station so we can get to the car lot. I'll make plans for lunch or dinner, without the old ball and chain, since I will be mob-ile."

Jim wrapped his hand around Sandburg's neck and gave a little shake for the ball and chain comment, but still had to express his admiration. "Sometimes I almost think you are the genius you keep saying you are."

The morning progressed pretty much like Sandburg laid it out, but when it was almost 10:30, and they still weren't on the road, Jim suspected some dawdling on Blair's part.

"Aye, Chief, what do you say we head out, huh?" Jim called, sticking his head into the bedroom.

Blair was sitting there in front of a mirror, fiddling with the collar of his shirt. He met Jim's eyes in the mirror and shrugged apologetically. "I'm nervous about seeing everybody."

Jim marveled at the simple admission he would have gone to hell and back before voicing. "You look great," Jim said, standing behind Blair with his hands on his shoulders. "Strong, you know?"

Blair turned the chair to face him, and Jim knelt down, steadying himself with his hands on Blair's knees. "Best of all, you look like you, and they're gonna be amazed by you, just like I am."

"You're biased, Ellison."

"Nah, I'm the picture of objectivity, remember?"

It was very still for a moment as they looked at each other.

Blair's face was all eyes when he finally spoke. "When it's just us, it honest-to-God doesn't matter, I'm just who I've always been, you know? But out there I'm different and...and damaged, and I hate you seeing me that way."

Jim thought about that for a second, wondering how it was that he and Sandburg could be on an identical wavelength one minute then worlds apart the next. He leaned in close to Blair's face and said, "You are 10 feet tall to me whether we're sitting in the hot tub or making dinner or marching in a fourth of July parade. You'll never be anything but perfect and beautiful and fucking everything to me."

Blair smiled and pulled him even closer for a kiss. "You oughta send that in to Hallmark, see if they'll put it in a card."

Jim smiled too and kissed the tip of Sandburg's nose. "Let's add greeting card writer to my potential job list."

That made Blair laugh. "I can see it now, an entire line of Ellison's famous 'I Already Told You I Fucking Loved You Once this Year' cards."

Jim was laughing too as they headed outside. "We'll be rich beyond our wildest dreams," he predicted, and they spent the drive over to Hargrove composing Xrated limericks for their new venture.

The delight with which Blair was greeted at Rainier went a long way to calming both of them down, and the jubilation of their former co-workers at the Cascade Police Department chased away the last bit of nerves either one of them had been feeling.

Within a half hour, the place had settled down-- Sandburg was fixing a software problem on Henri's laptop, and Jim was heading into Simon's office to hand in his resignation.

Jim expected a little moaning and groaning from his put-upon boss, some whining and "why me" kind of noises, but he hadn't expected Simon to go off on him.

"Are you nuts? I can't believe I'm hearing this! You're just gonna up and bail? What in the hell is wrong with you, Mister?"

Flabbergasted, Jim struggled to explain, "Simon, I didn't just wake up one morning and make the decision, I've been thinking about it for awhile, and..."

"Well maybe you'd better think a little more, Detective! When I think about the bullshit you fed me... What about Sandburg? Haven't you even thought about him in all this? Or is the going too tough for you all of a sudden? What about all that crap about looking out for each other, what about that, huh?"

It dawned on Jim then that Simon thought he was staying behind, and Blair was returning to Cascade. He wasn't sure which was more ludicrous--the idea that he and Blair would separate, or the idea that Sandburg needed Simon to protect him.

Jim could tell his goofy grin was making Simon even more irritated, so he quickly explained. "Simon, hold on a minute. I'm not bailing on Sandburg. He's stayin' too."

That stopped Banks in his tracks. He sank to his chair, looking up at Jim with utter confusion written all over his face. "Why?"

Jim was stumped for a minute. He thought he'd already explained, so he just said "Well, sir, maybe you should ask Sandburg about that..."

"I'm asking you, Jim." Suddenly Banks was angry all over again. "Are you forcing him to stay there? Does he think he doesn't have any options, because I'll tell you right now, we can find him some place to stay here in town. That kid is more resourceful than anyone I know, and if he doesn't want to hold up in some back-woods cabin, then by God, he doesn't have to!"

Jim had been surreptitiously backing toward Simon's door. When he touched the doorknob with his hip he reached behind to open it, holding up the other hand to slow Simon down. "Hold on, sir, one second, I'm getting Sandburg, just...just hold on."

Jim scooted out the door and headed toward the sound of Sandburg's voice, Simon's bellow ringing in his Sentinel ears. "Ellison, get back here!"

Jim found Blair entertaining the women in dispatch. He muscled his way through the tittering masses and reached for Blair's arm. "Uh, Sandburg, you've, uh, gotta come with me."

Blair looked up at Jim, extricating himself from his insistent tugging. "What, what, what?"

Jim shrugged and pointed over his shoulder toward Simon's office. "You've just gotta come in here, okay?"

Blair rolled along next to Jim, muttering to the man as they made their way back to Simon's office. "For God's sake, Jim, worrying about me and Gladys Pincher? You don't have to drag me back to your cave by my hair..."

"Chief, you wanna take on Ms Gladys, be my guest. Right now, my ass is grass with Banks, and you've gotta fix it."

"Ass is grass? Where are you picking up this stuff? I don't want you hanging out with Grady anymore if this is the kind of language you're bringin' home..."

"Just shut up and make Simon understand."

"Those are mutually exclusive."

"Remind me again why I stopped beating you?"

"Because I can kick your ass. What doesn't Simon understand?"

"He thinks I'm, like, leaving you to fend for yourself or something."

"So, tell him you're not."

"He's all yelling at me and...you just tell him."

"Remind me again how many commendations you've got for bravery?"

"Would you can it for a minute? I think...I think you're gonna have to tell him."

"Tell him. Like, TELL him, tell him?"

"Yeah."

"I have to do it." Blair stopped and rolled backward to get a good look at Jim.

"Yeah."

"Even though my ass isn't remotely grass, I have to tell him."

"Yeah."

Blind to the stares they were starting to get, Sandburg said, "You're saying I have to tell *your boss* the real story."

Jim kicked open the door to the stairwell and ushered Blair through it. "What the hell, Sandburg, am I speaking Arabic or something? YOU'VE gotta tell him."

"You make me blow you to watch a lousy TV show, and you're just *tellin'* me I have to spill the beans to Simon? I don't think so, little buddy."

"You are unbelievable, you know that?"

Simon was roaming the halls now, looking for them. His voice easily reached them both. "Ellison? Where the hell are you?"

Jim wiped some flop sweat from his brow and gave in. "Fine, fine, name your price."

"Massages, WITH oil, twice a day for a month." Sandburg answered way too quickly which meant he'd been looking for some time to back him into this corner.

"Once a day, two weeks. And I still get my let-mefinish -this-chapter AND but-the-party-just-started." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Jim knew he should have let it lie.

"Then I want one more I'm-tired-Sandburg."

"No way, you can't renegotiate what we already agreed on."

Blair crossed his arms and sat back with a look of smug satisfaction on his face. "You're the one who brought it up. And the one with the grassy ass, I might add."

"Okay, fine, but I get to pick the oil, Glitter Boy."

"Done."

As they headed to Simon's office, they spoke almost simultaneously, sotto voce. "Pushover." "Sucker."

Blair flashed his winning smile at a fuming Simon Banks as they entered his office. "I can't believe he has you coverin' his ass, Sandburg. What the hell are you doing letting him bulldoze you like this!"

"Simon, you don't understand. Look, this is just gonna take a second to clear up and then we'll head over to our place for dinner, okay?"

Ten minutes later, even Saint Blair's patience was wearing thin. "Simon, what I'm saying is Jim and I are involved."

Hands folded in front of him on the desk, Simon leaned forward as if really determined to understand him this time. "I know, you've said that. I repeat, involved in what?"

It was like talking to a four year old, Jim decided. He hoped his glare conveyed to Sandburg the necessity of taking off the kid gloves and just laying it on the line for God's sake.

The message seemed to get through because Sandburg finally shrugged and said. "In a sexual relationship, Simon. We're INVOLVED." Blair dragged the word out slowly, his dancing eyebrows conveying far more than words ever could.

Simon looked down at the paper on his desk, as if it contained the script off of which they had so suddenly veered. He looked from Jim to Blair, clearly confused. Finally, he leaned forward and whispered, "Are you sure?"

It certainly wasn't a question Jim anticipated. He opened his mouth, then turned to Blair who unfortunately looked just as baffled as Jim felt.

Blair closed his gaping mouth and concentrated for a minute. "I...well, no one's ever really asked..." He scratched the side of his head and looked up at Jim. "Hey, uh, Jim, Tuesday night, you, uh, know what I'm talking about?"

Jim couldn't help but grin. "Yeah, Chief, I do."

"That was you, right?"

Jim's laugh could only be described as lascivious. "All night long Baby, you better believe it."

Blair gave an exaggerated sigh of relief before schooling his features into a look of serious regard. "Yeah, Simon, we're sure."

Simon was too stunned to notice the mocking by-play. "How long has this been goin' on?" He immediately shook his head. "No, no that's none of my business, don't answer that. Has it been a long time? No, don't answer. How did I miss it? How long have I been missing it? No, no, don't answer that either..."

"Put the man out of his misery, Jim."

"About two years, Sir, give or take. Sandburg didn't tell me we were goin' out for the first few months, so who's to say when we really..."

"Two years? TWO years? How did I not know?" Simon stood up suddenly and pointed an accusing finger at Jim. "You didn't want me to know, that's how! You were hiding it!"

"You know, Sandburg's involved in this, too. How come you keep pointing at me?"

"Blessed protector my ass," Blair muttered under his breath, while Simon, still pointing at Jim, blustered, "I don't know, that's why! Good God when I think of all the stupid explanations you've given me over the years...you must think I'm a complete idiot! I don't appreciate being made a fool of!"

"It would have made everything so hard," Blair said, using a soothing tone that almost always calmed the savage beast in Jim. "Too hard, man. Our working together was on the edge as it was. It was just easier to keep it quiet. We didn't want to put any more pressures on you than we already were."

"Quiet is one thing, this was more than quiet. You must have laughed your asses off at how dense I was."

Blair's eyes were wide with innocent sincerity. "Never. We've laughed at how lousy you are at cards. And the first time I saw you out on a dance floor, I might have given in to a little guffaw or two, but we never laughed at you about not seeing us like that."

"You're a smart ass."

"And you dance like a constipated ox. We've always made allowances for one another, haven't we?"

Simon groaned and sat back down. "This is unbelievable. UNbelievable. I remember, a year or so ago, the university's bursars office was calling Ellison about paying some tuition. I thought that was strange, but Jim made up this whole song and dance about your credit being bad because of something when you were a kid and about how he made the tuition payments and you paid him back, and I should have known when a closed-mouthed bastard like Ellison starts feeding you details like that that it's a God damned lie..."

"Well, no, see, that's true, actually. Except my credit problem was the bank's fault, not mine. What happened was..."

Ellison interrupted with a brief shake of his head. "Ah, Chief, ixnay on the ieslay."

"Hey, it was! A bank shouldn't give an idiot eighteen year old a credit card, should they? I was only behaving like any other kid would!"

"I don't think the average 18-year old would have charged airline tickets to Zaire."

"I thought the University was gonna pay me back. I didn't realize the importance of fine print back then."

"No sentinel to read it to you, huh?"

Simon suddenly interrupted them. "You weren't looking for an old sweatshirt, were you?"

"Huh?"

"I came over on my way to Harrigans, and you came downstairs and you were putting on a sweatshirt. You said you were helping a friend paint."

Blair nodded at the memory. "Ah. No I wasn't looking for an old sweatshirt, Simon."

"And the hotel didn't make a mistake when we went to Seattle."

"No," Jim agreed. "They didn't make a mistake. We only booked the one room. We, uh, weren't expecting you to join us that weekend."

"Jesus, and when Ellison said..."

Blair traded an amused look with Jim. "Simon, we're gonna be here for a month at this rate. If you want to go through the list of lies and omissions, that's fine, but could we do it on the way to pick up my van? I've been without wheels for way too long, and I can taste the asphalt, know what I mean?"

It wasn't until Jim and Simon were standing in a parking lot and watching an ecstatic Blair hitting the road that Simon came out of his state of stunned disbelief. Jim knew the mile-long grin on his face made him look like and idiot, but Blair's happiness had lifted him up into the clouds.

"How could you not know you and Sandburg were...together?"

Jim laughed at the one piece of information that stuck with Simon.

Since they were eating in, Jim and Simon had been volunteered to pick up steaks and all the trimmings. Jim got back in the rental car and told his story on the way to the grocery store. "We were spending time with one of Sandburg's friends--she owns Cascadia, that tourist trap shop over on the wharf? Fifty bucks for a sweatshirt with a picture of a redwood on it, I kid you not. Anyway, I kinda thought I was seein' her for a while, and then nothing much happened, so I thought maybe Sandburg was seein' her, but turns out she's engaged to this other friend of Blair's who was working out of the country for six months. We were just keepin' her company. So at dinner one night after the boyfriend gets back, I tell Sandburg what I'd been thinking, and how I was glad I never said anything to her because wouldn't that have been a kick in the head, and he looks at me like I'm an idiot and says, "how could you think you were goin' out with Claudia when you're dating me?" and I said, "I'm dating you?" and he said yeah, so what could I do, you know?"

Simon smirked at his friend. "How could I have missed for so long how full of shit you are? It's not like you're subtle or anything."

"I'm not yankin' your chain, Captain, it's the God's honest truth."

"The more cliches you work into a sentence the more full of shit you are, my friend."

"Me in particular or everybody in general?"

"Shut up, Ellison. Jee-zus, but this has been a day. I'm the captain of a detective unit for God's sake. I earned my gold shield three days shy of my 35th birthday, did you know that? Youngest man in the Cascade PD up to that point. Unbelievable."

"You know, Simon, Sandburg and I have talked about it before--does anyone suspect, why, why not, how long can we keep it quiet, do we really need to keep it quiet. Thing of it is, no one has ever guessed at it. Everyone we've ever told has been floored. I mean, think about it. I quit my job and followed him to Seattle, practically lived with him at rehab and everyone there tolerated me like I was some kind of crazy uncle in the attic. When they found out you would have thought we were undercover jewel thieves or something. They were astounded."

"Oh yeah, you tell the hospital staff the truth but keep stringin' me along for months."

Jim chose not to clear up that misconception. He was pretty sure Simon didn't want to hear about the nurse who walked in on them showering together. He swiped at the corners of his mouth to keep the grin from growing any wider.

"Did you think I wouldn't approve. That I'd overreact or..."

Jim interrupted that line of thought. Stopped at a red light, he looked over at his friend and met his gaze. "It was never because we didn't trust you with it or thought for one minute you wouldn't be able to handle it. Number one, it would have put you in an extremely awkward position, and you already had enough tap dancin' going on with this sentinel thing. We were breaking regs with Sandburg riding along as an observer; if it got out that we were...together on top of all that, the shit would still be hitting the fan. Sandburg felt ...precarious back then. He didn't want people looking too close in case they tried to shut him down. We asked enough of you, but we said from the start that if you ever asked us, we'd come clean."

Simon nodded, then made a face of resigned amusement. "I'd've never asked in a million years, Jim. Never would have crossed my mind."

"I know." He kept his eyes forward as he answered, "We were kind of counting on that."

It wasn't until they were in line at the checkout that Jim remembered the door to the apartment building and the uneven elevator threshold. Dammit! Sandburg would be stuck there, at the mercy of someone coming or going to even get in the building, then he'd have to wrestle with the chair and the elevator. Dammit!

If Simon wondered at the frantic pace as they drove to the loft, he didn't mention anything.

When they pulled into the parking lot in front of the loft, Sandburg was still in the parking lot, spinning around in his chair and popping wheelies. He looked like he was either talking or singing to himself, then he started laughing, his head back, face toward the sun. He set the chair down on all fours and impetuously leaned forward to hug the right front bumper of his van.

Simon burst out laughing at the show. "He's all yours, aye Jim?"

Jim's smile was enormous as he got out of the car. He headed for Blair, but turned around to face Simon, walking backwards as he shrugged and called out. "You ever known a luckier son of a bitch in your life, Simon?"

Jim turned around and jogged over to Sandburg before Simon could reply, but that was okay, because both of them already knew the answer.

The End

For an explanation of Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs, please see http://web.utk.edu/~gwynne/maslow.htm