Author's webpage: http://www.skeeter63.org/dolimir/

Author's disclaimer: All standard disclaimers apply. Pet Fly Productions and UPN own the characters and the series. No copyright infringement intended. No money was made in writing or sharing this story – unless someone wants to pay me and then I'll talk to my lawyers about sharing

Author's notes: It's a pre-slash AU. Read at your own risk.

Thanks as always to Beth, who encourages me in all things; Lola, who makes me look good; and Mo, for her insights.

SLEEPING
by Dolimir

October 1st, 8 p.m.

"What's the word on the street?" Lieutenant Simon Banks asked the man across the booth from him. A waitress, however, stepped forward with several plates of food and conversation was briefly halted while the meals were distributed to those around the table.

James Ellison, from Vice, waited, not only until the waitress had left but until after he had taken a large bite from his hamburger. "They're scared. It's one thing to lose someone because of an overdose or a pissed off pimp, but this serial killer is making everyone really nervous."

"Any rumors of substance floating around?" Captain Paul Anderson, Ellison's immediate supervisor, asked as he munched on a fry.

"Of substance? No." Jim took another bite of his bun. "A lot of unsubstantiated speculation, but no real leads."

Noting the weariness around the eyes of the younger detective, Simon asked, "How long have you been under?"

"Three months, sir."

"Isn't that a rather long time?" Simon asked, raising an eyebrow at Anderson.

"Yes," Paul admitted, "but we've had problems in the past with our operations downtown. Whenever something major was going down, the locals just assumed the new meat on the street was a cop going undercover. We put Jimmy, here, under during a quiet period. He's been responsible for more busts than any of his predecessors before him. He funnels information to us, lets us act on it and never blows his cover. It's a good set up."

Simon looked at the man across the table from him, devouring his meal. "Nothing personal, Jim, but your appearance just screams 'cop.' What's your story down here?"

Ellison looked at his Captain, who simply shrugged his shoulders, then looked back at the dark lieutenant. "I'm ex-military. Got dusted in Desert Storm. Can't seem to cope with civilian life. I do a little bit of everything. Basically, I'm a nobody."

"Don't let him fool you, Simon. They call him 'Pantera' because he's always on the prowl. He's gotten, what, a dozen kids off the streets so far? The unattached hookers look to him as their unofficial pimp, which has reduced the violence down here considerably. The street people call him 'Guardian.' As I said, the set up is damn near perfect," Paul said, clearly congratulating himself on such a successful long term project.

The rest of the meal was eaten with companionable chatter until Anderson's cell phone rang. After a brief exchange, he stood and pulled enough money out of his wallet to cover all three meals. "Sorry, guys, gotta run. Jimmy, I'll see you Friday for the weekly rundown. Simon, now that you two have met, feel free to tap him anytime you need some information. Later, gents."

Ellison watched his captain leave and sighed, almost in relief.

"How hard has it been down here?" Simon asked softly.

Jim refused to make eye contact with the lieutenant. "It's okay."

"When was the last time you had a day off?"

Ellison merely snorted.

"That's what I thought. Look," Simon said, lowering his voice and glancing around the diner, "I'm not revealing anything more than general scuttlebutt, but word from on high is that I'm forerunner for the position of Captain of Major Crimes once Garcia steps down. I've been looking into your work and I must say, I'm impressed. You're one of the best; a little reckless at times, but you get the job done. Would you consider a transfer to Major Crimes if things go the way I hope they will?"

For the first time, Jim Ellison looked up and studied the face of the man in front of him. Seeing only sincerity, he answered, "Yes. A change of pace might be just what I need."

"It probably won't happen for another nine months," Simon warned.

"As long as there is light at the end of the tunnel."

"Will Anderson let you off the streets before then?"

Jim shrugged as he finished off the last of his hamburger. "Doubtful."

"Well, hang in there. I'm serious about the offer," Simon said as he stood and pulled on his overcoat. "In the meantime, keep your ear to the ground and your back to the wall."

October 1st, 10 p.m.

"How's it hanging, Jimmy?" Stanley Prosinik, Vice detective and Ellison's street contact, asked casually as he leaned against the brick wall of an abandoned storefront.

"Stan," Jim acknowledged from the shadows. "You doing a roust tonight?"

"Yeah, with this serial killer out and about, the Mayor wants us to show more of a presence down here."

"The Mayor's an idiot," Jim sighed. "If you take money out of the girls' hands, they're going to get desperate and use less judgment when it comes to picking up johns."

"Hey, you're preaching to the choir, son. But if the Mayor wants a roust, we ain't got no choice but to roust. You might see if your girls can horde up on funds for a bit. The next couple weeks ain't gonna be pretty unless we can catch this guy."

"Thanks for the head's up, Pro."

"Not a problem." Prosinik shrugged, pushing himself off the wall to leave. "Ho. Ho. Ho. Looks like we got a new player on the boulevard." The balding man leered over Jim's shoulder. "With looks like that, he's either going to make a mint or be dead within the week. Oh well, gotta meet Jansen over on 3rd. Take care, Jimmy."

"You too," Jim replied before he looked across the street to take in the young man who had caught Prosinik's eye. His friend, he decided, wasn't too far off base with his prediction. The young man, although it would probably be safer to say boy, was beautiful, though not in the conventional sense. He was small, lithe and had long curly sable hair which just screamed to be touched. He looked exotic, completely out of place in his current dingy surroundings. Jim leaned back against the brick wall and watched the youth walk down the sidewalk as if looking for someone. An older man approached the boy and murmured something. The boy looked shocked, shook his head and continued on, with quicker steps.

'Not a player,' Jim thought in surprise.

The boy was almost opposite him, when he looked across the street and spotted Jim. He stopped dead in his tracks, a smile briefly flitting over his face before a look of fear replaced it. Jim watched him gather up his courage before crossing the street and cautiously approach him.

"Something I can do for you, Blue Eyes?" Jim asked when the boy seemed unable speak.

"I ... I ..." the boy stuttered, then closed his eyes, took a deep breath and tried again. "W-would you consider coming home with me?"

Surprised by the new approach, and disappointed in discovering the boy was a player after all, Jim asked, slightly exasperated, "Son, do you realize there's a serial killer prowling the streets of Cascade?"

The boy nodded, fear clearly painted on his face.

"You're willing to take that risk?"

Again, the boy nodded.

Jim grinned, shaking his head. "I doubt I could afford you."

"N-no. You have the wrong idea. I - I would pay you."

Jim was no stranger to being approached on the streets, but he had never been propositioned by someone quite so young. He studied the earnest young face in front of him. No doubt the kid would try someone else if he refused him. If the threat of a serial killer wasn't enough to keep him indoors, maybe he could scare the boy enough to keep him off the streets.

"How long?"

The boy's face lit up with a smile. "All night."

Jim raised an eyebrow. "How old are you kid?"

"Nineteen."

"Yeah, now pull the other one," Jim gently chided.

"No, really. I know I look young, but --"

"$250," Jim said abruptly.

The boy's face paled. Jim watched in fascination as the young man appeared to make some sort of quick mental calculation.

"Deal," he said at last, his voice barely audible.

"Where to, Junior?"

"Follow me. Please," the boy added, almost as an afterthought.

Jim shook his head as he followed the young man. He must be losing his mind. "Tina," he called out to one of his 'girls' as he walked by.

"Si, Pantera?"

"The Man's rousting tonight."

"Sh - it."

"Can you afford to stay in?"

"Si. I'll tell the others."

"Thanks, babe."

"De nada."

"Is she one of yours?" the boy asked quietly.

"Mine?"

The boy shrugged, his hands waving briefly before they fell to his side.

"She's a friend. I don't like to see friends get hassled."

Jim followed the young man for several blocks. His brow raised slightly as they entered the warehouse district. Finally, they came to a short set of metal steps which led to one of the more run down looking buildings. The boy fumbled with his keys but managed to unlock the door and stepped back, allowing Jim to enter first.

"Roomy," Jim commented as he looked around.

"Yeah, it's 5,000 square feet and only $400 a month." The boy grinned proudly, leading him to one corner of the warehouse where a small living space was set up. "Would you like something to drink?"

"Not right now," Jim said as he took in the dingy couch in front of a small television set, which appeared to be about 30 years old, and the bed by the wall. "So, Chief, you got a name?"

"Blair," the young man said quietly as he shifted nervously from foot to foot.

"Jim."

The boy flashed him a brilliant smile.

"So what are we doing here, Blair?"

"I - I'd like you to sleep with me," the boy said shyly.

"I gathered that, Chief."

For a moment, the dark blue eyes appeared confused, then a silly grin flashed over the boy's face. "No, Jim. I don't mean sex. I mean, I want you to sleep with me."

"Sleep? You mean as in z's?"

"Catching a few winks."

"Calling it a day."

"Turning in?"

The smile only got bigger. "That's the ticket." Blair seemed to relax a little, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet.

"Is there somewhere I can ..."

Blair pointed to a small bathroom several yards away.

Jim made his ablutions quickly and quietly. He looked in the mirror as he washed his hands and, not for the first time, wondered who the man staring back at him was. He seemed older, tired, as if not much could surprise him anymore. Although, he had to admit, the boy on the other side of the door certainly peaked his curiosity. His original plan had been to scare the boy into going home, but it was obvious by the small living area that he was not a run away nor did he seem to be trying to ply a trade. For a brief, irrational moment, he wondered if the boy could be the serial killer, but dismissed the thought almost immediately. Serial murderers were almost always psychopaths, devoid of any feeling. The kid's face showed every emotion and thought in his head.

"The bed's over there," Blair said quietly as Jim opened the door. "You can get comfortable while I ... I get ready."

Jim nodded, deciding that the moment the boy made a move on him, he would put the fear of God and the law into him. Nobody could be that innocent. He shook his head as he slipped out of his shirt, and unhooked his belt. Whatever the kid's racket was, he was good. He slipped out of his jeans, but kept his boxers on as he climbed between the worn, but clean, sheets and waited. He noted briefly as he shifted slightly that the mattress was old, but comfortable.

After several minutes, he called out. "Blair?"

"Yeah?" came the quiet reply.

"Are you coming out or should I get this sleeping thing started by myself?"

He heard the boy's snort of laughter before the door opened. Blair wandered out, looking cold but wrapped in a fuzzy blue robe.

"I've never done this before. I'm a little ..."

"Scared?'

"Apprehensive."

"Unsure."

"Anxious." The boy grinned; the tension seeming to fall off him.

"I haven't bitten anyone in years," Jim teased as he brought one hand out from behind his head, and patted a spot next to him.

Again, Jim watched in fascination as the boy gathered up his courage, plopped on the edge of the bed and quickly shuck his robe before slipping beneath the covers.

Jim turned, rested his temple against his hand, his elbow propped so that he was facing the boy. Blair took several deep breaths, trying to calm himself then opened his eyes and looked up into his companion's face.

"W-w-would you hold me? You don't have to if you don't want to," he quickly amended. "I mean, I don't want to impose or anything. I won't feel ..."

Jim rolled the boy onto his side and pulled him close, until the smaller man's back was spooned against his chest. "Shhh," he said quietly, his hand stroking the curly hair. "It's okay. Everything will be okay."

Blair nodded nervously. Jim continued to croon softly until the boy, almost a muscle at a time, relaxed. Several minutes later, the young man's breathing evened out as he slowly fell asleep. Jim studied his features, noting the stubble lined jaw. Jim had rarely seen such a beautiful man. There was nothing effeminate about his features, but they screamed of innocence, of a loneliness which deeply touched him. He worried for the boy; worried that he would soon see the darkness of the world and lose that special quality which seemed to surround him.

What had driven the young man to seek out paid companionship? Surely, he could have his pick of young women. Hell, even young men. So why spend money seeking comfort? Jim blinked heavily, trying to stave off sleep, but found the warmth of the young man's body lulling and soon dropped off himself.

October 2nd, 7:00 a.m.

Jim woke with a start, startled to find himself in an empty bed.

"Morning," a shy voice called from the kitchen area of the living space.

"Good morning." Jim blinked. If he had thought Blair beautiful the night before, it was nothing compared to Blair in the morning light, wrapped in an old robe, cooking breakfast.

"Eggs and toast okay with you?"

"You don't need to go to any trouble."

"Hey, my mom isn't big on a lot of rules, but one rule she did manage to pound in was that you always feed your guests."

"Always?" Jim teased.

"Always," the boy said solemnly, but broke into a grin after several seconds. "Scrambled or poached?"

"Scrambled, please."

Jim arched his back and stretched as he gathered his clothes and stumbled off toward the bathroom. His food was sitting on a small card table when he came out, along with a cup of tea.

"You probably would have liked some coffee, but I'm out at the moment. I could run--

"No. No. Tea's fine." Jim grinned as he straddled the chair and dug into the eggs. "Tastes good, Chief."

"Thanks." Blair grinned back, pleased, as he took a bite of toast.

Once the breakfast dishes were cleared from the table and set in the sink, the boy looked slightly embarrassed. He tried to speak several times, but nothing came out. Finally, in frustration, he jammed his hand into his robe pocket, then held his hand out to Jim. The money.

"Thank you ... for last night," he whispered, not quite able to make eye contact with the older man.

"Easiest money I've made in a long time," Jim said with a smile.

Even though the boy's chin rested on his chest, he raised his eyes toward Jim and grinned back. "Worth every penny of it."

Jim stepped closer and raised the boy's chin with his fingers. "Be careful, Blair. You can't just go around trusting anyone off the street."

The younger man nodded. "Take care, Jim."

Releasing the boy's chin, Jim turned and left the warehouse, hoping the boy would heed his advice.

October 15th, 10:00 p.m.

"I can't believe we still don't have any leads," Prosinik muttered.

Jim sighed, rubbing a hand over his tired face. "What's the toll up to now?"

"Eight in the last two months. Basically one vic a week. Of course, who knows how many he's actually done? But basically eight confirmed with this MO."

"I'm surprised he hasn't moved on."

"I think he's taunting us. And why shouldn't he? Hell, we couldn't find our proverbial ass with both hands in this case."

"The heat pretty bad at the station?" Jim grinned wickedly.

"Yeah, laugh it up, Jimmy-boy. That's one good thing about not having to put in face time. You don't have to deal with the same job stress we do."

Jim shook his head. Prosinik didn't have the first clue about job-related stress.

"Hey, Jimmy."

"What?"

"Someone appears to be trying to get your attention," Prosinik said with a nod of his head.

Jim turned and saw Blair standing twenty feet away, trying to act nonchalant.

"Hey wasn't that the kid--"

"Yeah."

"Anything happen last time?"

Jim gave his friend a disgusted look.

Prosinik raised his hands and laughed. "No offense intended. Hell, for a taste of that, even I'd be tempted."

Jim snarled.

"Now don't be that way, Jimmy. You know I don't mean anything by it. Anyway, I gotta get out of here. There's gonna be another roust tomorrow night, so tell the girls. Okay?"

"Why the head's up all the time, Stan?"

The older detective hesitated for a moment, looking embarrassed. "Look, your girls are just down on their luck. They aren't part of the stables; they're not addicted; they aren't pushing. They're just trying to get by. I've got no beef with them. Okay? One thing I gotta say about your girls, Jimmy, is that they're trying. Heck, didn't Helen go uptown?"

"Yeah. Secretarial job."

"I'm ... I'm glad you're watching out for them," the balding man said hesitantly. Something passed over his face and he added in a semi-defensive tone, "Look, my folks died when I was 12. My sister was 18. My folks left us nothing .We had no one. Angie ... well, she did what she had to do in order for us to survive, ya know? She went to junior college during the day. She eventually went on to Rainier. She's a big business muckety-muck in Chicago now. But back then, she kept me on the straight and narrow. Ya know? I just--"

"I'd like to meet her sometime."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Angie. Next time she comes to Cascade, I'd liked to meet her. Let her know she did a good job raising you."

"I'll do that, Jimmy." Stan smiled brightly. "Well, I better get out of here. Your young man looks like he's going to explode if he has to wait another minute. Keep your back to the wall, man."

"You too, Pro."

Once his friend left, Jim turned. Blair pushed himself off the wall, his hands jammed into his pockets, raising one eyebrow in question.

Jim nodded and closed the distance between them. Once he reached the kid, they started walking together in silence, toward the warehouse district, their shoulders brushing against one another occasionally.

October 16th, 5:00 a.m.

Jim woke before Blair did, and spent several minutes thinking about the night before and of the young man laying across his chest, wrapped in his arms. Blair hadn't spoken a word the previous night. It was as if the shroud of loneliness surrounding him rendered him speechless. Again, he was shy; however, instead of teasing him into bed, Jim simply held out his hand and was touched by the trust the boy gave him by taking it and slipping between the sheets.

Blair had wrapped his arms around Jim's chest and held him tight until, eventually, he fell asleep.

Jim stroked the silky hair. Where were the boy's parents? Surely, they didn't think the warehouse district was a safe neighborhood. Thinking back on what Stan told him the night before, he hoped the boy wasn't an orphan. Hopefully, there was someone who cared about his well being. Jim closed his eyes against the pain. No. In all likelihood, the boy was alone in the world. Why else would he pay for human contact?

Jim wondered briefly how the boy was surviving. He had noticed that the warehouse was definitely cooler than the last time he had been with the young man and had noted the sparseness of the kid's refrigerator when he had awoken briefly during the night, looking for something to drink.

After a moment, he realized he was being studied himself. He looked down into the shy blue eyes staring up at him. Without thought, he gathered the boy closer and hugged him tightly against his chest. Held him until slender arms returned the hug. Held him as quiet sobs racked the thin frame. Held him until the boy fell back to sleep again.

October 16th, 8:00 a.m.

"Can I ask you something?" Jim tried for nonchalance between bites of scrambled eggs.

"I - I guess," Blair said hesitantly, his blue eyes blinking owlishly.

"You seem like a nice enough fellow," Jim said, returning the smile the younger man graced him with. "My guess is you have your fair share of dates."

"Yeah, I do okay."

"So why ..." Jim started, then hesitated, waving his hand up and down over his own chest.

"Do I pay you to sleep with me?" the boy finished for him.

"I gotta admit, I am a tad curious." Jim watched in silent fascination as emotions flit over Blair's face. Humor. Sadness. Loneliness. Fear. Resignation.

"Dates are about the other person. You ask a girl out so you can spend time with her. Do what she wants to do. Eat where you think she'd like to eat as long as it's within your budget. Take her to a movie or lecture you think she'd enjoy so you can discuss it afterwards. In a way, it's about taking care of her."

"Makes sense."

"Sometimes though ... things have to be about you -- about what you want."

"Understandable." Jim nodded, impressed with the young man's reasoning. "Has something happened recently?" he asked, playing a hunch.

The young man looked away from the table for several minutes, obviously trying to get his emotions under control. Finally, he said in a small voice, "I can't find her."

"Find who?"

"My mom."

Jim swallowed hard. "Your mom?"

"Yeah. You see, she travels quite a bit and she's always been hard to track down, but she always sends me a postcard or calls me or something..."

"How long has it been since you've heard from her?" Jim asked gently.

"About two months. She's been gone longer than that before, but I really needed to talk to her about Peter."

"Peter?"

"Yeah," Blair said in voice which cracked. Closing his eyes, he pressed his fingernails into his palms before he continued. "Peter was one of her old boyfriends. She left him like she leaves them all, but he was really good to me, ya know? He's been a really good friend since I've been at Rainier; always making sure I have enough to get by, inviting me over for dinner when things get tight, helping me fix my car, ya know?"

"What happened to Peter?" Jim prodded after several moments of silence.

"He was diagnosed with testicular cancer last month."

"Oh, Blair," Jim said quietly as he came around the table, knelt beside the boy and held him tight.

"He died yesterday morning. He died and I can't .. I can't find Naomi to t-tell her and I just couldn't be alone. I just couldn't be alone," the boy sobbed, laying his head against Jim's shoulder.

"It's okay, Blair. Let it out. Let it all out," Jim crooned softly as he rocked the shattered boy gently.

After a while, the younger man pulled himself together and gently detached himself from Jim's embrace. "Thank you," he whispered as he reached into his robe pocket and handed Jim his fee.

Jim shook his head as he stood. "No."

"Yes," Blair said more insistently as he held out the money. "I needed last night to be about me and you gave that to me. Please ... don't make me beg."

Jim gulped hard and closed his eyes briefly. He sighed, then held out his hand, accepting the money.

"If you ever need ..."

"I know where to find you," Blair smiled, giving the man a quick hug before escorting him to the door.

November 1st, 8:00 p.m.

"I can't believe no one has seen anything," Simon Banks sighed in frustration as he picked at his uneaten hamburger.

"You gotta remember the area you're talking about here, Lieutenant. These are the forgotten. The discarded. People who pay too much attention to things down here end up getting the attention of people who can make their lives a living nightmare," Jim said, shrugging and taking another bite of his hamburger.

"So how do you escape such scrutiny?" the older man asked, curiously.

"My rep."

Simon took a sip of tepid coffee. "Your rep?"

"I pay attention to the neighborhood because I am Pantera. The people in power respect that I keep an eye on my tribe. As long as I don't encroach on their territory and they don't touch anyone in mine, we have an unspoken peace."

"It sounds like you've gone native."

"Simon, I challenge you to stay above it all while living down here 24/7."

"That wasn't a criticism, Jim. Have you given any thought to what will happen to your tribe once you're out of Vice, once they find out you're a cop?"

"Yes," Jim said quietly, stopping mid-bite. "I have eight more months to get five more girls back into the world. There will always be homeless, although there are several agencies doing really good work down here. And the kids ..." He closed his eyes briefly. "There will always be kids. Throwaways. Runaways. Lost souls. No one can save them all."

"But that doesn't stop you from trying," Simon observed quietly.

Jim shrugged, attacking his meal once again. "Everyone should have a hobby."

"Keep an ear and an eye out, okay? Eventually this monster is going to make a mistake."

"Will do, boss."

Simon groaned, but grinned.

November 1st, 11:00 p.m.

"Hey, Stan, what's up?"

"Jimmy, your boy was down here for a while," the balding detective said as he urgently grabbed the younger man's arm and faced him west.

Jim didn't need to ask what boy. He knew. A feeling of dread started to rise within him. "Where is he now?"

"Last I saw, he was heading further down the strip. You know Carlos' territory starts a couple blocks down, don't you? He's been recruiting runaways again. If he were to catch a glimpse of your boy ..."

A shaft of fear shot through Jim's heart. "How long ago?"

"About 15 minutes. I knew you were going to be back soon and tried to stall him as long as I could, but--"

Jim nodded as he jogged off. "Thanks Stan!"

"Just get the kid indoors. Okay?"

November 1st, 11:10 p.m.

"Blair!"

"Oh, hey, Jim."

"Thank God I found you."

"Something up?"

"Do you have any idea how dangerous it is down here? Jim gritted out, the need to shake the kid practically overwhelming.

"Don't worry, Pantera. I would have kept him safe," a large black man purred, stepping out from the shadows.

"Big D," Jim acknowledged.

"Come on, gorgeous, let's go," the prostitute said as he laid a possessive hand on Blair's shoulder.

"Blair?"

"I ... uh ..."

"Can I have a moment alone with the kid?" Jim asked the large man.

"Sure, Pantera. After all, it's his dime." The prostitute grinned as he leaned back against the brick building.

"I ... uh ... I ... waited for you, Jim. I just thought maybe you had moved on or something." The boy actually had the good sense to blush.

"Listen up, Blair. This is, what, an allotment thing for you? You get your money on the first and the fifteenth of each month, right?"

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry I was late. I met up with a friend and we lost track of time."

"There's no need to apologize, Jim. I mean I don't ..."

"No, you listen to me, Chief. There will be no one else but me. Have you got that?"

Blair looked up at him, eyes shining with a mixture of hope and fear. Jim's heart seemed to contract and swell at the same time as he met the gaze.

"Hey, now wait a minute, Pantera!" Big D said indignantly, his raised voice washing over them.

Jim ignored him and asked Blair, "What was his price?"

"One hundred dollars."

"Give it to him."

"What?"

"I said give it to him. Take it out of my portion."

"Wha -- are you sure?"

"Yes. Just pay the man."

Blair nodded and reached for his back pocket, even though he looked thoroughly confused. "I'm ... I'm sorry," he apologized quietly to the prostitute as he handed the man his money.

"So am I, Sugar. I'd have liked to have partied with you."

Jim growled, stepping between the dark man and Blair. "There is no partying with this one, D. You put the word out. He's mine. Anyone touching him, deals with me. You got that?"

"Sure, Pantera," the prostitute said, raising his hands in supplication. "No harm. No foul. We're cool, right?"

"Just put the word out, D."

"You got it, man."

"Jim," Blair began, but squeaked as the older man grabbed his arm and propelled him down the street, back towards the warehouse district. "What's up with the protector routine, man?" the boy growled, pulling his arm out of Jim's grasp.

"This is my fault, Blair," Jim said softly, turning to face the young man. "I should have been there. I just lost track of time, that's all. I'm sorry."

The brief look of anger faded from Blair's face as quickly as it had come. "Hey, it's not your fault. It's not like we made an appointment or anything."

"Look," Jim sighed as he took out a business card and wrote on the back of it. "This is my cell phone number. I don't give it to many people, but I want you to have it. You call me any time, day or night, and I'll be there. You don't cruise anymore. You got that, kid? It's just me from now on. Deal?"

Blair looked up at him with bright eyes.

"Deal?" Jim pushed.

"Deal," Blair whispered as he launched himself into the older man's arms and held him tight.

"Come on, kid. Let's get out of here. Suddenly, I'm exhausted."

November 5th, 4:00 p.m.

"Her name is ... was ... Julia Sanchez. She's 23. No living relatives. At least, no one she wanted to keep in contact with. She was saving her money so she could take culinary classes at the junior college," Jim said in a flat voice as he looked down at the pale figure laying in the morgue's drawer.

Dan Wolf laid one hand on the detective's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Jim."

Jim acknowledged the condolence with a nod. In a voice, choked with grief and rage, he said, "I'll pay for the arrangements. Make sure everything gets sent to me."

"Are you sure?" the coroner asked, stunned.

"She was one of your girls?" Simon Banks asked quietly from the open doorway.

"Yes. Is this his M.O.?

Simon didn't have to ask for clarification. He knew Jim was asking if the serial killer was responsible. "Yes."

"He's mine."

"Wha--What do you mean, he's yours?"

"No one messes with my people. No one."

Simon watched the Vice detective stalk out of the room and wondered briefly who was in more danger. Jim or the killer.

KCDE 6:00 O'clock News, November 9

"In a daring rescue move worthy of its own television movie, a concerned, but mysterious citizen rescued Allison Palmer, a 21 year old woman, down on her luck and living off of Main Street, from the hands of the serial killer who has been stalking the downtown area. Ms. Palmer would have been the 11th victim had it not been for the kindness of a stranger who heard her screams for help. John Robert Wilson, who has been eluding Cascade Police for months will be charged with 10 counts of murder, one count of attempted murder, 11 counts of rape, 6 counts of sodomy and a list of other lesser charges. When asked about the identity of her mysterious rescuer, Ms. Palmer would only say that it was as if a panther had separated itself from the shadows and rescued her from the depths of hell. Whoever this mysterious stranger may be, he has the gratitude of the citizens of Cascade, who can sleep better knowing the streets are rid of this vicious killer. This is Don Haus, KCDE News."

November 9th, 11:00 p.m.

"I'm coming. I'm coming," Blair shouted as he stumbled to his front door. With all the chains fully in place he opened the door and peeked out to find Jim Ellison standing on his landing. His first thought was that it wasn't the 15th, but one look at the older man's face had him scrambling to release the various chains.

Jim numbly entered the warehouse, barely standing far enough inside the door to allow the younger man to fasten all the locks again. Blair looked up into the eyes of his friend who simply stood frozen in place, overwhelming grief evident on his face.

Without a word, Blair gently took Jim's hand and led him to bed, turning off the overhead lights and his laptop on the way. He gently undressed his friend, murmuring quiet reassurances. With gentle tugs and pushes, he guided the older man into bed, quickly disrobing and scooting in behind him, knowing his friend needed physical contact.

"It's okay, Jim. It'll be okay," he crooned, one hand splayed on the back of his friend's head, his other arm cradling the older man to him. Jim held himself stiffly for several moments, then his body began to convulse as heart-wrenching sobs shook him. Blair wrapped his arms and legs around the broken soul and held him long into the night.

November 14th, 3:00 p.m.

"Hey, look who's finally decided to grace the rest of us with his presence," Roberto Guiterrez called out in greeting as Ellison entered the Vice squad room.

"I knew you girls were missing my company so I decided to come in and give you all a thrill," Jim grinned, patting Roberto's cheek before heading toward his desk.

Roberto followed him and sat on the corner of his desk. Clearing his throat, he asked in a more serious tone, "So Jimmy, why didn't they give you credit on the news for the Wilson bust?"

"'Cause the Captain isn't ready to pull me out of my assignment yet," Jim said simply.

"Cristo, James," his friend exclaimed. Glancing around the pen quickly, he lowered his voice and asked, "What did you do to piss the man off?"

"I wish I knew," Jim said in complete honesty. "Do me a favor, would you, Bobby? Keep your ears open? 'Cause at this point I'm willing to buy roses and get down on my knees and beg for forgiveness."

"You got it, bro. Though you're probably clean on this one. Anderson is getting a lot of credit for your hard work. You might consider not doing such a good job, you know?"

"If only it were as easy to do as it is to say." Jim sighed again. The cell phone attached to his belt rang and he held a finger up, asking his friend to remain silent. "Talk to me." Silence was his only answer, although he did not have a dial tone. "Hello?" he said in a more annoyed tone.

"J-Jim?" was the quiet response.

"Blair?"

"J-Jim."

"Where are you, babe?" Jim asked in a more urgent voice as he stood.

Roberto raised an eyebrow and mouthed, "Who is it?"

"One of my kids," he mouthed back.

"I'm at the police station."

Jim started and looked around the room quickly, relaxing only when he accounted for everyone in the pen.

"W-would you m-mind c-coming and p-picking m-me up?"

"I'm on my way, Blair. You just stay put. What department are you in?"

"I'm on the second floor. Theft, I - I think."

"You stay where you are until I get there. You hear me? I'll be there within a half hour."

"Y-yes. Thank you. I w-w-want to g-go home."

The sadness in the boy's voice nearly broke his heart. "I'll be right there, Chief. It'll be okay," Jim said before he turned his phone off.

"One of your kids in trouble, Jimmy?" Roberto asked, curious.

"Apparently. And the one I least expected it from. Who do we know in Theft?"

"Frannie's a good egg. Extension 249."

Jim picked up the phone on his desk and dialed.

"Liebowitz."

"Frannie, it's Jim."

"Hey, cowboy, long time no see. When are you taking me to dinner?"

"As soon as Anderson lets me off the streets."

"Shit, Jimmy, I'll be an old maid by then."

Jim grinned despite his concern. "You're killing me here, Liebowitz."

"Well, since this apparently isn't a social call, what can I do for you?"

"I need to know about a perp brought in today. A kid, named Blair Sandburg. Small. Long curly brown hair."

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, but no perps have been brought in today."

Jim closed his eyes in frustration. "He just called me, not two minutes ago."

"Wait a minute. Are you talking about a waif who looks about 15? Big blue eyes? Exotic looking?"

"Yeah, that's him."

"Sugar, he ain't a perp. He's a vic."

"What? Is he okay? Has he been harmed?"

"Calm down, Jimmy. Calm down. Yeah, he's okay. His car got stolen. A uniform brought him in to get his statement and to check him out because he thought the kid might be a runaway, but he came up clean. He may look like he's 15, but he's actually 19."

"Frannie, Blair's one of my kids. I'm coming down to pick him up. He doesn't know I'm a cop, so can you pass the word not to expose me?"

"Sure thing, Sugar."

Jim set the phone down and closed his eyes in relief, still surprised by the panic which had raced through him when he thought the kid had been harmed.

"So what's the story with this one, Jimmy?" Roberto asked after watching his friend's reactions.

"His name is Blair Sandburg. Although he's only told me his first name so far. I had to talk to his landlord to get the scoop on him. He's apparently some sort of child genius. Started at Rainier when he was 16. Got his undergrad last year and is currently working on his Masters. He has a mother, but has no idea where she is at the moment. He's living in one of the warehouses off the main strip."

"So why the special interest if he's not a minor?"

Jim paused, not sure how to answer the question. Finally, he looked up and held his friend's gaze. "You ever meet a lost soul, Bobby? A soul so pure it made your eyes ache?"

"Can't say that I have, bro."

"Everything is going against this kid and yet he's out there ... trying ... doing the right thing. If someone like Carlos or one of the other pimps got a hold of him, we could lose him -- and we can't afford to lose another innocent."

Roberto laid his hand on Jim's shoulder. "Then you better go to him, my friend. Don't worry about Anderson. I'll tell him something came up and that you'll be in sometime tomorrow."

"Thanks, Bobby." Jim smiled as he threw his plastic departmental badge into his desk drawer. "I owe you one."

"No problemo."

November 14th, 3:30 p.m.

"Blair?" Jim squatted next to the figure huddled on a plastic chair in the theft reception area. "Are you okay?" he asked, startled when he noted the pale, haunted features of the young man.

"They took it, Jim."

"Your car?" the older man asked as he gently gripped Blair's arms and raised him to his feet, guiding him to the elevator.

"Well, that too. I can't imagine they're going to get any money out of that though. No, they took the book."

"What book?"

"The one Eli gave to me."

"Who's Eli?" Jim asked as he punched the button for the main lobby.

"Eli Stoddard. My mentor. He gave it to me to let me know he believed in me and my research. It's everything ... just everything ..." the boy's breath hitched, although he refused to cry.

Jim hesitated for only a moment before pulling the younger man into a hard hug. "C'mon, Chief. Let's get you home."

November 14th, 4:00 p.m.

Jim guided Blair to the ratty sofa in his living area and gently pushed him down onto it before he went into the kitchen and put the kettle on for tea.

"They'll just throw it away," Blair said, wrapping his arms around his chest and rocking back and forth. "They won't understand its significance."

"Will it cost much to replace?"

Blair's head shot up as he pinned the older man with a grief-stricken gaze. "It's priceless, Jim. It's a monograph by Sir Richard Burton, the explorer, not the actor. It's over 100 years old."

"What's it about?"

"It's about sentinels."

"What's a sentinel?"

"Burton theorized that in all tribal cultures every village had what Burton named a sentinel, someone who patrolled the border."

"You mean a scout?"

"No, more like a watchman. This sentinel would watch for approaching enemies, change in the weather, and movement of game. Tribe survival depended on him."

"So what made sentinels so important"

"You see, a sentinel was chosen because of a genetic advantage. A sensory awareness which could be developed beyond normal humans. These senses were usually honed by solitary time spent in the wild. At first Burton's monograph was disputed and now it's basically forgotten. I mean, there are certain manifestations today of maybe one or two hyperactive senses, like taste and smell. You know, like people who work for coffee and perfume companies. In Vietnam, the Army long-range recon units that had to --

"Change their diet to fish and rice because a Cong scout could smell a Westerner by his waste," Jim finished, looking impressed.

"Right, right, exactly. I've got hundreds of documented cases of one or two, even three, hyperactive senses but not one single subject with all five. I was seriously considering changing my thesis, but Eli gave me this book called "The Sentinels of Paraguay" and told me to go ahead and write my Master's paper on the research I have. He's trying to hook me up with Charles Philmont, who's an anthropologist currently in Paraguay to see if I can spend some time down there with him talking to the tribal elders. Don't you see, Jim? He was telling me he believed in me. He was telling me ... he was ..." Blair covered his face with both of his hands, his body shaking.

Jim turned the heat off under the kettle and scooped the young man off the couch and gently laid him in the center of his bed. Quietly and efficiently, he removed the boy's shoes, then laid next to him, gathering him up and holding him tightly in his arms. "We'll get the book back, Blair. I promise you, somehow, we'll get the book back."

December 24th, 9:30 p.m.

"Yo, Jimmy. Merry Christmas."

"Hey Pro. I thought you were going to your sister's for Christmas?"

"I am. In fact, I'm on the way to the airport now, but Frannie wanted me to give you a package. I think she's sweet on you, Jimmy-boy."

Ellison frowned as he took in the large book-shaped package. "I heard Frannie was dating Smythe in Forensic Science."

"Maybe she's got a soft spot for you," Stan teased as he waggled his eyebrows. "So, you got any plans for the holidays?"

"The girls are fixing me dinner tomorrow."

"How many do you have left?"

"Just three: Anna, Roxanne and Joy. They said they have some sort of surprise for me."

Stan leered and Jim rolled his eyes, knowing his friend didn't mean anything by the gesture.

"Say hello to your sister for me, Stanley. Remember, next time she's in Cascade, I want to meet her."

"Sure thing, Jimmy. You take it easy now. You hear?"

"Merry Christmas, Pro."

"Merry Christmas, Ellison."

December 25th, 10:00 a.m.

Jim stamped his feet on the metal stairway and knocked on the warehouse door, praying that Blair wouldn't answer it, praying the kid had somewhere to go over the holidays. He knocked again louder, just in case the boy was sleeping. After a few moments, he breathed a sigh of relief and started to turn, but stopped, his heart sinking as he heard the door squeak open behind him.

"Jim?" came the startled murmur. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to wish you a Merry Christmas, Chief."

The boy's smile almost blinded him before he shut the door to unhook all the chains. "Umm ... you do realize I'm Jewish, don't you, Jim?" Blair grinned as he quickly pulled his friend in from the cold before slamming the door shut again.

"Well, Happy Chanukah then." Jim smiled as he handed the boy a gaily wrapped package.

Blair blinked in stunned amazement. Jim laughed as he guided the young man to the sofa.

"I ... I don't know what to say."

"Don't say anything. Just open it up."

"But I didn't ... I didn't."

"Just open it, kid."

Blair blinked at him again, then very gently, as if afraid to rip the paper, unwrapped the package. His breath caught as he glimpsed the title of the ancient book in his lap.

"H-h-how?"

"I have a friend who's a cop. They raided a chopshop last week and she remembered my inquiring after the book, so she gave me a call."

"Jim. I ... I ..." the boy said, trying to form a coherent thought. Reverently, he placed the book on his rickety coffee table, before launching himself at the older man. Straddling his lap, he wrapped his arms around Jim and held him tight. "Thank you, Jim. Thank you. Thank you."

"Shhh, don't cry, Chief. I didn't mean to make you cry," Jim crooned softly as he rocked the younger man back and forth.

"No one's ever ... no one ..."

Jim leaned back and looked up into the face above him. "Their loss." His hands gently pushed the loose tendrils out of the boy's face as he smiled tenderly up at the younger man.

"I love you," Blair whispered.

Jim closed his eyes briefly, knowing he shouldn't say anything, knowing how vulnerable the young man was, but couldn't not speak his heart. "I know. I love you too."

Blair leaned down slowly and Jim realized the boy was going to kiss him. A part of him said he should stop the young man before anything happened; however, another part knew how his rejection would affect the student. He stretched forward, brushing his lips over the boys'. Blair gasped quietly as his fingers clenched briefly into his shoulder's then raised them to tenderly cup Jim's face as he deepened the kiss. Jim moaned, plundering the warm mouth above him.

After a moment, when the need to breathe became imperative, Jim stood, chuckling as the boy wrapped his legs around his waist and carried the student to the bed. Gently kissing him again, Jim sat on the bed, and turned the boy until he was spooned with his back against Jim's chest, his head resting under Jim's chin.

"Happy Chanukah, Blair."

"Merry Christmas, Jim."

January 1st, 10:30 p.m.

"Jim?" Blair blinked in surprise as he opened the door.

"Are you okay, Chief?" Jim asked as he stepped inside the warehouse.

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" the student asked quietly as he locked the door behind his friend, never making eye contact.

"Well, I haven't heard from you all day."

The boy nodded. "I know."

"Have I done something to make you mad?" Jim asked, truly confused.

"No. Nothing like that," Blair hastened to reassure him, his hand reaching out and resting on Jim's chest.

"Then what?"

"I ... I ... got the grant to go Paraguay."

"Congratulations," Jim whooped as he picked the boy up and spun him around before bringing him in for a solid hug.

Blair laughed as he returned the hug. He looked shyly at the older man, a look of sadness slowly replacing the joy.

"What's wrong, Chief?"

"I ... I leave ... in 2 days."

The smile slowly faded from Jim's face. "Were you going to tell me?"

"Yes, Jim. I swear I was. I just ... I just ... I ..." he stammered, then threw himself in the older man's arms. "What am I going to do without you?"

Jim held the young man tightly, his hands gently stroking the boy's curls. "Shhh. You're going to find yourself a sentinel and become a bigwig in the anthropology world."

The boy hiccuped, pulling back to look up into his friend's face. "Stay with me until I go."

Jim's throat tightened with emotions he couldn't identify as he pulled the boy back into his arms, knowing 48 hours would go by in a blink of an eye.

January 3rd, 9:00 a.m.
TWA, Gate 12

"They just called my row," Blair said quietly to the two men accompanying him.

"Knock 'em dead, kid," Stanley Prosinik grinned brightly, reaching out his hand and giving the student a firm handshake.

"Thank you, Pro."

"I'll ... uh ... I'll just ... I ... uh ... gotta take a leak. Meet you in a few, Jimmy."

However, Blair's hand tightened slightly around the detective's hand. "You'll watch after Jim?"

"Guaranteed, kid. Guaranteed." The cop patted his hand before leaving to give the two some privacy.

"I guess this is it, huh?" Blair whispered, unable to meet his friend's gaze.

"I guess so," Jim said just as quietly.

"I wish we had made lo--"

"No, you don't. It would've only made today harder." Jim smiled tenderly as he lifted the student's chin with his fingers.

"I love you," Blair whispered.

"I love you too, Chief."

"Will you be here when I return?"

"I seriously doubt it."

Tears filled the boy's eyes, but did not spill down his cheeks. "Thank you for being here when I really needed someone. I think ... I think you might have saved my life."

"The same goes for me, kid. I needed to be needed. Thank you for giving me that," he whispered as he brushed his lips tenderly over Blair's. Releasing the boy's chin, he reached in to his back pocket and handed him a small wallet.

"What's this?"

"Traveler's checks."

Blair opened the wallet, swallowed hard and protested, "I can't take this, Jim. There's got to be at least--"

"$650."

"What? I - I -"

"It's the money you paid me, Chief."

"But ... but --"

"Blair. I'm not a prostitute or a pimp."

The boy's face turned scarlet red. "But --"

"I know I led you to believe that, but I don't need the money. It was just a convenient excuse to see you ... until ... I ... needed you just as much."

"That's why you wouldn't take the money anymore?"

Jim nodded.

Blair threw back his head and burst into laughter. "God, I love you."

"I love you too, kid. Now go out into that world and make me proud. Keep your eyes open and your back to the wall or tree or whatever's closest in Paraguay."

They embraced one more time before Jim pushed him toward the causeway.

"Don't forget me, Jim."

"I won't, kid. And you think kindly of me from time to time. Okay?"

"I will. Trust me, I will. If you ever need anything, Jim, anything, you find me and I'll be there for you." With that, he turned and disappeared into the ramp leading to the plane.

Jim stood at the large plate glass window, watching the plane taxi onto the runway.

"So did you tell the kid you were a cop?" Prosinik asked quietly, returning to his side.

"No. I didn't see the point."

"You think you'll ever see him again?"

"Doubtful."

"You did good with that one, Jimmy. He'll go far. Just like your girls."

"Yeah, I'm pretty proud of them all."

"So the girls are moving uptown, getting an apartment together, working temp jobs and going to school?"

"Yep. Teamwork."

"So you got them all out?"

"Everyone, except Julia."

"You can't beat yourself up over the losses, Jimmy. You gotta stand by what you've done. You got seven girls off the streets and how many kids?"

"22."

"Including the kid?"

"No, Blair was special," he whispered as he watch the plane soar into the air.

"Yeah, he made life bearable for you. I can tell."

"That he did," Jim agreed as he turned and starting walking down the concourse towards the parking lot.

"Did you ever ..." the older detective asked as he shrugged his shoulders and cocked his head, " ... you know."

"No, we never ... you know."

"You're a better man than I am, Jimmy."

"Don't you forget it either, Pro," Jim Ellison laughed as they went in search for his truck.

August 14th, 3:00 p.m.

"Ellison, my office! Now!" Simon Banks waited as patiently as possible while his newest detective sauntered into his office. "I want to know what the hell went on out there this morning!"

"I'm not sure what you're referring to, sir."

"No? Then let me enlighten you. A high-speed car chase through the middle of downtown at the height of rush hour causing three traffic accidents. Four cars totaled, including the suspect's car. Does that ring any bells, Detective?"

Jim shrugged. "The perp was apprehended and taken off the street, sir."

"Yeah? At what cost?! Do you ever think about what you do?! "

"Normally, sir, I just do it. "

Simon opened the door and yelled out into the Major Crimes bullpen. " Pendergrast, in my office! " Turning to face Ellison again, he took a deep breath and sighed. "All right. Here's the bottom line, Jim -- I may be new to this department, but if you think I'm a pushover, you've got another think coming. I'm sorry it took longer to get you out of Vice than I had hoped. I know Anderson kept you under months longer than he should have. I know Prosinik's death hit you hard and you've been Vice's hotshot ever since, but around here, you're just part of my dog team! Is that clear?"

Jack Pendegrast strolled into the Captain's office. "Hey, Cap."

"Hiya, Jack. Jim, this is your new partner, Jack Pendergrast."

Jim barely glanced at the older man. "Partner, sir? Or baby-sitter?"

Simon sighed. "Whatever. As of now, you're on probation. You screw up one more time, you'll wish you were back in Vice. I'm willing to give you a chance here, son, but my patience is about used up."

"Is that it, sir?"

"Get to work."

FOUR YEARS LATER.

Jim Ellison walked wearily into his boss' office, looking fatigued and at the end of his rope.

Carolyn, his ex-wife, grinned nastily at him as she left the Captain's office. "Whoa! Staked out in a dumpster all night, Jimmy?"

Jim closed his eyes, wondering briefly how their marriage had lasted as long as it did.

"All right, Jim, what's going on?" Simon asked quietly as he poured a cup a coffee and handed it to his best detective.

"I need a leave of absence."

"Are you nuts?"

"I don't know. Maybe," Jim sighed as he plopped down in one of the Captain's chairs. "I ran a blood test to see if I'd been drugged, but I'm clean."

"Hey, slow down. What drugs?"

"How else can I explain what happened to me out there, Simon? I fell off the back of that bike because I was seeing things. "

"Look, you were stressed, okay? You heard something. You smelled some fumes. You got dizzy. You fell off the bike. What, now you want a vacation? Come on. Is this the guy that toughed it out in the jungle for a year and a half? Take a shower, get some aspirin, and go back to work. 'Cause right now the only thing I want more than my divorce papers is an arrest."

"This isn't a joke, Simon. I lost the prime suspect and I don't even know how."

"Guilt's a good motivator, but don't take more than your share. Air support lost him in the trees. The road block didn't snag him either. All right, look, you can take the afternoon off. See a couple of specialists if that'll make you feel any better. But that's all the slack I can cut you, Jim."

"Well, that's not enough. I'm losing control of my senses, Simon. I don't know how else to describe it. It's scaring the hell out of me."

"All right, so let me get this straight. This is all about you being scared?"

"Yep."

"So the Switchman psyched you out. After everything you've been through. After surviving Vice and the loss of two partners, you're just going to fold and run?"

"All I know is I can't do my job this way. So either you grant me a leave or I'll take one."

"Go get the tests done, Jim, then come back with the results and we'll discuss them. I'm not willing to lose you just yet."

Jim Ellison closed his eyes before he stood up. "All right, sir."

LATER THAT SAME AFTERNOON

Jim Ellison slowly got dressed, feeling a level of despair he hadn't felt since Jack died. He could hear nurses talking at the end of the hall, could practically taste the disinfectant which permeated the building, could smell the cravat of coffee from the nurses station as if it were sitting next to him. There was no doubt about it, he was slowly losing his mind.

A young man came in and introduced himself with a brilliant grin. "Detective Ellison, I'm Dr. McKay."

"Your name tag says McCoy."

"Um ... yeah, but the correct Gaelic pronunciation of my family name is McKay."

"Do you have the results?"

"Of?"

"The tests?" Jim sighed in exasperation.

The young man in front of him bounced. "Forget the tests. You don't need medicine. You need information."

"What are you? An intern? Go get the doctor for me, will you, please?"

"Now just wait a second. Hear me out here. You're hearing loud noises that shouldn't be loud, right? Smelling things that no one else can smell, getting weird visuals, tastebuds off the map, am I right?

"That's all in my chart."

"Yeah, but I bet I can add one more thing. A hyperactive tactile response."

"A what?"

"Extra sensitive touchy-feely lately?"

"That's none of your business. Who the hell are you anyway?"

"You're too far ahead of the curve for any of this techno trash, man. The doctors here can't help you. They'll want to medicate you. Study you, but they won't understand nor accept what's going on with you."

Jim lost his patience and grabbed the intern by the lapels of his lab coat and slammed him against the door. "Look you little ... you little ... oh my God ... Blair?"

The young man who had been struggling against his grip looked up into the blue eyes of his assailant. Confusion briefly clouded his features, then cleared. "Jim? You never said you were a cop."

"And you never told me you went around impersonating doctors. What in the hell are you doing here?" he asked as he released his hold and stepped back from the younger man.

"A nurse I've been tutoring faxed me over your records," the young man said as he paced in front of the detective. Stopping suddenly, he stared at the older man. "Jim, don't you remember what my master thesis was about?"

Jim's face screwed up as he tried to remember. "You were studying some sort of tribal guardian as I recall."

"Yes. Sentinels; warriors with five heightened senses."

"Are you saying I'm some sort of caveman?"

"Do I look like an idiot?" Blair shot back with a grin.

The anger drained from the detective as a small spark of hope caught within his chest. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Trust me. Let me help you like you helped me all those years ago. Please," the pseudo-doctor said as held out his hand.

Taking the offered hand, Jim slowly pulled the younger man into a warm embrace and said with a shy smile, "You know, I haven't had a good night's sleep since you left."

"I think ... I think I can help on that front too," Blair said as he pulled back and smiled tenderly at the detective. "This is going to be the start of something beautiful, man."

"It's not the start, Blair."

"Then it's a continuation of what was meant to be all along."

Detective James Ellison smiled for the first time in days as he realized everything was, indeed, going to be okay.

~End~