Author's notes in part one.

Coming Home -- Part Three

I wake to the sound of snoring. It's hard to get my eyes to open, the fatigue I feel is acting like a glue, keeping my eyes shut and my body caught in stasis. I lift a hand that feels as heavy as a sandbag, to my head. Which hurts like it got whacked with a sandbag. My hand encounters the source of the snoring and I realize that Jim has fallen asleep lying across me. I want to touch him but I don't dare. Wherever his body touches mine there is a comfortable warmth and the weight of him anchors me.

It's early morning, the sky just beginning to throw off the blanket of darkness. I don't know what I should do. Wake Jim? Let him sleep? The decision is taken out of my hands when Jim snorts and jerks awake. Sitting up, he's clearly disorientated, looking around confusedly.

"Wha? What?" His hands tighten convulsively around my arms, assuring himself, I think, that I'm here.

"You all right, Chief?" His eyes come into focus on me and he seems reassured. Although he looks like hell, Jim gets to his feet in one fluid motion. To me it looks like we are in the middle of nowhere, but Jim slowly scans to the east and seems satisfied with our position.

"Not too long now and we'll be able to make anchor in Gray's Harbor."

He hands me a half bottle of water. "That's just about all the water that's left. Drink some, we should be on land in an hour or so."

I take a sip and recap it. Sleeping helped, I think, though my head still feels backed with cotton and my back hurts. I get up off the chair where I spent most of yesterday, not in one fluid motion. Stumbling to the rail, I join Jim, who's had the same idea. The sound of our pee hitting the water goes on for so long it starts to get funny. I look over to Jim and he grins at me. I smile back, happy he's not mad at me.

"We'll get into Gray's Harbor and call Simon, call the Feds, call the local cops, call in the fucking cavalry, hand over these assholes and go home."

"Can't wait, man. Home sounds real good right now. Hot shower, hot food, and heat..."

"Sleep. Clean underwear. "

"Vegetables."

"The sound of you asleep downstairs."

That shuts me up.

I busy myself looking at the map, although I have no idea how to read it. When he thinks of home, he thinks of me. Home, not work, or using his senses. Maybe Jason was wrong after all. Maybe I'm not a problem Jim has to put up with in order to function.

Jason said a lot of things to me, reminding me of what I am and what I was born to be. Am I that and only that? There must be some part of me that is for me, that has a purpose outside of being a guide. I hear Jason's voice, his words in Russian.

"Would God have made Sentinels, made them so extraordinary, given them so many gifts, if he didn't love them best? And in loving them so, of course God would make them a guide for their use. A guide who would fulfill his own destiny by following the destiny of his Sentinel. Follow him, protect him, enable him to protect the tribe, obey him."

"Stay in the truck, Chief." And I waited.

Hold up. Jim. Jim had said that to me, to Blair.

Had God given me to Jim or to Jason? Which one was I meant for?

Jim had been furious with me for going to Jason on the island without his permission. He made it clear my life is not my own to risk, that I have no right to make a decision like that.

I understand, I do, but I had to do something. Jim was so out of it and Jason was sure to track us down once it was daylight again. Maybe it wasn't the best plan, but it worked.

I remember smashing the rock on Jason's head. It had felt great that first time. The plan was working, Jim would be safe. The second time I hit him, I felt sick. I was hitting a Sentinel. I was hitting a human being. I might be killing him. I'd dropped the rock, shocked at the blood on it.

Jim saw me do it. Saw me violent and out of control, out of his control. It's no wonder he'd been so appalled at what I'd done. I'd taken what belonged to him --Blair's life-- and risked it. And in the process, showed I lacked faith in Jim's ability to handle the situation.

Jim takes the map out of my hands and studies it for himself. He seems to understand the maritime symbols and dashes and it doesn't take him long before he hands it back and takes the wheel. Jim's map reading proves dead on and we soon see land. It's not much more than an hour later when we pull into Gray's Harbor.

Jumping off the boat, he motions to me to follow and in short order he's arranged for the boat to stay in a temporary slip, called Simon, the Feds, the local police. We drink vending machine coffee and eat candy bars, waiting for someone to come and take those....people away. And then we'll go home.

Not home after all. After the Feds make the scene, Jim insists on having the burn checked out. I'm okay with that because he still has a bullet in his leg. He's not at all happy when I mention that to the doctors in the ER. We're both surprised when they pronounce that his leg is healing fine, bullet and all. Me they're less sanguine about. The brand is infected. They tsk tsk my lousy hygiene and give me a prescription for Cipro and Vicodan. They put a stitch in my lip.

I can't wait until there's a bed under me. All the sharp edges keep blurring and then snapping back into place. I hold myself steady, the last thing I want is to be stuck in a hospital bed in Gray's Harbor.

I want to go home. Jim gets the prescriptions for us filled and leads me back outside. Simon insisted he would come himself to pick us up and now we wait. The bench sits facing the sun and I try to soak in the heat. We're silent, the energy it would take to converse is more than we have to spare right now.

The kid's just about done in. Almost insisted they admit him but I can't contain my uneasiness here. I need to get back to a defendable space. I watched the Feds haul Jason away, but somehow that's failed to put my mind at rest.

I must be really out of it myself, because I just barely catch Sandburg before he takes a header right off the bench onto the sidewalk. I snag his jacket and pull him back up. He doesn't wake. I settle him against me and hold him close with my arm across his chest. I find myself relaxing to the motion of my arm rising and falling with each breath Blair takes.

An hour later Simon screeches to a halt in front of us. He gets out, slamming the door. "Jim!" I wince at the volume and tighten my grip on Blair. He doesn't stir.

Simon notices then that Blair's asleep and mouths, "Sorry."

"It's all right. Don't think much could wake him at this point." Simon helps me get Blair up and into the back seat and I get in next to him. It'll make it a little harder to fill Simon in but I'm not letting go at this point.

"What's wrong with him? For that matter, what's wrong with you? You look like hell."

"Well, I feel like hell, so the illustrations match the text." I try and stretch my legs diagonally and take some of the pressure off my thigh.

The doc said it would do more damage to dig the damn bullet out and I believe him, but it pains me to carry Jason's calling card with me. I look down at Blair's head on my chest. I feel the wet spot forming on my shirt from Blair's drooling. Who would of thought something like that would have the power to comfort?

"Blair got an infection and I got shot, among other things. Mostly he's just exhausted." I find myself unwilling to tell about the brand or what happened on that boat.

"The Feds got Jason and Joyce and two others. I'm hoping they manage to keep them this time."

Simon looks at me through the rear-view mirror. All I see are his eyes and he's looking at me with an intensity that makes me uncomfortable.

"You know you had us all worried? My God, the two of you just disappeared again without a trace. Your cars were still there, your gun was on the table...I don't mind saying these have been some of the longest days of my life."

I see the fatigue in Simon's face and I feel warmed knowing I have someone to watch our backs. And bring us home. The ride is shortened by sleep overtaking me.

Simon gently shakes me awake. Blair is waking also, his arms tighten around me. He opens his eyes and looks up at me, blinking and wetting his lips. I think he dehydrated himself by drooling so much. His eyes have the unfocussed fog of fever reflected in them and I push his limp, sweaty hair away from his face.

"Have a good sleep?" I ask him as I try to get him upright without hurting his back.

"Hmm. Ga... yass..." His eyes may be open but I don't think his brain has plugged in yet. He sits up and slowly straightens from a slump. When he realizes we're home, his eyes open wide.

"Come on, Chief, let's get inside." Blair nods and it's not long before we're back in the loft. It's been less than a week since we were taken but it feels like months.

"Sit before you fall flat on your faces." Simon picks up the phone and dials Wang Chun's, placing a delivery order that makes my mouth water.

"You want to take a shower, Chief?"

Blair takes a deep breath, and grimaces. "Man, I hope you've had smell turned down. I think for your sake I'd better go first." He beelines to the bathroom and soon I hear the sound of the shower and Blair's hiss as the water hits the brand. The water stops in time to insure they'll be some hot left for me. He's in there long enough to worry me but before I take action, the bathroom doors opens and Blair shambles out. Steam billows behind him.

"Your turn." He calls to me and goes to get dressed. After I shower, we eat and fill Simon in on our week away.

"I can't believe the Feds turned them loose. For the love of God, those people have money, international contacts and a total disregard for any government. Why kind of judge would grant bail?"

"The bribable kind, I'd say." I throw my napkin down.

Blair looks like he could nod off sitting up.

Simon tunes in and gets up, "Time for me to get out of here so you guys can sleep in your own beds."

After Simon leaves I go around turning off lights and locking up. Blair stays at the table making no move to go to bed.

I should put antibiotic on Blair's back. My gut clenches at the task. The design is starting to become more apparent. The lines that define it are still blackened, the red around it indicating infection.

I clear my throat. "I need to get this stuff on your back, Blair."

Blair looks up, his weariness making the task difficult.

"No, s'all right. I can do it."

He puts out his hand for the tube, and I wonder if he could read my reluctance. I give him the tube, glad to be released from the task.

Blair takes it and stands up, swaying before he locks his knees.

"Goodnight, Jim."

"Goodnight, Chief."

I turn off the lights, soothed by the glow that comes in from the street. The utter darkness of the ocean added to my primal fear of the infinity of the water. It's good to be on land again.

Looking out the window, I see cars moving along, a stray tom making his rounds, a man walking his dog. The ordinariness of it all feels surreal. I can tell Blair has yet to fall asleep though nothing should be able to keep him conscious. I long for sleep and the oblivion of sleep. I know it's not to be. Not for awhile.

Waking, everything feels wrong and I push off the bed and look around, trying to figure out what's spooking me. The room is stable where I had become used to the sway of the boat. Not much light penetrates my room, but the light that I'm seeing is wrong. Wrong color, wrong intensity. I look at the clock, my God, It's four in the afternoon. Can that be possible?

I stumble out of my room, not bothering with a robe. Jim's asleep on the couch. He's still dressed from last night and he looks as if he just flung himself down and fell asleep. There's no pillow, no blanket; his shoes are still on. Heading for the bathroom, I figure I'll use it before he wakes. If he's in the same shape as I am when he comes to, his bladder will be ready to burst. That pressure relieved, I go back to Jim and give him a nudge.

"Jim?"

He bats my hand away and curls in towards the back of the couch. I give up and go to make coffee, knowing that the smell of fresh brewed caffeine will lure him from the depths. As predicted, by the time the pot is half filled with the brown liquid, I hear Jim's voice.

"Sandburg? What the hell time is it?"

"It's 4:20, Jim." I'm struck by how odd it is to have a normal exchange of information after all we've been through.

"4:20 a.m. or 4:20 p.m.?" His voice sounds socked in with fog. He must be really out of it to ask that question.

"Afternoon."

I come in with a cup of coffee and see why he asked. He hasn't opened his eyes yet. He sits, his head thrown back on the cushions. I waft the coffee under his nose and he blindly reaches out for it, zeroing in on it with uncanny accuracy.

"Ah....good." He slurps it greedily and I go back to get mine.

I sit across from Jim. He looks rumpled and haggard and he still hasn't opened his eyes.

"You slept in your clothes."

"Yeah."

"And your shoes."

"Yeah."

"On the couch."

"Yes, all that seems to be true." He opens his eyes.

"Why?"

He looks out the window and then lets his eyes roam around the Loft, finally coming back to me.

"Didn't feel safe. Still don't feel safe. I should have killed that son of a bitch when I had the chance." The fog in his voice has lifted, replaced with graveled anguish.

"He's in custody."

"He was in custody before."

"But this time he kidnapped and shot a cop. They'll never grant bail, Jim."

"If the system works. But that's not all." He looks down at the empty coffee cup in his hands.

Before he can get into that the phone rings. Jim reaches over and gets it.

"Ellison."

"Afternoon to you, too, sir."

"No, we didn't forget, we slept late."

"Yeah, this late."

"I appreciate it, Simon. See you tomorrow."

He hangs up the phone.

"Simon." He tells me unnecessarily. "A little worried and ticked that we didn't come in to do paperwork."

Standing up, Jim says, "I'm going to shower and get dressed."

I watch him walk to the bathroom, a residual sway from the boat in his walk.

Right now, the idea of crawling back into bed and pulling the covers up sounds good. Jim's mood has obliterated any sense of well being I had at being back home. As my anxiety increases, I feel the brand start to pulse and ache. I need the pain meds we picked up yesterday. I pop a couple and rinse them down with the cold coffee.

Dressed, I feel a little more armored against whatever might come next. Jim comes down from upstairs with an armful of dirty clothes.

"You got any to add to this?"

I guess doing the laundry makes some kind of Ellison sense.

"Yeah, just a sec, I'll get them and go with you." By the time I'm out of my room with my armload, Jim's loaded the supplies into the laundry basket.

Coming out of the building, the air feels heavy with rain unspilled. I look up at the gray sky, comforted by the feeling of the clouds being so close. I start a mental to do list in my head.

I need to call Mr. Lee, explain and hope I still have a job. We never got to do the tests with the perfume; I need to think them through. Stopping by Mr. Lee's would make sense, as we need groceries. I'm so absorbed in my thoughts I don't notice that Jim's not next to me anymore. I look back and a neon sign has transfixed him. He stands staring up at the blinking letters.

It's on the Comedy Club that sits on the corner of Prospect and Nile. I look up, trying to see what he finds so interesting and gasp. When fully functional, the sign reads ERIK JACKSON"S COMEDY CLUB. Now, with several letters burned out and a few flickering with the last of dying gas, it reads: ERIK JA SON'S COME C UB. I tug on Jim's sleeve. He jerks away with a snarl.

"You okay, man?"

Jim looks at me, his eyes narrowed and assessing. There is something alien in the way he's looking at me and I involuntarily step back. That seems to be the wrong thing to do because Jim drops the basket and makes a sound close to a growl. Latching unto my arm, he pulls me into the alley we passed a moment ago and shoves me against the wall with enough force to knock the air out of my lungs.

"Jim!" I say it halfway between a scream and a whimper.

"You're his." Jim grates out and puts his arm across my windpipe.

"N-n-no. I'm not." I barely get the words out but I trust Jim can hear me. He pulls me away from the wall, spins me around, and shoves me back against the wall. Jerking my jacket off my shoulder, he tries to rip the shirt but all he's accomplishes is my strangulation. I reach up and undo the buttons, sickened by his thinking. He yanks my shirt off.

"You're marked as his." He puts his palm on it and it sends a flare of pain through me, making my knees sag. Jim keeps me from going down with his knee between my legs and pulls my shirt and jacket back on.

"N-no." I want to scream my denial, but I only manage a whisper.

Jim lets go of me and I fall to the pavement, where I stay on my hands and knees, listening as he walks away. Slowly I sit back on my heels. The alley, pocked with shadows, is deserted, no one here to witness the end.

Getting up, I straighten and button my shirt, knock the dirt and bits of garbage from my knees. I stand there wondering what I should do, what's left to do? I stand there for a long time, no answer coming to me. To be honest, I'm hoping Jim will appear and wake me up. When the darkness is so complete there are no more shadows in the alley, I move. I move deeper into the empty, concrete hallway.

The noise ...Pounding in my head, pounding, outside my head. Eyes open. Floor? Pounding, yelling. Up, stagger...yank open. Simon.

"What happened?"

"Wha d'ya mean, wha happen'?" Bright daylight. What? How?

I yell, "Blair?" Silence.

Simon, loud. "What happened? It's 3:00 and you were due into the station at 8. I've been calling on and off since 8:30."

"Call?" Think. Think. Can't. Hurts. Where? No.

Hospital. Tests. Nothing. Nothing but pain. Gotta go, find Blair. Out. Out. NO! ...stop... don't....let me....GO...

When I come to, the first thing I see is Simon, sitting with his head in his hands. The room is dark and quiet. Oh God, what happened? I try to sit up and Simon looks up, a world of weariness in his face. He stands and gently pushes me back down.

"Jim? Can you talk?"

I mean to say yes, of course I can talk but all I manage is a nod. I'm hooked up to an IV. I feel each drop as it hits my vein and spreads through my system. Some sort of narcotic and tranquilizer, I suspect.

Finally, my tongue obeys. "Blair?"

"Still missing. Can you tell me what happened? There was no sign of forced entry at the loft. They couldn't find anything in the tests, no drugs in your system, no trauma to the brain, no explanation at all for your incoherence."

"Don't know. Don't know what happened." My panic is starting to override the drugs. Why can't I remember?

"How long?" I croak

"You've been sedated for a day. There was nothing else we could do."

"A DAY?" Oh God, I've lost a day.

"Anything?" I know Simon would have said something if there had been.

"No. Jason and Joyce are still locked up. There've been no sightings, no word." Simon looks gray and old. He scrubs at his face.

I pull the IV out, disrupting my pacification, and swing out of bed. Simon hand steadies me.

"You sure about this?" He looks worried but he knows and I know, he doesn't have what it takes to stop me.

"Yeah, sure." The pain is there, but bearable and better yet, I can think.

What the hell happened? My last memory is of walking to the Laundromat. Blair was with me. It was close to 5. Then...?

"Need to do a search on Prospect. By the loft. Last thing I remember."

Simon nods and picks up the phone.

"Come on, let's get the AMA papers signed and get you out of here."

Miriam agrees to see me. There's nothing left to do but hope I'll be able to remember something with her help. She counts down and tells me to remember walking to the Laundromat. I'm there, it's like being there, and Blair is with me, and we're walking. The sun is warm on my face and I marvel at the peacefulness of this street, this scene.

Lights flicker out the corner of my eye and I look to see what it is. Erik Jackson's Club. Been there since I moved in. The neon light that proclaims the name has seen better days. Now it reads: ERIK JA SON"S COME C UB. The letters swim before my eyes and I hear a voice droning in my head.

"Blair Sandburg is Eric Kendall, bound to Jason Rarick in body, mind and soul. He is for the use of the good. You have no claim upon him. He has chosen Jason with mind, body and soul. With all that he is, he has pledged himself to Jason. You have no claim."

The words go shooting through my brain and straight to my gut, which clenches with rage. I hear another voice in my head, tinny and small, trying to pull me back from my anger. It's Ellison's and he seeks to protect the betrayer, seeks to defend. There is no defense against this---this crime. I move to destroy Kendall. Dragging him into the alley, I smash him against the wall.

"Jim!" The traitor pleads.

"You're his."

"N-n-no. I'm not." He whispers it but his denial holds no power. I can prove he has betrayed me. Yanking his jacket down, I can't get to his shoulder. Kendall makes a noise and starts to unbutton his shirt, understanding my purpose. Once he's done, I pull the shirt off to reveal the brand of the hawk.

"You're marked as his." I put my palm on it, hiding it from my eyes, wishing I had the power to erase it. Kendall sags in my arms and I hold him up, pulling his clothes back up, covering the hated symbol. I press my arm against his throat, just a little more pressure and I will crush his larynx, snuffing out Kendall once and for all.

"N-no." It's a plaintive whisper and something inside twists.

I let go of him and he falls to the pavement, where he stays on his hands and knees. I want to kick his ribs in. That damn voice is back. Ellison. Fuck it. I start to pull back my foot and find that I can't. The voice is louder now, telling me to back away from the Guide, telling me to leave the Guide alone. I listen to the voice and retreat, the rage nearly blinding me, filling my head with pain.

"5,4,3,2,1.... you will wake and remember everything." Miriam coaxes me back.

Oh my God. Oh, my God. I fall off the couch to my knees. "Noooo!"

Miriam is at my side. "Jim, it wasn't you. You were programmed. I know you'd never harm Blair."

What the hell is she talking about? Of course it was me, it was the fucking Neanderthal, throwback me, and there's no denying my responsibility here. I almost killed Blair in a territorial rage. I came so close to killing Blair. I threw him away. I walked away. I left him on his hands and knees in the alley and I walked away. A part of me is grateful that I did, that I listened to the voice (MY voice!) and walked away before I hurt him any more. Where is he? Where did he go? Why didn't he go to Simon? To the station? I feel Miriam's hands on my arms, shaking me.

"Jim! Jim! Stop. Please. You aren't going to Blair any good in this state."

I let Miriam push me into a chair. Blair has been alone for two days, two days of thinking that I.... I don't want him. I knew something was wrong with me, knew they'd fucked with my mind, but I still let this happen. I never even warned Blair, I'd meant to. Meant to ask him what he thought and create a way to combat it. I didn't. I put my head in my hands, I can't.... think. What next? What can I do? What will he do? He doesn't remember his friendships, doesn't understand that Simon, or Connor or anyone at Major Crimes would give him a place to stay.

I call Mr. Lee, Tobias and Dr. Panatela. None of them have heard from Blair.

The real Blair had resources, this one doesn't. The real Blair. Perhaps this is as real as Blair will ever be.

The telephone sits on my lap, silent. The loft is dark, as dark as I can make it, and quiet, very quiet. I sit on the couch. I sit. I wait. I've waited all day. Waited as the light crept in and waited while it crept out. The dark doesn't show its passage. Not the way the light did. Even with all the drapes closed, it was still easy to mark the sun's progress. Not so with darkness. It's in full glory tonight, within and without.

I find a hole. It's in a building I stumbled across as I wandered through the night. Kids or looters had broken the window. Crawling through, I land in a heap on the glass-strewn floor. The light from the window doesn't extend far; hard to tell how big a room I'm in. I know come morning, I need to be tucked away. I inch my way into the darkness, hands out, feeling along the rough wall. My hands sting where I landed on the glass. There's a door and I stumble through it, out into the corridor. I keep going, wanting a right angle to lodge in and find it in the next room. When my hands find a juncture, I slide down, pulling my knees to my chest.

Huddling there, I feel the hawk pressing into my shoulder, it feels like it's spreading its malignancy across my back. There's nowhere to hide from it. It stains my blood. Jim...Jim won't have me. I understand that.

I ruthlessly push back a sob. No, I don't, I don't understand. What did I do? What set him off?

I push past my feelings, they are chaotic and useless, and try to think about what happened. We were walking to the Laundromat. He stopped and was looking at a sign. The sign that said my name and Jason's. It had held him in thrall and when he turned to me it was with eyes I'd never seen before.

That wasn't Jim. Jim wouldn't have done that, or said those things. That was no more Jim than I am Blair. We are the goloms The Nation put in place. We inhabit their bodies, moving them, speaking words out of their mouths, saying things we've no right to say. Buying into the relationship that the real ones made, with no currency to back our transactions. The real Jim couldn't be as buried as Blair. The real Jim would fight his way back, and soon and then I would be able to go back home. The real Jim said he accepted me, no matter what. I intend to hold him to that.

When he comes back.

A buzzing calls to me, persistent and annoying. I grope in the darkness and find the phone, dreading the call.

"Ellison."

"Jim?" A voice dull with pain and fear.

It's Blair. It's Blair...

"Blair?"

"Can I come home?" Hopeful, pleading.

"Where are you? I'll come get you."

"I'm-I'm downtown. By the Post Office."

He sounds almost intangible, his voice, husky with exhaustion.

"Stay put. Don't move. I'll be right there."

I ruthlessly shatter the quiet of the late night streets driving to Water Street. It's not far and I pull up to the curb in front of the stately Post Office ten minutes after I got off the phone with Blair. I don't immediately see him and panic wells up. I cast about and see a figure in the corner on the stairs, slowly standing.

"Blair!"

He turns towards me and waits.

I let my senses sweep over him. His heart's beating strong. He's cold, shivering in the damp night air. I smell blood and sweat and old fear. He doesn't make a move to come to me, I don't know if he can. I sprint the thirty feet between and pull him close to me in a hug.

He doesn't resist, rather he melts, and it takes me a moment to realize he's passed out. I hold him for another minute, grateful I've been given another chance to make it right. Lifting him up into my arms, I slowly walk back to the truck. I consider a trip to the ER but his vitals are strong. I'm pretty sure whatever's wrong with him can be dealt with at the loft. And I really want him back home right now.

The ride back is taken at a considerably saner pace, as I keep one eye on Blair and one on the road. I see that he's cut his hands; there's glass imbedded in them. His temperature's up, the antibiotics were interrupted and I'm worried.

Blair never stirs as I tug him out of the truck, back into my arms. Getting through the doors is tricky, his legs bump into the doorframe, jarring him, but not waking him.

The elevator takes us up, stubbornly methodical in its halting progress. My arms ache from the effort to move Blair back to where he belongs.

We enter the loft, still shrouded in the profound darkness in which I left it. I have no problem navigating to the couch, and I lay him down.

Getting my first good look at him, I see his hair is tangled, dirt and cobwebs matting his curls in clumps. He has the solid beginnings of a beard. It fails to hide the hollowness of his cheeks. His jeans are torn and there's glass embedded in his knees and hands. His clothes are damp and the smell of sick sweat clings to him.

Brushing my thumb across his eyebrow, I place my hand on his forehead. Heat. I push off my knees and get the supplies I need to clean the glass out of his hands. Grabbing the pain meds and the ointment, I don't bother with the light. I prefer to use my senses in the service of Blair.

Taking his left hand in mine, I turn it palm up. With the tweezers I pluck the sharp pieces out, glad that Blair is still out. The right hand took most of the glass and it takes me awhile to get all of it. Dabbing antibiotics on both hands, I wrap them in gauze.

Clothes next. I get some clean sweats from his room. Stripping his jeans off, I see how banged up he is, bruises along his hips, scrapes on his knees. Getting his shirt and T-shirt off reveals more bruises along his ribs and back and of course, the brand. It's starting to look like something and I see that it's a bird of some kind. It should be a buzzard but I'm sure that wouldn't fit with their ideas of high purpose. There is a stirring of something dark in me and I hastily put some gauze over the misshapen bird and tape it down.

The darkness ricochets around inside, seeking a handhold. Moving away from Blair, I try to get a handle on it, try to understand it, control it. There's a buzzing building in my head and before it gets any worse, I grab my keys and bolt out of the door, making sure it locks behind me. I stand there, panting, my back against the door and fight the urge to go back in. The darkness hasn't coalesced, so I don't know if I want to go back in and protect Blair or kill him. I can't risk waiting to find out.

Pushing off, I stumble down the stairs and into the dark morning.

I know I'm home even before I open my eyes. The familiar contours of the couch tell me that. I open my eyes and see the loft awash in the soft light of early morning. My hands are bandaged and I'm in clean clothes, though I'm not clean. Jim must be sleeping. I'm tempted to call for him, I need to see him, hear him. Need to know he's all right and that he's well and truly back. I don't want to wake him. I get up, taking a moment to steady myself and head for the bathroom. Being clean will make me more welcome, I'm sure.

Jim's careful bandaging all comes off as I scrub away the grime and dirt that's seeped into every pore. My hands feel stiff and sting under the hot water. Washing my hair is a clumsy undertaking and I'm sure only moderately successful. I run out of energy way before I run out of hot water and have to stop before I'm really clean. At least I've replaced the stench with the smell of soap. I stagger back to the couch, glad I haven't woken Jim and sink back down. Wrapping the blanket around me as best I can, I fall asleep.

When I wake up next, the light has shifted to early afternoon. There is an unnaturalness to the silence and I know Jim's not here.

Not here.

The knowledge brings me to a totally wakeful state. I untangle myself and lurch off the couch, nearly colliding with the coffee table before I catch myself.

I check upstairs, no Jim, I knew that but also no sign that Jim slept here at all and I wonder where he could be, when did he leave, why did he leave? I stumble and half slide down the steps, propelled by a panic that has no intelligence. Where would I begin to look for him and would he even want to see me if I found him?

If he wanted to see me, he would have stayed.

I sit down on the coffee table and try to work out what I should do. When I woke up, I had different clothes on; Jim must have done that. He bandaged my hands. He took care of me. He sounded glad to hear my voice last night.

But he's gone now, without a word.

Something happened, something set him off. If that's the case, I need to get out. What, what...where? I get a drink of water and then another. As I drink the third, I find my shoes and get them on. I scramble out the door, down the steps, out into the bright light of day.

It hurts my eyes, the sharpness of the sun, the saturated blue of the sky. I duck my head down trying to escape from the brilliance of the day. I look for shadows, for some cloak of gray to wrap myself in. I need a place to hide and wait because he will come back. I know he will.

For as long as the night stays dark, I walk along the waterfront. Every time I turn back to the loft, the rage skims along my nerves. As dawn comes up, I find myself miles from home. I know I need to get back there, but that thought brings the obliterating pain in my head. Mixed in with the agony are the voices, each screaming at me, each demanding my allegiance. All I know, all that I can hang onto, is the message to flee, to put distance between me and...whatever that thought is, never gets completed, no matter how many times I have it.

I'm picking myself up from the ground more and more often. The temptation is to go down and stay down but they won't let me. Neither voice likes that option. One is fierce in its desire to go back and kill the defiled guide. The other is equally insistent on keeping the Guide safe and keeping me at a distance.

My vision has narrowed to the space immediately in front of my feet and I'm unprepared when I run into a giant of a man. He's a good four inches taller than me and another fifty pounds. He grabs me and is spinning me around and before I've even orientated myself to the contact, he slaps cuffs on me and starts the drill.

"You have the right to remain silent. Everything you say, can and will be used against you...." I tune him out and battle the noise in my head, hoping to quell it enough to be able to identify myself.

"Ellsomamiandi...i...po-po-da...Im..da..da..." The sounds coming out of my mouth are gibberish, even to my ears and I know what I'm trying to say.

Si-Simmmoon." I wail but the cop ignores me, hauling me to the squad car and maneuvering me in, his hand on top of my head.

I lean back against the polyester of the backseat, trying to connect my brain to my mouth. We end up at the 7th. As I'm moved through the halls, I search for a familiar face. There are none I recognize, though judging by the shock I see, many recognize me.

Plopped down in a chair, my AO starts to ask me the usual.

"Name?"

"J-jj-im..."

"Yeah, Jim, Jim what?" He's patient as I struggle to get my name out.

"Ell--"

"Hey, Ellison! What the fuck is the Detective of the year doing in booking? What'dya do Jimbo? Smash your car into some unsuspecting victim?"

It's Fredrickson, and contrary to my usual reaction, I'm delighted to see him.

"You know this guy? He's a wacko." The officer says it as if he's been on the wacko run a long time.

"Wacko?" Freddy leans in and assesses my appearance.

"What's wrong with you, Ellison?" A little more aggression, a little less good ol' boy charm.

"You on something? Tell me you're not on something."

I know I can't explain anything but I have to try and get Bl---

I scream, the pain spike so intense it takes my sight away for a moment.

"What the fuck? He must be on something. Call the EMT's."

Freddy approaches me cautiously and lifts each eyelid.

"Ellison? Talk to me."

If I could, believe me....

Freddy whips out his cell phone and I hear words that finally give me some hope.

"Give me Captain Banks."

Hospital. Simon. Language starts to come back faster this time, and somehow, through the stuttering, Simon understands. Enough to send Connor to the loft.

I hear her report to Simon that Blair's not there. Oh God, not again. Simon is reluctant to let me leave the hospital before someone can give him answers. When it becomes clear that it will take physical restraint to stop me, he relents and takes me back to the loft.

I see Blair's showered, but he left his socks, why did he leave his socks? And where did he go? Where can he go? Where did he go before? Somewhere with broken glass. That doesn't narrow it down much.

Simon stands there, clearly as lost for a direction to go in as I am.

"C'mon Jim, you online? Let's just start walking, he probably didn't go far."

I nod, it's as good a plan as any and I'm just glad to leave the loft with its encroaching shadows.

As we hit the streets Simon sticks close. After two episodes, it's clear someone needs to be with me at all times. I just want to find Blair and deliver him into Simon's safe hands and then get the hell away from him.

It's dark by the time we find him. He's huddled in the alley where I first assaulted him. He looks up when he hears us approaching and to my surprise, there's no fear in his tired eyes.

I give Simon a little push and he understands. He steps forward. Blair slowly stands up, using the wall behind him. When I see that he's okay, I turn to leave.

"Jim!" His shout is no more than a harsh whisper and it fills my head. It doesn't hurt my head and I realize the voices are staying away, the pain is staying away. I keep going, the rage is unpredictable, and I must get away from him before it comes back.

"Jim?" The baffled tone of his voice almost makes me stop but I don't.

When I hear the scruffling noises behind me, I don't stop.

The sound of Simon grunting almost stops me, but I trust Simon to contain Blair and keep him safe. I shut down, no longer able to bear the sounds of Blair trying to connect with me. The next thing I know, I'm tackled from behind. I hit the pavement hard and twist, just in time to keep Blair's head from banging on the ground.

"Sandburg..." I grip Blair by the shoulders. "What the hell are you thinking?"

I'm scared to have him so close to me, where the hell is Simon? Blair looks bone weary but he has a grip on my arms and he's not letting go.

"I'm dangerous to you right now. You have to let me go." I try to peel Blair's hand off my arm but he's holding me so tight there'll be bruises there tomorrow. Good.

He shakes his head. "No, you're not a danger to me right now, I can tell. You're back."

I don't know how he knows, how he's so clearly separated me from the man who almost killed him.

"I don't know what they did to me and I don't know what triggers it and I don't know how to control it. Until I do I don't want you anywhere near me, Chief."

I see Simon coming our way, limping.

"You have to go with Simon until I figure this out."

There's such anguish in his eyes, I almost relent, but good sense wins out and I give him a hard shove that breaks his hold on me.

"How will you figure this out?"

I shake my head at his quiet question.

"You can't figure this out. Only we can figure this out. You have to stay and let me help you." Blair's hand is out, as if he means to attach to me again, so I move out of his reach.

"Chief, you can't help me solve this problem. You are the problem." He flinches at that and although that's not what I meant to say, if it keeps him away from me, it's all to the good.

"You go with Simon. We'll stay in touch by phone. We'll work this out." I start walking backwards, making sure Blair stays. Simon has his arm around Blair's shoulders. I turn and walk away.

I'm at Simon's, in Daryl's bed. It feels like I've been in Daryl's bed a long time, but I don't know. I'm waiting for Jim to figure it out and if he doesn't, well...I don't know. Every once in awhile Simon comes in and urges me to drink or eat. Sometimes he hauls me out of bed and makes me shower.

For awhile I was sick, the infection I guess. Now the brand itches as it heals. Simon has threatened to handcuff me if I don't stop scratching at it and making it bleed. I've stopped. Not that he would've really handcuffed me. I just realized I can't make it go away. It has taken up residence.

"Blair, don't make me take you to the hospital."

I guess Simon has been talking to me for a while. Focusing, I see that he's brought me food. I sit up and try to think of what to say.

"Thanks, Simon."

I'm not hungry but I've learned not to say that. Simon started by cajoling and ended with the usual threat to take me to the hospital and so now I don't, I don't say anything, just take the food and eat enough to make him leave me alone.

"....soon, Blair and then you'll see..." Simon gives the same speech every day. I try to nod and let him know I'm listening, that I still believe everything he's telling me. He won't leave until I'm done and I try to hurry, try to finish but I can't-I can't, and I'm gagging-Simon pulls me out of bed and into the bathroom, where I vomit for long minutes and Simon is talking, saying what he says when this happens and I say what I say and Simon helps me up. He hands me a cup of water and the toothbrush....

"...shower?" Simon is asking and of course I must.

And the water's on and Simon helps me undress. The look in Simon's eyes is a mixture of affection and exasperation. After all this time, the awkwardness we once felt as he helped with these intimate tasks has dissipated. Water pours down and Simon slaps the bottle of shampoo into my hands. He stands there and only when he's sure I will manage, does he leave. Emerging from the shower I hear Simon on the phone.

"Jim, this is no good, you have to come see the kid."

There's a short silence and then Simon responding with, "I think he needs to be hospitalized to tell you the truth. He's just fading out here and I can't do anything to stop it."

More silence, as Jim says no, he won't be coming. No, he doesn't want to see Blair. No, no, no...

"Look, are you any closer?"

Silence, long silence.

I go in Daryl's room and climb back into bed. The sleep comes almost immediately and I dream. In that fuzzy place, Jim is here, finally.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Sandburg?"

He sits in the desk chair, legs sprawled out in front of him. His face is gray with fatigue and he rubs it as if to come awake. There's no anger in his voice, just exhaustion, maybe fear.

I say nothing; I have nothing to say.

"Blair? Come on, talk to me."

I would, I really would, but what is there to say?

"Sandburg, you have to understand. Come on, talk to me, tell me you understand."

I don't understand. I can't say anything. I hear his voice continuing with his end of the conversation.

I must've drifted off because when I blink my eyes he's gone. I don't remember him leaving. I look, I think about getting up and looking harder, but I don't. I drift off again.

Sandburg is dying.

No, Eric Kendall is dying and he's taking Blair with him. Blair would not die because of this, because of me.

Tobias says we are close to a breakthrough. It's taken him a long time and a lot of mumbo-jumbo to get us this close. If he weren't the only fucking hope, I would've walked away. What can I say, the guy works in mysterious ways. He does something called Reiki and something I call witchcraft. Dr. Panatela has come in and out with his suggestions.

We've done hypnosis, only it's nothing like the kind Miriam practices. Their ways are different in the ways spear fishing is different from netting. Tobias searches for patterns of thinking not individual memories. He roots around in my brain, zeroing in on what he calls "the new patches". When he finds one he blocks it and moves on, searching for more. It's frightening how many "new patches" he finds. We started with the obvious ones, the brand and the sign and we've worked our way from there to the point where he thinks it may be safe to go back.

I'd made up my mind I wouldn't see Blair again until I could be absolutely sure that I wouldn't hurt him, but I can't wait any longer. Blair's state is too fragile. While Tobias was deep into a session of bodywork, I had another one of those dreams, the kind I had when Blair with the Nation. He wouldn't talk to me, maybe couldn't talk to me. He lay in Daryl's bed, his eyes tracking me and then losing me. He's looking less and less like Blair, like all that made him Blair is being leeched away.

He wouldn't talk to me. He didn't look angry. But no matter how hard I tried, he wouldn't connect. It almost seemed like he didn't hear me, like he wasn't truly in the room. I would've stayed and tried all night. But whatever got me there, took me away after a couple of hours, and deposited me back with Tobias.

I sit up from the table, startling Tobias. Usually I am so deeply under during work that it's almost like a zone.

"I have to get to Blair."

Tobias is one in a million. He starts handing me socks and shoes and never asks a single question.

Jim's back. I blink a few times. The early evening light is bright and my eyes water. Someone is with him, not Simon. I should say something. I start to, but Jim puts his hand on my forehead and hushes me. He says something to the man behind him. The man steps forward and swims into focus. Tobias.

"Blair-" He looks at me with raw intensity and then he continues, "Eric."

I turn my head to him.

What can he have to say to me? To Eric? What does anyone have to say to me? Except go away and let Blair come back. I'm trying. I don't know how to disappear, I can only try.

"Eric, listen to me."

Of course I do, I must. I stare at his coffee-colored face and listen.

"Jim didn't want to leave you."

"I know." It's hard to get any words out. "He didn't want to leave Blair." I want Tobias to know I understand, I know Jim wouldn't've left Blair.

I know Jim never felt angry at Blair. I know he would not send Blair away, even if it were for his own good.

"Eric, Eric, look at me." I must have drifted away again, because his voice is sharp, calling me to attention. I obey and turn my head back to look at Tobias.

When he sees he has my attention, he continues. "Eric, in order to use you, the Nation had to convince you that you were Eric and that Eric was a guide with a small g. They created a world in which you were only Eric and only a guide and only for a Sentinel's use."

Tobias surprises me by taking my hand in his and tracing the lines on my palm. "You were born for many things, to be many things. You contain multiple worlds in you. Worlds that include Eric and Blair, that include Blair as a baby, boy, man...scholar, lover, son, friend, Guide. And it contains Eric and all he knows and learned, all that he brings to the world..."

Tobias closes his hand around my hand and pulls me towards him. "And you bring much to this life, much to Jim's life...you have importance aside from Blair."

Looking over to Jim, I try to see how this is playing out with him. He's nodding and smiling. When he sees me looking at him, the smile gets bigger. It's so bright and happy I have to look away. My hand is warm in Tobias' and the warmth spreads from my hand to my arm and then to my chest.

It doesn't seem possible that this could be, that I can be. I shake my head. No, don't do this. I'm almost gone. Don't bring me back with these words, the promise of a place and a reason to stay.

Jim's hand brushes away the tears that have spilled. He's kneeling by the bed and he puts his other hand on my chest.

"Eric Kendall. Blair Sandburg. Bette Midler. The name can change, the memories can come and go, jobs change... hell, I think even your gender could change; but nothing changes your soul. Nothing changes our friendship, or my need to have you in my life."

I expect Jim to look miserable; being forced to make that confession. Words are never his first choice. He didn't sound miserable; he doesn't look miserable. He looks...at me. For the first time I see myself reflected in his eyes. I look harder; it must be the light.

No, it's there, in his eyes. He sees me. He sees I'm Eric and he's not mad. Not disappointed....

"Blair?" I wake up to the sound of my name. There's a yellow cat on the pillow next to my head, meticulously cleaning himself. Tobias stands in the doorway with a cup of tea. Carefully I sit up, trying not to disturb Kaffka from his morning ritual and take the cup from Tobias. He sits down on the bed and looks at me. I busy myself drinking. The mornings are the hardest; the time when I feel the most scattered. Somewhat like the Scarecrow in the Wizard of Oz after the flying monkeys have trashed him and he scrambles to gather up the pieces and shove them all back in.

Each morning I am immersed into Tobias' methods of healing. I give no resistance; my earlier worries about the fate of Eric Kendall are gone. Now I just want to find a way to be me that works, that I can live with.

Tobias has a vision, he seems to be his own version of a Sentinel, except his head is cocked to one side hearing and seeing what doesn't exist. He sees what Jim and I are, what we were, and what we will be and he guides us there, one day at a time.

At first I tried to follow all of it, tried to grasp the way The Nation had infiltrated my mind. Tried to understand the way they had warped the threads of my thinking. It had been too big, too frightening and after awhile I had to let go, allowing Tobias free rein. It was a little like surfing, cresting waves of anger and despair, then shooting the tunnel back out into the open sky. Over and over again.

It helps that Jim stays near. His belief in Tobias is founded in the very practical reasoning that if Tobias could undo his rage, he can undo anything.

I get off the bed, earning a dirty look from Kaffka as I do. Tobias has retreated to wait for me in the room. Jim will be waiting...waiting. They give me all the space and time I need to get it together. The first week, waking had been particularly difficult. I felt exposed and raw by the process of undoing the Nation's hold on my psyche. Jim had tried to ease the transition but the truth was, his presence made the shame harder to bear. Somehow he understood, because I couldn't've told him that.

Dressed and fully awake, I go to meet them. The room we work in is tiny. The walls are painted a dark brown, making the room seem even smaller. At first, I felt claustrophobic and could barely contain my urge for flight, but now I've come to welcome the sense of enclosure.

Each day we get closer to the center, closer to...what, I'm not sure. All I know is I feel a pressure building, like water behind a dam pushing to spill out and overwhelm a dry riverbed.

Tobias speaks in his low tones, the syllables rumbling out, perhaps forming words, perhaps not. I ride his voice to the vault inside. Jim's hand on my arm completes the energy circuit. Today the power in the room is tangible.

I am bathed in light, the kind of light that's clear and contains the entire spectrum. It thrums with energy that crackles and sparks, racing through me. The light illuminates my synapses, forging new byways, scrubbing away the sticky muck The Nation deposited there to keep me from myself.

Through the light and haze, I see Eric, he's cowering in the corner, watching, feeling both afraid and exhilarated. He fights the vortex for a time, his hands up to ward off the inevitable.

I call to him. "Eric, join me."

"Blair?"

It registers with me then, that I am seeing Eric through my eyes. That I am. Seeing.

"Yeah, c'mon man, jump in, the water's fine." I don't like seeing him...me....separated and afraid. The words echo in my head. The last time I made this invitation, it was spurned. Jim's rejection left us each isolated, vulnerable, and ultimately ripe for the Nation's machinations.

I wait, knowing if Eric refuses I will never be whole.

His hands come down and with a look of despair he walks to me. To me and with the intent to go through me, but before he can exit, I hold him.

"Stay?"

"You want me?"

"I want you." His face lights up and I know he deserves the truth. " I need you."

The light shifts in the spectrum, from cool blues we flash into the warmth of the yellow-reds. The energy spins around us, capturing all the stray strands of who we are; together and apart.

We are knitted together, we are made one.

I lie in the oneness, shocked by the vastness, the fluidity of my being. The awareness that words like Blair and Eric are about as useful as calling a hurricane by name and as revealing. I wrap my wholeness around me, the relief from being fractured like a balm infusing me. I open my eyes and Jim has his hand in my hair and he knows, somehow he knows.

"Blair..." He breathes my name and I nod.

Tobias leans in and puts his large, square hand on my chest. His touch is light but I feel his aura pulsing through his fingers, asking questions without language, hearing the answers without words. His theory all along, was that was done to me was done without articulation.

I had been stripped and shoved into a new world to acclimate and function. And so it was Tobias' thinking that words had no power to heal what had been done. There were no breadcrumbs to follow back home. Instead he tapped into all the ancient ways of connecting life to body, body to mind, mind to soul. And he used those ways to recreate me, to give me back to myself.

Tobias smiles, his teeth flashing in brilliant acknowledgement of what has happened.

Jim puts his hand under me, pulling me up. His hand stays on my back and I look around the little room where so many hours have been spent, so much experienced. Humpty Dumpty got put back together in this four walls.

Oddly, Jim seems to have aged since the last time I really remember seeing him. That was close to a year ago. The fine lines around his eyes are a little deeper. His face, always a work of art, of planes and sculpted surfaces, is more stark in its beauty. Right now his face is lit with one of his rare full-blown Ellison smiles.

"Welcome back, Chief."

I start to answer and realize I have no words. I'm overwhelmed with images from Eric. It's as if he's transmitting the last nine months to me. The confusion and pain, the longing and fear....it is a tsunami of information and it sweeps me away.

We've been chipping away at Blair's mind for a month. Or maybe it's Eric's mind. I can't separate them, though Eric seems to want me to, seems to need me to. Tobias is optimistic. I just know we must keep trying. When we started Blair-Eric, was close to dying. Can someone will themselves to die? Can anyone just override self-preservation? If it could be done, Eric was doing it.

A month into the reclamation process and we've made progress. I'm waiting for Blair/Eric in the brown room. I hate waiting, but in the morning, before the first session, Eric/Blair is a mess. I don't mind the mess but he seems to mind me seeing him like that, so now I wait until he's ready for us, for me.

He comes in the room, his hair wild and tangled from sleep. He's almost shy in the morning, his eyes averted, his posture protective. Tobias guides him onto the table and I take up my position, my hand on his arm.

We spend hours here, like this. When the morning session's done, Blair usually sleeps. I run. I run as far and as fast as I can, knowing when I go back into that room I need to center and still my restlessness, my impatience, my desire to DO something.

Blair searches my face. He must find comfort there, because he sighs and the tension he brought into the room melts away. Ironically, I know my desire to have Blair back has let Blair down. Or let Eric down, hell, I don't know anymore. I'm ready to live with whatever version of Blair comes out of this. I just hope Blair is.

This morning everything seems wrong. The light, which is usually muted and dim, is harsh and hurts my eyes. There's a hum in the room that's driving me crazy. There's nothing electronic in here and I can't pinpoint the source. It seems to disturb Blair too, because he twitches, his muscles spasming at random moments.

As the morning wears on, the hum grows in intensity. It doesn't disturb Tobias' concentration. I want to cover my ears but I don't take my hand away from Blair. The light shifts from being harsh to looking like butterscotch. I feel Blair's muscles rippling under my hand, though he doesn't move. His eyes seem to be in a REM cycle, darting around under his eyelids. Something is happening.

And then I know. It's as if Blair just walked in the room. He's here. I stroke his face and thread my hand through his hair. His eyes open and he's back.

"Blair..."

He nods and smiles. Tobias steps in close, his hand on Blair's chest. He rests there, the butterscotch light sticking to him. Putting my arms around Blair, I pull him up.

"Welcome Back, Chief."

God, I'm glad to see him. He smiles and then the smile fades. Something skitters across his face. He opens his mouth to say something and I wait, wanting to hear him say my name. I want to hear my name said in Blair's voice. Before that can happen, he jerks, his eyes roll back in his head and he passes out.

"Tobias!" My cry ricochets around the little room, the panic in it filling the air.

I have him in my arms and instead of lowering him back onto the table, I pick him up. Tobias opens the door and we head for the couch. Sitting down with Blair across my lap, I study him, wondering what it is that makes it so clear that Blair is back.

"He'll be all right." Tobias reaches down and touches Blair's hair. "The re-entry's hard and he's been through so much."

Blair lies in my arms and I swear he feels heavier, denser. His breathing is even. His eyelids start to flutter, announcing his return. His eyes open and there he is.

"Jim." There he is, his knowledge of me all laid bare in the way he says my name.

"Blair." It's good to say his name without hesitation, without doubt.

I feel the air move as Tobias leaves the room. The cat stays, the circle of sun he sleeps in bright and hot.

Blair shifts in my arms but makes no move to get up. Instead I feel his hand creeping up on my chest. When it reaches my heart, he presses it there and I feel the pulse of his heart through the hand that contains my heart.

"Thanks." The word comes out wrapped in a sigh. He leans his head back and looks at me with half-open eyes.

"You're welcome. Anytime."

"Not anytime soon, I hope." His hand pats my heart.

"How do you feel?"

Blair closes his eyes and I feel a wild fear he's left me again. I want to pinch him and make his eyes fly open. I want to be reassured he won't disappear again.

I keep my hands to myself, not pinching, making myself wait. It's only a few seconds, his eyes open, he's still here and I place my hand over his hand, feeling my heartbeat through his hand.

"I feel full. Awake. It's really weird Jim. It's like I was buried alive in this body." Blair shudders, the vibrations sending tiny shocks through my body.

"You're back, you're back." It comes out like a chant, like an incantation. His hand leaves my heart and I let it go though I want to clutch it to me. The cold tries to press in but before it penetrates, Blair has shifted and covered me in a hug.

"Shhh. I'm back."

"You'll stay?" My hands are on his back, holding him close to me. We generate heat.

"I've got no plans to go anywhere." Blair is sinking, his hold on me loosening and his head comes to rest on my shoulder. He's asleep.

It's been a month since my re-emergence. I'm back at Rainier, thanks to Jim's intercession on my behalf. The look on Chancellor Edward's face when I came back told me volumes about the kind of pressure Jim brought to bear. There's a part of me that mourns the future I would have had as Jim's partner. I was ready to be cop, but there's no denying the thrill of being back in front of a class teaching, or the comfort of being in my office, my books and papers ready for play.

I'm back at the PD as a consultant, meaning I now draw a paycheck.

Each day has presented me a challenge of one kind or another and most have been met head on. Not all. For the most part Eric dwells within me, a new layer of personality being broken down to become organic. Mostly. There is an element of Eric that haunts me.

At night, I awaken, not from a nightmare but from a fog and for a moment I see my room through Eric's eyes and Eric's frantic search for his place tears at me. I lean back against the pillow and try to calm us both down. I hear Jim's tread on the stairs as he reacts to me. Did I make sounds? Or is it the sound of my heart wildly beating that woke him?

"Nightmare?" When he sees I'm awake he leans his shoulder against the doorjamb.

"Not exactly." I scoot over and pat the bed. Jim obliges me, sitting down with his back against the headboard.

"So what exactly?"

"More like Eric having nightmares." It freaks Jim out when I talk about Eric this way. He hates the duality, fears it, I think.

Jim pulls me forward and then puts his arm around my shoulders and leans me back. Closing my eyes, I savor the heat from Jim's body and lean in a bit more, wanting it all, heat, scent, and touch.

"What was Eric's nightmare?" I know what it costs Jim to ask that question. I love him all the more for his acceptance of how it is.

"The usual. Losing his place." There was that in the dream and then there was other stuff. Stuff I don't remember. I rub my back against the headboard, trying to relive the itch on my shoulder. The itch grows and I moan with frustration.

"Let me." Jim reaches under my undershirt and delicately scratches the brand. The fucking brand. That it itches seems wrong. The hurt seemed right. The itch seems frivolous, innocuous, benign...so not what this is.

"Do you ever dream about Jason?" Jim has never asked that before and I try to see his face through the smudged dark.

"Not exactly. When I fused with Eric-- it's kind of hard to explain. There were images and information but not memories exactly. I don't think I even know what Jason looks like."

I try to remember. He was big, with the graceful physicality of an athlete. Blond and blue-eyed, but they had all been blond and blue-eyed. All big and healthy in a Teutonic sort of way. Even Ruth. It seemed like I always had to look up and they liked that. I remember looking in the mirror in Berlin, after Jason had called me ugly as sin. Wondering, again, why I had been chosen by Jason.

"Or what he did to you-to Eric?" Jim's voice drifts into my thoughts.

I start to shake my head no. I have no memory, no, I don't remember, no, I wasn't there, no, it didn't happen to me...none of that, noooo...

Jim's arms tighten around me and he's rocking me saying, "Shh. Shhh."

Nooooo, the scream in my mind breaks out of my mouth. "Nooooo-"

I try to stop Eric, stop the flood, but he won't-- can't-- be stopped. He needs the comfort and he needs for me to know. All of it. It spins out. Waking to a new, unknown world. Taking on the disciplines of a guide, small g, the deprivation, the humiliations, big and small, the punishments, the sense of failure, the thrill of Jason, the fear of Jason, the horror of what I was, with Jason...of all of it, the worst was how alone I was, the best, Jim being there, one way or another...

After some time-- a long time, the light coming in from the living room is now warmed by the dawn-- it stops. The memories, all that Eric understood, feared, and longed for are now with me. My chest is heaving as I try and get more oxygen into my lungs. I feel like I ran a marathon.

The day we became one, that day in the brown room, he'd tried to tell me. Very little got through before I overloaded and passed out. All this time he's been waiting to spill.

And that's what it is, a toxic spill. I'm waist deep in the crud of the Nation. Jim is talking to me, I see his mouth moving, concern in his eyes. I'm laying in his arms, a curious place to be, a place I seem to have been in a lot since this all started.

The words start to make sense.

"It's all right. It's all right. You're back, you're here. It's all right." Over and over he says that and it starts to work.

I relax against his chest. I realize with a start that Eric is gone. Well, not gone exactly, more like assimilated. I trace him but even as I do that, his tracks fade. The process begun in that small brown room has been completed.

It is all right. I am back. Jim is here. Eric? From that probe, comes back silence. He's found his place and he knows it's his and he knows I will never let him go.

"I'm all right." My words don't interrupt Jim's litany and I realize how freaked out he is. I reach up and cup Jim's face. At my touch, Jim stops his chant and the rocking comes to a halt.

"Blair?"

"Yeah... present and accounted for. Just got bushwhacked by Eric downloading his memories." I shudder and Jim's grip tightens.

"Now if I could only find the delete key." I try to laugh but the shaking in my voice makes the sound grotesque, and a sob takes it place.

"He...he, I...aw, shit, Jim." I let my head fall back, too weary to keep it up.

"I know, Chief. That bastard was sick and twisted."

I close my eyes and images play over the inside of them. I realize the things that hurt Eric the most have no power over me. Jason's contempt, the way he rejected every real thing Eric had to offer, the way he extended his friendship only to use it against Eric, his constant anger...all these things Eric took to heart. I...I? I took to heart. But from here, I can see how they were just ways to control. The memories make me want to gather Eric in, put him behind me, protect him. I've done that; I'm doing that.

Jason was a master at inflicting pain, but those are old memories now, faded. The body has healed. My mind...well, it's not the same but at least it's because of more and not less...

I must've fallen asleep. I open my eyes and the light declares the time late morning. Jim's head is on my chest. I run my hand through his short hair, knowing that if he wakes up I'll have some explaining to do. He doesn't wake up. It's a measure of what he's been through, this exhaustion, this vulnerability.

I let my eyes drift close and the dream that comes is exhilarating. Wolf and Panther lope side by side, tireless. The forest is pocketed with bursts of sun shining through the dense canopy of vegetation. We've been running for hours and will run for hours more. We run, not in fear or need, but because we can. Because we're free. We run in sync, yoked by our unlikely allegiance, our unexpected friendship. When I wake from the dream, I can still feel the exhilaration.

Today I have a doctor's appointment. One of those rare ones, one that I'm looking forward to. I should get up and get ready but I hate to wake Jim...and I'm comfortable, as comfortable as I can remember being in a long time.

It isn't long before Jim wakes himself up, coming awake with precision.

"Chief?" His voice is clear; no hint of sleep in it, but his tone is tentative.

"Who else would let you slobber all over him?"

"You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm okay. I'm way okay."

Jim pushes himself up and looks at me, a relieved smile on his face. It'll be awhile before Jim takes my presence for granted. That time can't come too soon for me.

"Sandburg, look at the time. You're going to be late. Get the lead out." Jim rolls off me and off the bed.

"I'll get the coffee going. You have to be out that door in twenty minutes."

"I know, I know. I'm going." I rush through my shower and am dressed and at the door in record time. Jim hands me a cup of coffee to go.

"Sure you don't want me there with you?"

"You've already taken enough time off because of me, Jim. I'll be fine."

He stands there, his forehead furrowed in worry. This moment occurs over and over, with each separation. All we can do is hope time eases the anxiety and the system puts Jason in prison, for a long time, and far away.

"I'll see you at the station. In like two hours." I sip the coffee; it's hot and brutally strong.

"Thanks, Jim, for the coffee and...for hanging in there with me last night."

"Hey, you're welcome. Anytime."

Since spending those months with Eric, Jim has taken to keeping communication between us simple and direct, still not trusting my ability to get his jokes, or understand when I'm being teased. I miss the old way, the guy way, the Jim way, of communicating, but figure it won't be long before it comes back. Lifetime habit, after all.

The doctor is one recommended by Dominic and so I'm not surprised to enter an office filled with birds. Little colorful finches peer out of straw huts and flit about large airy cages. Their sing song voices fill the air as Dr. McCallum has me take off my shirt. He studies the brand.

"This is quite recent. It's still healing in fact."

"I don't want it to heal. I want it to go away."

"This won't be a simple procedure, Mr. Sandburg."

From the way he's looking at me I'm guessing Dominic hasn't filled him in. He thinks I had this done on purpose and now I've simply changed my mind. I don't have it in me to tell him how I came to have a hawk branded into my shoulder.

"I realize that. I've read up on it and I've decided to have it lasered."

"You know that this will take several visits. It's going to feel like you've been branded all over again? Not to mention the healing process, which is long and messy."

"I understand all that."

"And in the end, you're going to be stuck with a damn ugly scar there."

"I realize that, too. I want to schedule the first treatment."

"Well, it's your back and your pain. Very well." Dr. McCallum goes to his computer and brings up his calendar.

"How about the 16th?" At two o'clock?"

"That's ten days from now. Don't you have any time before that?"

"I don't, but even if I did, I'd still want to wait at least that long. You need to give it time to heal."

I'm tempted to argue but I save my breath. In ten days I will begin the process of erasing the Nation from my body, if not from my mind. It will have to do.

Walking into Major Crimes, I see Jim. Megan's perched on the edge of his desk, reading to him from a file. Before I'm halfway across the room, Detective Vallencourt stops me.

He has a case file in his hand and that look on his face. The half-contemptuous, half-beseeching look I get from the new ones. They want my knowledge but hate the form it comes in. Old news.

We sit at his desk and I'm surprised he was the one assigned to this case. It's exactly the kind Jim and I usually get. A body found out in Lanioki hills. So decomposed it has yet to be identified. The site where it was found is considered sacred ground by the local tribes that lived there. There's evidence to suggest the death had ritual aspects to it. It's fascinating, both from a criminal point of view and an anthropological one.

"I'll get going on researching this, and get back to you as soon as I have anything."

"That's great, Sandburg, but I think you should come out there with me and see the area for yourself. I'm not in to all this voodoo crap, but the place gives me the willies. Maybe you can pinpoint some evidence the regular forensic team missed."

I have to admit I'm eager to look over the crime scene. There could be great deal missed if you didn't know what you were looking for.

"Yeah, okay, when?"

"Right now?"

"Sure." Jim's gotten up from his desk and is coming our way. From the look on his face, something is seriously wrong with his day.

"Hello, Chief, Dave, what're you looking at?" He's civil but the tension in him tells me something's up.

"I was just showing Sandburg the files on the Lanioki murder. He's going to do some research for me." Vallencourt flips open the report.

"Look at this photo Jim, can you see the carvings on that rock? They're pretty faint but I'm going to go out there now and get a better look at them."

"Now?" Jim raises his eyebrow at me as if I said I was planning a trip to the moon.

"Yeah, now, while it's still light outside. I need to get some close-ups of these to help me do the research."

"I can't go right now, Chief. I'm scheduled for a meeting in five minutes with Connor, Simon and the liaison from the Feds."

"You don't have to come Jim. I'm just going to go out there and take a few snaps. I'll be back by dinner."

"No."

"What?"

"I said, no."

I want to bat his words away, they're ludicrous, but they twist around inside me. "What the hell are you talking about? I didn't ask you for your permission."

"Look, I don't like the idea of you going out there alone, that's all."

"I'm not going alone. I'm going with Detective Vallencourt. But even if I were going alone, I think I can make this decision."

"It's not safe."

"Jim. It's 2:00 in the afternoon. I'm going to a park area WITH a first grade detective. It's safe."

"Someone was murdered there, Chief."

"Someone has been murdered in just about every part of Cascade. You going to stop me from going anywhere without you?"

Jim closes his eyes and then opens them. There's anger there but mostly fear. I'm torn. After what he's been through with me, his response is understandable. On the other hand, a pattern's been developing and I'm just now tuning in.

If Jim can't be with me, he somehow arranges it so I don't go until he can. The exception is school. Nearly every other destination falls into the file marked, Don't Go There.

I hadn't really noticed until now, since whenever possible I tend to want his company. But this was untenable. I'm an adult. I'm capable of assessing risks and planning according. As I think that, a wave of anxiety sweeps over me. I grab the edge of the desk to steady myself and Jim moves closer.

"What is it? What's wrong?" Jim is running his hands up and down my back and now his anxiety is threatening to push mine into a full-blown panic attack.

I step away from the desk and Jim. "I'm all right. Just forgot to eat breakfast."

I turn my back on him, trying to hide my fear. I'm swimming in the Doctrine, it's in my head like a toothache, grinding away every other thought. Oh God, I thought I was well past this. My knees want to bend and I make myself walk before I end up kneeling. I call over my shoulder to Jim, "I forgot a meeting I had at the University. I'll be home before 6."

I don't look back, can't look back, instead I keep making one foot go in front of the other. I can hear Simon calling Jim to the meeting. Good, he won't be able to follow.

Tobias is home and I barely make it in the door when I collapse and kneel. I clamp my mouth shut. I am not going to say those words out loud. Never again. Tobias kneels down in front of me.

"Blair?"

I nod. I'm afraid to speak.

"Tell what's going on." His voice is as commanding as any of those in my head and I'm able to turn away from them and focus on Tobias.

"I d--don't know. All of a sudden the Doctrine started to play in my head."

"What happened just before the Doctrine entered your head?"

"I was arguing with Jim about my plans to go into the Lanioki Hills to study a crime scene. He didn't want me to go, didn't think it was safe."

"And you did?"

"Yeah, it's safe, It's a park for crying out loud and I was going with an armed Detective." As I say that, my vision grays.

"And then the Doctrine came?"

I open my eyes wide and see Tobias, shadowed and getting darker.

"I realized that this had been going on for awhile-Jim either escorting me everywhere I needed to go or his making sure I didn't go at all."

Tobias stands up so fluidly, it's as if he grew to a standing position. He reaches down and pulls me up with him. I get up stiffly, as if I'd been in that position for days and stumble forward. Tobias steadies me and leads me into the brown study. I sit in the battered armchair, Tobias at his desk.

"Blair."

"Hmm?"

Tobias stands up and comes over to me. He pulls my legs out from under me and takes my hands out from under my armpits.

"I know Jim's just worried, you know, about...everything and he's just trying, trying...." I shudder, pull my feet back up and wrap my arms around my knees.

"He's trying to control you."

"No-- keep me safe."

"Control."

I shake my head. My head knows Jim just worries, but my body is reading it as control, that's it.

"I just get confused, you know? I overreact." I force myself to put my feet down and try to arrange myself in a casual pose.

"It's true that Jim is deeply concerned for your safety. But he is still asserting control."

"Jim needs control, you know? He needs order. He needs some peace."

"And what do you need?"

"Me? I. Uh....I just need to get my head on straight."

"Do you need freedom? Need to be trusted?"

"I am free. Now. And Jim trusts me."

Tobias cocks his head and waits. Damn.

"Yeah, well, it's just natural that Jim would want to keep close tabs on me."

"You're a grown man, Blair. Quite capable. Would you call yourself reckless? Thoughtless? Stupid?"

I gotta be honest, this is Tobias. "Sometimes."

"And Jim?"

"Sometimes."

"Would you stop him from doing his job?"

"As if I could."

"Would you want to?"

That had never occurred to me. No matter how often Jim has been late coming home or thrown himself on the top of a speeding car, or gone off without back-up, I've never thought of stopping him from doing his job, doing what he loves. And he never tried to stop me before either...and I'd had some close calls. So why now?

"No. Do you think this is more of the Nation's mind games?"

Tobias thinks, his face a calm study of a mind sifting through information. Information received verbally, through physical cues, and I sometimes think, channeled through him.

"I don't think so. I suspect it's a lot of things but only Jim can get to the heart of it. You must talk to him."

I start to pace. "But why is the Doctrine in my head? Why do I feel so...so....oh God, like I'm slipping, like I'm-going back."

"Because this what the Nation did. They told you that you had to submit your will to theirs. That they had a divine right to your life, your movements. Now Jim is asserting that same right."

"NO, no. He's not asserting any rights, divine or otherwise."

"He is saying his right to comfort, to be comfortable, his right to know you are safe, supercedes your right to make your own decisions. You're right to do your job. Your right to make judgements."

Jim's not, he's not.... He's nothing like Jason...he doesn't.... do that.

Except when he does. I stop my pacing, which, given the smallness of the room, is more like aimlessly milling around, anyway. Jim doesn't even know he's doing it, it's probably a Sentinel thing, all out of whack. I'll just talk to him about this.

Feeling better, feeling the Doctrine fading away, I take my leave of Tobias and head back to the loft. Jim's truck is there. I'm bone tired, but not ready to face Jim. I use the walk up the stairs to rehearse my speech. As soon as I cross the threshold, Jim is in my face.

"You went, didn't you?"

"Went where?" How did he know I went to see Tobias?

"You went to Lanioki Park." Jim's face is set, hard lines radiating from his mouth.

Oh, man, he thinks I disobeyed him. Even though I didn't go, I feel a flush of guilt.

"No, I went to see Tobias."

"Tobias? Why?" Jim relaxes a fraction, though it's clear the mention of Tobias worries him.

"Um, I..." I don't want to say this. It'll freak Jim out, it's freaking me out.

"What? Why did you go to Tobias?" Jim's voice is tight, now with anxiety.

I move past him, hanging up my jacket

"Today, when you told me I couldn't go to the crime scene, something happened." I glance back at Jim.

Jim folds his arms across his chest and waits. My throat closes up and I wonder if I can get the words out. A part of me recognizes that this response is whacko, seriously fucked up; and yet I seem helpless to shove it aside and react normally.

"Jim, you have to lighten up on this. You're triggering some sort of Eric response here."

"Well at least he listened."

I shut my eyes at those words. "Don't you mean, at least he obeyed?"

I open them to see Jim looking away. When he looks back his face is closed in, unreadable.

"I'm not-not Eric and I-I...you can't tell me-what-" I'm shaking so hard, I'm stuttering and I know it won't be long before I start-- but I won't start, never again and I back up, hoping to get in my room before it's too late.

Jim expression flashes from unreadable to concern and he starts to follow me, his arm reaching out and I stumble back, desperate now, determined to get to my room. His hand latches on to mine and I drop, the words spilling out, spewing out.

"You are the Lord.
It exists when you say it exists.
I worship it when you create it...."

There's noise roaring from Jim but I don't look up and I can't stop. Hands grab my arms and shake me but I hold fast.

"You are my Lord, I am not myself.
Everything dies without your rule.

Use us in service, oh Lord.
We give you all that we are.
We are nothing except to your purpose.
Accept us and make us worthy, oh Lord."

There are hands on my face but no pain; odd that, and then wetness and I'm being held. Being held? Who would hold me?

And the noise is a soft rumble, Jim talking, Jim shushing me. Jim holding me. And as the Doctrine dribbles away, my mind crawls away from the seizure and oh God, I did it. I recited it out loud.

I look up at Jim but I don't think my silence has registered, because he's still making vague shushing noises. We sit tangled together in the doorway to my room. After awhile, Jim seems to realize I've stopped and he stops. Not having the will or strength to do anything else, we sit.

"I'm sorry." The voice is weary, almost without substance. He shifts so his back is against the doorjamb, he does this without letting go of me.

I lean my head back, feeling wiped out by the visitation.

"So. This is what you were trying to tell me."

"Yeah." My voice sounds raw, like I've been reciting for hours. I look around at the light. It wasn't hours, was it? No, no. Not hours.

"What did Tobias say?"

"That I had to talk to you."

"Hmm."

We don't move for a long time, the shock of what happened leaving us limp.

"You can't do that anymore." I don't know how to make it any clearer.

Jim's arms tighten around me and then relax.

"I know you just want me safe and it's probably hardwired in, but you can't...not anymore."

Please, Jim, understand this.

Jim doesn't say anything for a long time and wait, wait, not knowing what I'll do when he says he can't, won't, change.

Jim threads his hand through my hair and his other arm tightens around my chest. When he starts to speak, his voice is just a whisper, like he doesn't want me to hear this.

"I've thought about this, trying to understand what's happened and why it happened. Why Joyce happened..."

Joyce? What does she have to do with this?

"You see, uh-God this is hard." Jim stops and now I'm starting to think I have more to worry about than Jim's hyper-protectiveness.

"You're scaring me here, Jim. Spit out."

"Yeah, okay. Might as well get this over with." Jim takes his hand out of my hair and his arm away from my chest. He gently pushes me forward and turns me, so I'm facing him. The look on his face causes my heart to skip. He looks so beautiful and so sad and I know this can't be good.

"I don't know when it started, exactly, maybe right away, but I only really became aware of it after you died and I thought I'd lost you." He sighs and looks away.

I tug on his sleeve. "Finish it." I need to know. I need to know how this ends.

"After the whole dissertation fiasco, I thought I could use my anger to purge my feelings. And that worked, a little, and then Joyce came into my life, I thought...oh God help me, I thought she was the answer, that if I could just bury myself in her, I'd be fixed. I'd be-my feelings would...Blair-" He stops again and my heart is pounding a slow dirge as I wait for this to finish.

"I found out I love you." He rushes the sentence. He looks at me and sighs again, as he realizes I'm still waiting to understand.

"Blair, I love you. And I was afraid if you knew that, you'd freak and leave. I mean, I expected you to leave, you had to leave at some point. And I didn't want you to know how I felt and still leave-if that makes any sense."

"Didn't it ever occur to you I'd stay? That I'd want to stay?"

Jim shakes his head. I realize he thinks this announcement will make me bolt. I laugh and he looks at me sharply, annoyed.

"Oh, man, Jim. You have no idea, do you?"

Now he's really pissed. He was ready for me to get angry, to walk out, but not to laugh. I move deeper into his space and do what I've longer to do for so long. I take his face in my hands. His eyes widen and then close as he leans in. I touch his lips with mine, feeling his breath, heat, then teeth and a shy tongue. He groans, his arms coming around me. His hands rove up and down my back and then under my shirt. The kiss goes on, interrupted here and there by our maneuverings and our attempts to get our bodies closer together.

"Jim..." I breathe his name, it is like a prayer and I'm answered by his own halleluiah chorus as he takes my hand and presses it against his hard cock. I break off the kiss, need for oxygen overriding my desire to stay connected. Panting now, I start to unbutton his shirt. My hands are shaking and it seems like it's hours before I'm feeling the smooth skin of his chest under my exploring hands. Silk and steel, skin and muscle. I lean in, running my tongue across one nipple and Jim gasps and lies back, pulling me on top of him.

His nimble fingers have been busy. My shirt has joined his on the floor. It's hard to tell where his groans start and mine trail off. I'm thrusting against his leg, caught by my need for friction, my need for connection, which grows as he pulls my mouth away from his nipple and brings it back to his mouth.

"J-Jimmmm, please, gotta, umm, oh, yes..."

He unzips my jeans, shoving them out of his way as he seeks my cock. It's not hard to find, it has it's own agenda, and leaps into his hand as soon as it's free of my boxers. I feel Jim's warm, rough hand envelope my cock. He pauses and I can imagine he is feeling it all, the soft skin stretched taut, the blood pulsing and insistent, the need that is alive between us.

"Chief," he says my name in a growl, and rolls me off. I don't want him to go until I see he's working his own pants off. When he's free of them, he pulls me back up into an embrace. Jim and I pause; our penises nestled together in a hot moist embrace of their own. Jim puts his hand on my ass and pulls me in even tighter and begins to rub against me in a slow sensual dance of movement. I groan Jim's name, as I feel buffeted by the whirlwind of longing that is spinning me into orgasm.

I try to hold onto the sensations, to hold this moment between us, but I can't, a rush like no peyote I ever ingested sweeps through me, making me scream, "JIMMMM!" coming, coming, coming...

As I pull back to Jim he holds me tighter, groaning my name, "Blaaiiir." I feel warm liquidity filling the space between us, mingling our DNA the only way it can be mingled.

Dropping my head on Jim's chest, I sigh and feel Jim's hand's thread through my hair.

"Hey."

"Hey, yourself." I like being so close to Jim as he speaks, his chest rising and falling, the sound transmitted through his body to mine. A drop of sweat falls from Jim's chin, onto his chest and as it nears me, I lick it. Salty and Jim-spiced, it makes me want more. Before I can put that thought into action, Jim stops me.

"Hold up, Chief. I need to know."

"Yeah, okay." I'll answer anything if it means I can continue tasting Jim. I strain against Jim's hands a little, seeing if I can lick while I wait for the question. Jim tightens his hold to keep me still.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" He asks it conversationally, like he's really curious.

That stops me and I push away so I can see Jim's face. Did I ever miscalculate.

He looks thunderous, face cloudy and dark, his mouth a thin line and I wonder if this has all been a dream. Did Jim say something or did I make this all up? Shit. I try to replay the conversation we had before I moved in and kissed Jim. I can't remember what he said. No, wait, he said he loved me. But maybe that didn't mean what I thought...maybe I made the wrong assumption. Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck....before I can untangle my legs from his, the hand in my hair tightens again. Jim tilts my head up and looks at me, his beautiful blue eyes stormy and dark, almost no blue showing.

"You're straight, Sandburg. I know that. So where did this come from?"

"Um...you didn't like it?"

"I liked it, hell, I loved it, I've dreamt about it, but that doesn't explain it. Tell me you didn't just pity fuck me."

"Did that feel like pity to you? Because if it did, I was doing it all wrong. But I can learn..."

Jim looks dubious.

"I did not just pity fuck you. Oh, man, that was so far from pity...." How could he confuse that with pity, for fucking out loud?

Jim can't keep the smile from his face, and it breaks, like dawn. "Yeah, well, it didn't feel like pity, it felt...great. Just tell me you want this."

"Um, Jim, I think it's kind of obvious that I want this." Jim gets this look and I hold up my hand. "I am not brain damaged, Ellison, don't even go there. I love you. I've had feelings for a long time. Nowhere to go with them, or so I thought. "

"You have somewhere to go with them now." Jim pulls me back and the kiss is long, tender, and quickly starts to build to something else.

"Love you too." Jim smiles, a smile I've never seen before, a smile that perhaps no one has ever seen before. It makes me shiver and heat up at the same time. "Bring those feelings here, Chief, all of 'em."

I do. It's a long, long night and it's just the beginning.