Archive of Our Own ^beta

Characters from The Sentinel belong to Pet Fly, but it is about time they shared!
My very grateful thanks go to my betas Annie, who advised on medical matters and
Bobbie and Sheila who spent what must have been many hours trying to show me that the
comma is not necessarily a tool of the devil.
This story is dedicated to Tricia who asked me to write for SVS. If you don't like it, it is
all her fault (only kidding).
This episode 3 of Season 3 of the Sentinel Slash Virtual Season.
This story is a sequel to:

TWO BIRDS WITH ONE STONE

BY

Rae Evans

Monday

Blair Sandburg mused that someone had once written a song called 'I don't like Mondays' which could have been penned just for him. It was not that Mondays generally were bad just that this Monday was turning into a really shitty day. It was always going to be a dreary day with Jim being in court and he stuck behind his desk without a partner, but something had put the Major Crime Captain in the mood from hell and as a result everyone was suffering. Simon Banks was normally gruff and uncompromising on the surface but underneath he was a teddy bear. Blair smiled to himself at that thought and then grimaced. Today Simon Banks was a bear with a sore head and as a result the bullpen was deserted apart from Rhonda and the newest detective, Blair.

As the morning had dragged on, more and more members of the Major Crime team had found excuses to leave their desks; statements to be taken, witnesses to be interviewed, informants to be spoken to, anything to get them out of the way of their Captain. Blair had escaped to Forensics once and Records twice, taking as long as he could on each occasion, but today, with Jim in court, it was his day to do paperwork and he needed to be at his desk to do that. Unfortunately, that meant that he and Rhonda were now the sole recipients of Banks' temper. He growled, he shouted and he slammed doors and all the while the two occupants of the office kept their heads down and their fingers crossed.

Thirty minutes before he could log off the computer and go home, Blair started to relax. Jim had agreed to cook and Blair was looking forward to a good meal, maybe a glass or two of wine and some serious cuddling before bed to make up for what he had endured at work. Suddenly the door to Simon's office flew open and he bellowed at Blair, "Sandburg. My office, now!"

Rhonda gave Blair a supportive glance as he shrugged his shoulders and strode in to the lion's den.

"Sandburg, where is everyone?" Simon asked through gritted teeth.

"Brown and Rafe are out on the Jenkins' murder doing follow up on the house to house, Megan is with ADA Shaw on the Silverson robberies and I don't know where the others are."

Blair's voice got quieter as he realised that his answer was only serving to fuel Simon's anger.

"Is it too much to ask to expect my detectives to be at their desks when I want them?"

Even though it was a rhetorical question Blair felt it required an answer.

"No, sir."

"Am I expected to do everything myself?"

Blair tried to make himself smaller, in case that would help.

"No, sir."

"Have you finished the Williamsburg Report?"

"Yes, sir."

"Why isn't it on my desk?"

"It is sir."

Hesitantly Blair pointed at a folder sitting on top of Simon's 'in' tray.

Simon growled, picked up the folder and opened it. When Blair didn't move he asked menacingly, "Haven't you got anything to do, Sandburg?"

"No, sir ... I mean yes, sir. Erm ... just going sir."

Blair was up and out of Simon's office in record time. Sitting back down in his chair he smiled at Rhonda and gave her a thumbs up. She returned his smile, conspirators in survival.

Jim had found a programme he wanted to watch while Blair brought the dry clothes up from the laundry room. Folding towels and t-shirts he listened to Jim make comments on what he was watching. It was one of those survival programs. Some ex-military type was leading a bunch of C list celebrities around a jungle.

"These guys wouldn't last a minute in real life."

"Then why watch it if you feel that way about it?" Blair asked finishing his chores.

"So I can make comments and feel superior," Jim smirked.

Blair headed into the office that used to be his bedroom and came out with a book. Sitting down on the couch he snuggled up close to Jim, pushed his glasses up on his nose and started to read. Jim kept up his commentary for another fifteen minutes before the program ended. The TV played on but Jim now turned his attention to his guide. Angling his body, he pulled the smaller man into his chest and looked over his shoulder.

"What you reading, Chief?"

"The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night," Blair muttered, fully enthralled with his book.

"Isn't that a children's book?"

"Mm," Blair grunted

Jim's hands came round Blair's waist and gently stroked his stomach.

"I hate to tell you this, Chief, but I figured it out and the dog didn't bark."

He started to nibble an earlobe.

"Is that right, Sherlock?" Blair replied trying very hard to concentrate on the printed words.

"So now that you know the ending you don't have to read it anymore, do you?" Jim wheedled.

Blair knew he was putty in the hands of a determined sentinel but felt obliged to put up a good fight.

"I don't know if I can take your word for it, Jim. I think I have to at least give the author a chance."

Jim started on the spot beneath Blair's ear on his neck, intermittently nibbling, sucking and licking.

"Give me a chance, Chief," he muttered between nibbles.

Blair's head went back and the book slipped off his knees.

"Oh God, keep that up and I'll give you more than a chance."

Jim pushed his hips forward into Blair's back.

"Keep that up?" he asked suggestively.

"Boasting again, big guy?" Blair teased.

Jim slipped to the outside of the couch and neatly left Blair lying flat on his back. The book fell to the floor as Jim twisted and put himself on top of Blair, straddling his lap.

"Now, what were you saying?" he asked licking his lips.

Blair was laughing at the sudden manoeuvre.

"Where did you learn that move, big guy - Smackdown?"

Jim carefully removed Blair's glasses and laid them on the floor just tucked under the couch.

"No, and did anyone ever tell you that you talk way too much?"

Jim didn't allow Blair to respond, plundering his mouth, ravishing that all too talkative tongue into silence. When Jim finally broke contact with Blair's mouth, his lips were red and swollen and he looked completely and utterly debauched. His shirt was pushed up past his nipples which were hard and erect. His hair had come out of its restraint and lay in a halo around his head.

"I missed you today, Chief," Jim said with feeling.

"Evidently, my dear Holmes."

"And I have another day in court tomorrow," Jim informed Blair sadly.

Blair groaned, "I just hope Simon is in a better mood. I don't think I can stand another day of being his whipping boy."

"A little harsh, Chief. You know Simon is a softie underneath all that bluster."

"Not today he wasn't. Today he was ..." Blair struggled for words, "...a nightmare."

"Well, I should be finished by lunchtime so how about I come and rescue you from the big bad bear, hey, Goldilocks?"

"From Sherlock Holmes to fairy tales, Jim, getting down to your natural level?"

Blair wriggled beneath Jim, knowing he was moving into dangerous territory.

"Just remember what happened to Goldilocks, Chief."

Jim renewed his attack on Blair's chest. Laughing again Blair managed to gasp out. "And the big bad wolf ate Little Red Riding Hood's grandmother," before Jim reclaimed his mouth.

Both men were panting hard when they next broke apart.

"Want an early night, Chief?" Jim asked pushing himself up and standing over his lover's body. He held out a hand and Blair allowed himself to be pulled up.

Grinning, Blair whispered, "My, what a big mouth you have."

Jim pushed Blair towards the stairs.

"All the better to kiss you with."

Jim pushed again.

"My, what big hands you have."

"All the better to hold you with."

Blair, still walking backwards, stumbled over the first few steps and landed on his backside. Jim kept moving forward and Blair found himself staring at Jim's groin.

"My, what a big ...dick ... you have."

Blair dragged a finger along the trouser ensconced cock in his face. Jim leaned down and kissed the mouth that was licking its lips in anticipation and pulled Blair to his feet. The two of them carefully made their way up the stairs. As Jim laid Blair on the bed on his back he replied to Blair's last comment.

"All the better to fuck you with, my dear."

Blair's laugh was once again cut off by Jim's mouth.

Tuesday

Tuesday morning started quietly at Major Crime. Simon had a meeting with the Chief of Police and everyone breathed a sigh of relief when Rhonda informed them that the meeting was running late and Simon wouldn't be back until 11.00 am. Five minutes before Simon's appointed return time-hardened detectives and police officers alike started drifting out of the bullpen. Megan got up to leave and Blair tried to guilt her into staying.

"Come on, Megan, at least wait until Simon gets back before you leave. If you are all gone when he gets back he is going to eat me alive."

Megan was unrepentant, "Sorry, Sandy, at times like this it's every woman for herself."

Blair gave her the puppy dog look. She at least had the decency to look embarrassed.

"Blair, I promised I would help Joel interview this woman, you know empathy, that sort of thing."

Blair was unconvinced. "You rat. Payback is a bitch, you know, and I will get my revenge."

The red-haired, Australian woman smiled as she left Blair and Rhonda to their fate. It wasn't long in arriving. To say Simon breezed through the bullpen was a lie and an understatement. What he actually did was more akin to a tornado. Having slammed the door to his office, it was only thirty seconds until he opened the door again. This time he bellowed for Rhonda. Grabbing her notepad and pen she bravely entered the office. All went quiet and Blair opened a new file to start work. Three minutes later the sound of crashing china and shouting startled him from his reading. Through the windows of Simon's office he could see Rhonda kneeling on the floor and Simon towering over her gesticulating wildly with his arms and shouting almost incoherently. Blair stood not sure whether to intervene. As Rhonda got to her feet he could see she was crying. Simon pointed to the door and shouted, "Get out!" at the distraught woman. She flew from her superior's office, pausing only to give Blair a quick look and then rushed to the restroom. Not entirely sure what he was going to do, Blair approached Simon's office and stood in the open door way.

"Simon?" he asked gently.

The tall black man stood in the same spot. He was breathing heavily, his hands on his hips and there was sweat on his brow.

"What do you want?" he muttered.

Blair swallowed and pressed on.

"Are you okay man? I've never seen you like this before and, shit man, you made Rhonda cry."

Simon turned to Blair, fury written all over his face.

"How dare you question me? How I treat my staff is no concern of yours, Sandburg, and I'll trust you not to interfere in how I run my office."

His words were clipped and fairly spat out. Blair was not put off.

"You've been letting fly at everyone for the last couple of days, Simon. It's just not like you. Is something wrong?"

Simon strode forward his finger outstretched.

"Let me remind you, Detective Sandburg, that you are here to do what I tell you. How I tell you to do it is not your concern. All you have to worry about is that you do what you are told."

He started jabbing the finger at Blair's chest.

"Is that perfectly clear?"

"I know that, Simon, but ..."

Blair was unable to finish his sentence. The jabbing finger became a hard shove with the flat of Simon's hand and Blair was pushed backwards failing to end up on his backside only because he grabbed at the corner of Brown's desk. Simon continued forward catching hold of Blair's shirt as he caught his balance.

"Simon ..." he managed to gasp.

In that split second Blair knew they had an audience as Rhonda walked back into the bullpen. Her mouth dropped at the scene in front of her.

"Just do as you're told, you hippy, wannabe cop."

Flecks of spit hit Blair's face, which paled at Simon's furious words.

"Now get out there and do something useful. I don't want to see your face again today, you fa ..."

Rhonda's audible indrawn breath and Blair's immediate reaction to the word Simon had been about to utter stopped the Captain in mid flow. A grimace crossed his face and he took his hands off Blair's shirt and wiped them across his face. Blair was stunned. He couldn't believe Simon had been about to call him a faggot. He felt sick. As he started to turn to leave the bullpen he heard Simon whisper, "I'm sorry Blair, I didn't mean that."

Blair ignored him, too upset and angry to reply. He didn't see Simon fall to the ground but he whirled when he heard the noise and heard Rhonda shout, "Simon!"

The paramedics were loading Simon into the ambulance as Jim pulled into the parking garage. Seeing both Blair and Rhonda hovering by the back doors of the ambulance he hurried over to find out what was happening. Quickly Blair filled him in, though from Blair's pauses and Rhonda's looks at Blair he figured Blair was leaving some of the story out. Jim helped Rhonda step up into the back of the ambulance so she could accompany Simon.

"Don't worry, I'll let Joan know and tell the Chief of Police. Just let us know how he is," Blair shouted as the paramedic shut the doors.

The ambulance pulled away. Jim put an arm on Blair's shoulder. He wanted to pull him into his arms and hug him. Blair looked like he needed a hug.

"Do the paramedics know what's wrong?" Jim asked.

Blair sighed, "They didn't say."

As the two men stepped into the elevator Jim drew Blair towards him.

"What did he do, Chief?"

"It's not so much what he did."

Blair paused and Jim gave him time to answer.

"It's what he said. He was going to call me a faggot."

Blair looked down.

"Are you sure, Chief? That just doesn't sound like Simon."

"Yeah, I'm sure. He stopped himself, but Rhonda was there, she heard."

"Aw, Chief, I'm sure he didn't mean it. Whatever is wrong with him made him say those things?"

He tried to reassure his partner.

"I know you're right. It just hurt coming from him, you know?"

Jim gave Blair a quick squeeze and dropped his hands to his sides as the elevator doors slid open on the sixth floor.

The bullpen was still empty and there was no sign of the turmoil and chaos that had taken place only a short while earlier.

"You call Joan and I'll call the Chief, Chief," Jim smiled intentionally trying to lighten his partner's mood.

Blair smiled briefly and nodded before picking up the phone.

The Chief of Police was not a happy man and summoned Jim to his office for a full explanation. As Jim took the elevator down he considered that Simon's hospitalization would cause the Chief some real headaches. Joel was already covering for Captain Henderson from Vice, who had been shot when a sting had gone bad and Jim was sure he had read a memo that someone else was acting up after the Captain of Homicide had taken an extended sabbatical. Jim couldn't think of anyone who could take Simon's place, but, then again, he cheered himself up with the thought that it wasn't his problem. As long as whoever took over from Simon would let Jim get on with his work and not hassle him, Jim would be happy.

Blair expected Jim to be gone only a short time and was looking forward to lunch, so he was surprised when he checked his watch and found it was almost one and Jim hadn't returned. Needing the presence of his partner after the events of the morning Blair grabbed another cup of coffee to keep him going until Jim appeared. When Blair's in tray was finally empty he sat back in his chair and stretched listening to the cracks as his spine straightened. The clock said 2.05pm and there was still no sign of Jim or any word from the hospital. Too much coffee called Blair to the restroom and he was just washing his hands when his cell phone rang. Quickly wiping his hands he flipped the phone open.

"Sandburg."

"I'm in the truck. Can you come down to the garage?"

"Sure, I'm on my way."

Before Blair had finished his sentence Jim had ended the call. Sighing Blair made his way back to his desk, grabbed his jacket and backpack and rode the elevator down.

Jim wasn't talking. Oh great, thought Blair just what I need, an angry sentinel. Jim drove to the park. As soon as the truck was stationary Jim was out and striding to the hot dog stand they normally frequented when they went to the park. Blair pulled his jacket tighter. It was a cold day and he hadn't been expecting lunch outside. He locked the truck with his keys and followed Jim, who handed him a hot dog with all the trimmings he liked. He waited for Jim to speak. His hot dog devoured in two large mouthfuls, Jim strode off down the path towards the pond. Blair followed, taking a little longer with his food. Jim stopped and turned to Blair.

"He's made me Acting Captain!"

Blair watched his sentinel's face. He was obviously not happy at the statement.

"And that's not a good thing because ..."

"I'm a detective. I'm not a Captain. I don't do paperwork. I don't do meetings. I just don't."

Jim looked terrified and Blair couldn't help it, he laughed. Quietly at first but it got louder as Jim looked more and more sorry for himself. Finally managing to stop Blair reassured the larger man.

"Jim you'll do fine. This is a great chance for you. You must have seen yourself as Captain material some day."

"Yeah, Chief, just not today."

Jim was obviously not convinced.

"Oh boy, this is going to be an interesting few days."

Blair steered his reluctant partner towards the small snack shop. One hot dog, even with all the trimmings, wasn't enough to fill a highly amused guide. Blair was still hungry and was soon munching on a chicken salad sandwich.

"You know this could be a real opportunity for you. A chance for you to show the Chief that you have what it takes."

Jim was now sulking, and even a burger had not improved his mood.

"But Simon spends most of his time in meetings or smoothing ruffled feathers or, God forbid, juggling budgets. I can't handle all those rows of numbers."

He turned his eyes to Blair, the desperation evident.

"You have to help me, Blair. You have to think of something to get me out of this."

Jim walked on, talking to himself.

"Maybe I could go down with something, you know cold or flu. Would that be enough to keep me at home? The last time Simon had flu he didn't go home, so maybe it needs to be something a bit more serious but not life-threatening."

"I could always shoot you, Jim," Blair offered.

"That's a possibility," Jim agreed, "just a flesh wound. That would get me a few days."

Blair stopped and put a hand on Jim's arm to stop him.

"I was joking man."

Jim squinted at Blair, "You were? Are you sure because it sounds like a great idea to me, Chief?"

Blair put his hands on either side of Jim's face.

"Jim, stop this," he said lovingly. "You can do this. You are going to make a great Captain. Speaking of which let's head to the hospital and see how Simon is."

Jim nodded. "Great idea, Chief. He might be able to come up with a few ideas to get me out of this."

Joan and Darryl were at the hospital sitting in the waiting room. Blair squatted down in front of Darryl and his mom taking Joan's hands in his. Rhonda got up and approached Jim.

"How is he?" Jim asked.

"He has a tumour. They are operating now."

Rhonda wiped the tears from her eyes with a dishevelled piece of tissue.

"They don't know how serious it is. They have to do some tests while they operate. I don't understand, how could this happen?"

Jim put his arm around the woman's shoulder.

"He'll be fine, Rhonda. Simon's not going to let this beat him."

Rhonda nodded but sniffed, leaning into Jim's comforting arms. He took out his handkerchief and gave it to her. Just then a man in green scrubs pushed through the doors to the waiting room.

"Is there anyone here waiting for Simon Banks?"

Five people stood up. The surgeon looked flummoxed.

"Next of kin?" he asked.

"I'm his ex-wife," said Joan.

"I'm his son," commented Darryl.

"He's my Captain," offered Jim.

The doctor seemed confused. Blair stepped forward. "Why don't you just tell us all?"

Looking as though he was about to object the doctor shrugged and carried on.

"The initial cat scan and EEG revealed Captain Banks had a frontal lobe tumor. We've removed the tumor and he's in post op. That's the bad news."

The doctor took a breath. "The good news is that the tumor was benign. We will have to keep a close eye on him for a few days and do some follow up tests, but I am confident he will make a full recovery. To be on the safe side, we are moving him to intensive care as soon as he is ready to leave post op."

Darryl's eyes were wet with emotion.

"Can I see my dad?" he asked, holding onto his mom's hand.

The surgeon laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Give them an hour or so and you can go up."

"Thank you, doctor," Joan answered for her son.

As the surgeon turned to leave the waiting room, Jim stepped forward.

"Er ... doctor, how long before Captain Banks is back at work?"

"Jim!"

Blair couldn't believe what he had heard.

"Three weeks, Chief, three fucking weeks. Minimum!"

Jim cut into the inside lane, growling at the motorist behind him daring him to object.

"I can't do it. I just can't. I'll go and tell the Chief when we get back. He'll have to find someone else."

"Jim, just listen to yourself, man. You are an ex-Ranger, Cop of the Year more times than anyone else, Sentinel of the Great City. You have faced terrorists, serial killers, bombers and drug lords. This is just three weeks of being Captain. You can handle it. Take a deep breath and chill, man."

Blair was getting just a little tired of hearing Jim whine. Jim looked at Blair and Blair could see the blush on his cheeks and knew Jim was embarrassed by his own complaining. Jim said nothing staring straight ahead, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. Blair tried to do some emotional support work.

"The Chief wouldn't have asked you to do it if he didn't believe you could handle it."

Jim grunted. Blair decided on a different tack.

"And you know, I've never slept with the boss before."

Jim allowed himself a small grin.

"Does that mean I get to tell you what to do?"

Blair raised an eyebrow.

"In the bedroom, or in the office?"

Jim dropped a hand to Blair's thigh.

"In bed would be a good start."

"In your dreams, Jim," Blair snorted.

"Always, Chief, always."

As they entered the bullpen, Blair made his way to his desk. Jim stopped in the middle of the room. Blair hung up his jacket and watched Jim as he looked first to Simon's office, then to his own desk and then back again. He smiled and signalled with his hands, "Shoo."

Jim's shoulders drooped and he slowly and reluctantly made his way to the office. Opening the door, Jim looked about nervously, as though he expected to be told off any minute. He looked back at Blair, who tried to put all his love and faith in the look he was sending Jim's way. It must have worked, because Jim stepped into the office and sat down behind the desk. Blair smiled to himself, chuckling because Jim had left the door to the office open.

Wednesday

The next morning Blair stood in the kitchen drinking his algae shake. The previous night, Blair had finally gotten Jim to admit that his first few hours behind the big desk had been relatively pain free but, Jim had a budget meeting this morning and it had preyed on his mind all evening. Turning to a tried and trusted method of stress relief, Blair had taken Jim to bed early and allowed him to take control. Blair had been drifting off into a post coital doze, arms and legs wrapped round Jim, when the phone rang. Jim had grabbed it off the bedside table, rolling Blair with him as he moved across the bed. It had been Joan to tell them Simon had finally woken up. He had a fever, but the doctors felt his prognosis was still good. They were both relieved at the news and had slept soundly, replete and comforted.

As Blair heard Jim descend the stairs, he looked up and wolf-whistled. Jim was wearing a dark blue suit, white shirt and red and blue patterned tie.

"Man, do you look sexy in a suit," Blair whispered.

Jim smiled, slightly embarrassed. Finishing the shake, Blair put the glass in the sink and walked over to his lover.

"I forget how good you look all dressed up."

Blair ran his hands up Jim's arms and to his shoulders. He licked his lips.

"How much time do we have?" he asked, stepping in close.

"Not enough," Jim replied, dropping his head forward and capturing Blair's lips as his hands pulled Blair's head towards him.

The kiss was passionate and did nothing to dampen Blair's ardor.

"You taste so good," Blair breathed into Jim's mouth. "Are you sure we don't have time?" Blair asked, one hand dropping to Jim's crotch. He was hard.

Jim resumed kissing, his tongue demanding entry to Blair's mouth and then cavorting there as access was granted.

"I wish there was," Jim panted as their lips broke apart, "but I have to be on the second floor in thirty minutes."

Both men sighed as they stepped apart. Jim grabbed his jacket and opened the door. Blair held back, admiring the view.

"Drop dead gorgeous," he muttered.

Jim wiggled his ass in reply and Blair laughed and followed him from the loft.

The call came in just before 11.30 am. Jim and Blair had been working with Robbery on a series of convenience store hold ups that had gradually been escalating in violence. During the last hold up, the store manager had been shot and killed. When the press nickname for the gang changed from the 7-11 robbers to the 7-11 killers, the Chief of Police had brought Major Crime in and told both departments to get results quickly. Blair grabbed his jacket and shouted a message to Rhonda to tell Jim where he was going. Taking the stairs down, Blair wondered if should have taken another member of the squad with him. As a rookie he was supposed to be accompanied on every call. With Jim acting as Captain, Blair reasoned that he had not had another detective assigned to him as a temporary partner and he had not been placed on desk duty, so there was no need for him not to respond to the call. Besides he would hook up with the Robbery squad detectives at the scene. Any qualms he had about answering the call alone were logically disposed of and Blair drove out of the garage with a clear conscience.

The robberies had all followed the same pattern: two young men, one white, one black, entered the store. One would go to the checkout and the other would stay by the door, appearing to be interested in something on the shelves. The perp at the checkout would threaten the person behind the counter with a hand gun, while the other kept watch. Violence had not been a factor until the third robbery; a pregnant woman had been punched in the stomach when she took too long to empty the cash register. From that point on, the assaults had escalated until only two days before, when the store owner who had walked in on the robbery was shot dead without warning when he entered the store through a rear door.

The store that Blair was now rushing towards was only fifteen minutes from the station but a patrol car had been three blocks away when the silent alarm went off and they had responded to the call. It was the same two officers who had reported to Dispatch that it was the 7-11 robbers. When Blair arrived, both officers were out of the squad car, squatting down, guns drawn with the squad car between them and the store. Blair parked half a block away, made his shield visible on his belt and approached the two officers from behind, hands away from his sides, announcing his arrival calmly. He joined them behind the squad car.

"What have we got, guys?"

"Two guys, white, entered approximately twenty minutes ago. We had one shot fired a few minutes ago. Robbery told us to hold position here until they arrived."

"Wait a minute," Blair considered. "You said that they were both white?"

The same officer, Jennings his name tag said, answered again. "We got a good look at both of them, definitely both Caucasian males about 16 years old."

"Then it's not the 7-11 robbers. Did you tell Robbery they were both white?"

"No," said Jennings' partner.

"So why aren't they here then?" Blair asked not expecting a reply.

"Don't know," replied Jennings.

Blair looked at the man and shook his head. Suddenly all hell let loose. Shots were fired from inside the store shattering windows and sending gawking onlookers running in all directions. Blair ducked, but pulled his handgun from its holster. The safety stayed on. Jennings, who was positioned towards the back of the car, dropped to his knees. His partner, at the front of the car, put both arms on the hood and steadied his aim. The shooting stopped and both Blair and Jennings moved round to face the store. Another round of firing broke out. Jennings' partner went down, half his head blown away.

"Ross!" Jennings screamed, scrabbling back over to his prone partner.

Blair felt sick and watched the pool of blood halo around the young officer's head. The two robbers broke out of the store, each going in a different direction. A distraught Officer Jennings, tears streaking his face, snarled in anger and took off around the back of the patrol car to chase after one of the perps. Blair looked around; there was no sign of any other units on the way. He checked out the second robber, who now stood in the mouth of an alley which ran down the side of the store. The perp was watching Blair, as if daring him to follow. Blair brought up his gun, flicking off the safety. He assumed a position not dissimilar from the downed man and shouted, "Cascade P.D. Armed police officer, put down your gun and step away."

The perp laughed and took off down the alley. Jennings was long gone and his partner was dead. In that split second, Blair made the decision to follow the young criminal. He took off after the perp. As he entered the alley, he saw the youngster run out at the other end, turning right. The two men made their way down a warren of alleyways and back streets. Once when the perp stopped to avoid being hit by a garbage truck, Blair drew closer and once again he shouted, "Cascade P. D. Stop or I will shoot."

The perp skipped in a circle and laughed again waving his gun in Blair's direction. Blair ducked down behind a wall, but saw the guy run off to the left. He followed, and after another two turns found himself sliding to a stop in another alley. This one was different though, there was no way out. It was a dead end. Panting at the exertion, Blair shouted again, "Cascade P.D. Throw the gun away and put your hands on your head."

The youth was pulling at a door that had been hidden from Blair by the gloom caused by the high sided buildings. Blair looked up and saw grimy, closed windows. Not being able to open the door, the trapped man stepped towards Blair, waving his gun again. Blair assumed the stance and fired one shot above head height. The shot reverberated off the brick walls.

"Cascade P. D. Put down the gun, put your hands on your head or I will shoot."

At that moment, the door opened and an old Chinese man entered the alley talking to himself, oblivious to the two men in a Mexican stand-off only a few feet away. The perp turned at the noise, looked at Blair, giggled and then turned the gun on the old man who dropped the armful of boxes he held by the dumpster. In a moment of clarity Blair saw the finger tighten on the trigger and he shot once into the body of the gunman. The bullet hit the perp high in the back on the left hand side. As it shattered the shoulder blade, the bullet was deflected down and to the right. It tore through tissue, passed through the perp's heart and exited just under the rib cage. The youth was dead before he hit the ground.

Blair stood staring. Automatically he walked slowly to the downed man, sliding the fallen gun out of reach with his foot. A finger to the throat confirmed the death. Blair put on the safety of his own gun and pulled out his cell phone. When his call was answered, he reported an officer involved shooting. Blair couldn't answer when asked where he was.

"Hold on, I'll find out."

He walked unsteadily to the old man who was cowering by the dumpster crying.

"Sir, are you okay?"

The old man didn't answer, wrapping his arms tightly around his legs.

"Sir, I am a police officer."

Blair moved his jacket to show off his badge and realised he was shaking. He could hear a voice from his phone. It sounded tinny and distant.

"Sir," he put a hand on the old man's shoulder.

The man looked up at Blair.

"Can you tell me where we are?"

Blair waved the phone to illustrate why he needed the information. Blair felt sick and swallowed hard. The old man spoke. Blair relayed the information to Dispatch.

"The alley behind the Red Dragon Restaurant on Mason and Ninth. Make sure you send an ambulance."

Reassuring himself that the old man wasn't hurt, just shocked, Blair sat down next to him trying to stop his own shakes and failing abysmally. He didn't know how long they waited, but it seemed like forever. When the unmarked police car that belonged to Robbery finally pulled into the alley way, Blair stood up and walked towards the detectives, who got out of the car. He felt bruised and sore and still felt nauseous.

"Sandburg," the bigger of the two detectives acknowledged him with a wave of his hands, "this our guy?"

"No," Blair answered. "Not our guy."

Blair handed his gun to Forensics when they arrived and watched in a detached isolated way as the processes that he had participated in time after time unfolded before him. It was strange to be on the outside for a change. What was stranger was not having Jim or Simon by his side. He felt the need to be with his lover, and checking with the senior detective from Robbery that it was okay to leave, Blair walked slowly back to his car crunching across the glass strewn parking lot in front of the convenience store where it had all started. Finally sitting in his car, the world shut out, he held onto the steering wheel to still the shakes. The feeling of sickness had never entirely gone and he kept seeing the dead man fall to the ground. In his memory, the body of the gunman kept melting into the body of Officer Jennings' partner. Blair took a deep breath and tried to get the keys into the ignition. His hand was shaking too much and he bit his lower lip, tasting the blood. He had an overwhelming desire to be with Jim.

Just then the driver side door was pulled open. Blair jumped and stared as a large hand gently covered his own hand and took the car keys away from him. Slowly Blair turned and looked into beautiful blue eyes. He wanted to sink into those strong arms, but knew, out here in public, it was the last thing he could do. Well, maybe not the last thing, as he concentrated on those lips.

"Blair, are you ok?"

The voice was calm and quiet and solid. A rock in his emotional storm. He couldn't answer, but allowed himself to be pulled from his car and led to Jim's truck. He noticed that his own car keys were handed to someone else. He was guided into the passenger seat of the truck and the seat belt fastened across his chest. As Jim slammed the driver side door Blair pulled himself together and looked at his partner.

"I have to go back to Major Crime. I have to make my statement."

"I know," Jim said quietly.

Blair looked at his hands, expecting to see some evidence of his act, blood perhaps, he thought cruelly.

"I killed a man, Jim. Actually it wasn't a man, it was a boy."

Jim started the engine and pulled out into traffic.

"I don't think you should say anything yet, Blair, not 'til you make your statement or we are both off duty."

There was a quality to Jim's voice that spoke of love, guilt, concern, sadness; all of which combined to imperil Blair's fragile hold on normality. He nodded in understanding not trusting his own voice to answer. The silence stretched on. Ten minutes later Jim pulled the truck over. Blair undid his seatbelt and went to open the door, when he realised they weren't at Police headquarters. Jim put his hands on Blair's shoulders and turned him so they were facing each other. He pulled Blair into a hug and Blair felt Jim's hands stroke his back. He heard the murmur of comforting words in his ear and relaxed into the embrace.

"I can't believe it," Blair said into Jim's shoulder.

"I should have been there for you, Blair. I'm so sorry. I knew I shouldn't have taken Simon's place."

Having Jim's pain to concentrate on helped Blair. He pulled away from Jim's embrace and stared firmly at his partner.

"You have nothing to feel guilty about, Jim. There was nothing you could have done."

"I didn't want this to happen to you, Chief. You know that don't you?"

Blair heard the desperate pleading in Jim's voice. He leaned back into the embrace.

"I know."

Jim kissed Blair gently on the lips.

"Ready to go?"

Blair nodded and put his seatbelt back on.

~~

Acting Captain Jim Ellison interviewed Detective Blair Sandburg in Interrogation Room 2. Blair was concise, but gave all the salient details. When it was all over, Jim gave Blair his copy of the interview tape and formally explained that the second tape would be handed over to Internal Affairs. Jim stood.

"Blair, you're on desk duty until I.A. finishes their investigation."

It's okay, Jim, I understand."

There was a pause as the two men looked at each other.

"I think I'll head back to the loft, take a shower, start dinner," Blair suggested.

"Good idea, Chief. Henri has the keys to the Volvo. I asked him to park it in the garage for you."

"Thanks, Jim."

Blair gave Jim a grateful smile.

"See you later."

By the time Jim made it back to the loft it was after 7.00pm. He had wrangled with bureaucracy and paperwork all afternoon and despite using his newly elevated position to try and force something out of I.A., he had singularly failed to get any preliminary response to Blair's shooting. I.A. would take its own sweet time, but sometimes they were prepared to give an early indication on whether the shooting was justified or not. Jim had been involved in more officer involved shootings than he cared to remember and he knew much depended on who was given the case. Captain Dave McCluskey was on Blair's case. He was a good man, by the book, but fair. In fact he had cleared Jim in the investigation that followed the Lash shooting. Jim was reassured that Blair would get a fair crack of the whip. Not that he needed it, he chided himself.

Opening the door to the loft, Jim found Blair in the kitchen cooking. The smells of Blair's four cheese sauce assailed Jim's nose as he went to his partner and hugged him from behind. Breathing deeply, his nose in Blair's curls, he knew that Blair had showered and shaved and there was something else ... Sandalwood. Blair had been meditating.

"How are you doing?" he asked as Blair relaxed into his arms

"Better than I thought," Blair answered.

The sauce turned down to simmer and the water put on to boil, Blair turned to face Jim. Arms encircling Jim's waist, Blair held on tight.

"Amazing what a little meditation can do," he muttered.

"Naomi would be proud, Chief," Jim chuckled trying to keep the lightness in the moment.

"Yeah," Blair sighed.

Jim could hear the faintest catch, the faintest undercurrent in his lover's voice that told him that Blair was putting up a damn good front.

Jim understood though, that Blair needed to hide for a while, allow his conscious brain time to do all the things it would normally do, while behind that faade, Jim had no doubt, Blair was tearing himself apart. At some point soon it would all be too much and he would have to pick up the pieces.

This had always been one of Jim's greatest fears after Blair had announced his intention to become a cop. He had a belief deep down that this was something that Blair wouldn't be able to cope with, that Blair's soul, his karma, life force, chi, call it what you will, would be irreparably damaged by taking the life of another human being. Jim had sworn to himself on the day Blair had graduated from the Academy that he would do everything he could to ensure that Blair would never be in that situation and if he failed Blair, then he would be there for his partner, to hold a hand, put the pieces back together, in fact he had vowed to do any damn thing Blair needed or wanted to make it right. If that was possible. It had come all too early in Blair's career and Jim hadn't been there. Jim knew some cops, even in these times, who had had never fired their guns in the course of duty. Why couldn't Blair be one of those?

"How long 'til we eat, Chief?" Jim asked breaking the moment.

"You have time to shower and change, if you are very quick," Blair replied, slapping Jim on the ass playfully.

As Jim headed to the bathroom, Blair returned to the cooking.

Jim opened a bottle of wine to go with Blair's dinner. He felt Blair might need a little help when it came to relaxing that evening. After the meal was finished, they stayed at the table sipping the wine and talking about everything but what had happened that afternoon. It was after 9.00pm when the last washed dish was put away. Jim went around securing the loft. Blair watched him from the couch.

"What are you doing, man? Isn't it a little early for bed?" Blair asked.

"I'm beat, Chief. I could really do with an early night."

Blair paused then responded.

"I'm down with that."

Ablutions taken care of, Jim was already in bed when Blair lifted the covers and crawled in next to him. It was as much as Jim could do to stop himself pulling Blair close and wrapping him up so that all the hurt would be chased away. He knew that Blair would recognise the gesture for what it was, and he was still trying for normal.

Blair's hands gently caressed Jim's chest, lightly brushing Jim's nipples and then dusting down to his stomach. Jim groaned, he loved the feel of Blair's skin against his. Blair kissed Jim lightly, concentrating on his stomach. Jim's cock stirred and he squirmed his groin to bring more of himself into contact with Blair's thigh.

"Patience," chuckled Blair.

Jim tried to pull Blair's face to his own. He wanted to kiss those lips, he wanted his tongue inside that warm sweet mouth, he wanted to plunder, but Blair had his own agenda. He shook his head at Jim's efforts to redirect his attention and laughed when Jim growled at his own failure. Then the licking started. Little laps alternating with tiny puffs of breath scattered across Jim's stomach had the older man writhing in pleasure. Then Blair did move, but it was not up to Jim's lips but down between his legs. Slowly he spread Jim's thighs and his fingers began to caress the inside of those strong legs from the groin to the knees; first fingers, then kisses, then licks. The pattern was repeated. Jim's balls and cock were studiously ignored. By now Jim was panting, the stimulation was breathtaking and his cock lay full and weeping.

"Blair ... please ... I want you," he urged.

Blair ignored him, continuing to lick and breathe.

"You're mine," he whispered. "I'm going to take you."

It was rare that one of them decided who was going to top. Most times the foreplay to their lovemaking brought about a natural top or bottom and they both went with the flow. Tonight Blair wanted the control and Jim was more than happy with that. He started to turn on his front.

"No."

Blair's voice stopped him; it was demanding, almost angry.

"Stay on your back. I want to see you."

Jim nodded, realising that Blair was using their lovemaking as some sort of cathartic moment. Blair went back to Jim's thighs which had momentarily been ignored. Each kiss, each lap of the tongue brought Blair closer to Jim's balls. Lying between Jim's legs with one hand being used to adjust his movements, Blair pushed his other hand to Jim's nipples. In turn each brown nub was rolled, twisted, pinched and squeezed until both stood hard and proud and Jim was almost incoherent with pleasure. Blair kissed Jim's balls and Jim arched off the bed as though stung.

"Oh my god!" he shouted.

Jim was licked, tiny little touches that tingled and teased. He was sweating. Blair pulled away briefly, grabbing the lube from the bedside table. The tongue continued on its journey. The mouth that Jim wanted to claim for himself took in one of Jim's balls. He almost howled. The arousal that had taken root in Jim's groin when Blair started on his exploration grew to a level that almost sent Jim over the edge. He wanted relief, but he wanted more, all at the same time. Blair pulled back and Jim whimpered. His legs were pushed up and apart as he felt Blair move into position. There was no preparation, no fingers loosening or spreading him, it was Blair's lubed rigid cock that demanded entrance. Blair pushed in. It wasn't hurried, it wasn't a shove or a thrust, but there was a determination that opened Jim's eyes and made him stare in awe at his partner. Blair's face was down. Was he watching himself, wondered Jim? As Blair looked up, Jim saw the tear tracks on his cheeks.

"Blair," Jim gasped.

"No," Blair insisted. "Don't."

Then he did shove hard and fast. Jim's voice was taken away. Blair withdrew nearly all the way and rammed back in. Through the near orgasmic bliss, Jim could hear Blair speak.

"I love you so much, Jim, so much, oh god, so much."

Blair came with a cry and a sob, his cock pounding into Jim. Falling forward Blair stopped himself from landing on Jim by planting his hands on either side of Jim's waist. His head was down again. Jim shook, unable to fulfil his arousal. Blair moved back, leaving Jim's tight ass and pounced on his cock. Jim had been longing for Blair's mouth since they got into bed and now he had it. Blair's mouth engulfed his cock, swallowing, sucking, biting, and nibbling. Jim was undone and came in long, deep spurts, which Blair took without murmur. Sated, both men collapsed. Blair covered Jim and when the tears came again, Jim took Blair in his arms, held him tight, promised him everything would be all right and kissed his head. As the sobs subsided, sleep came to them both.

Thursday

It was the alarm that woke Jim. Blair lay where he had fallen last night. He had not moved. Jim took Blair in his arms and whispered in his ear.

"Blair, it's time to wake up."

The younger man stirred and forced his eyes open. The two men stared at each other until Jim smiled and spoke again.

"I love you, Blair, and I will not let this destroy you. Believe me."

"I do, and I love you too. Thank you."

Jim knew that Blair was saying thank you for the previous night and broadened his smile in acknowledgement.

"Shower?" Jim asked.

Blair nodded, and unsticking themselves, they showered together taking a long, slow, luxurious time until cold water forced them to get out.

There was no doubt that Blair was good at paperwork. Blair might complain that his world was wet and cold, but in reality his world was paper; paper work, paper clips, even paper cuts from time to time and truth be told, Blair didn't mind that much. He was good at paperwork and the bureaucracy of police work meant that police paperwork was not dissimilar from University paperwork; boring, repetitive and simple to complete. Oh, and required in triplicate. Blair cleared all of his and Jim's paperwork by mid afternoon. Jim had spent the day in Simon's office, once again leaving the door open. Blair had eaten lunch at his desk and was ready at 3.00pm for his formal interview with I.A.

McCluskey did his best to put Blair at his ease and then basically went through Blair's statement of the previous day. He delved in more detail into the circumstances immediately before the shooting.

"I have to tell you, Blair. Mr. Lu has told us that he did not hear you call out a warning to Daniels before you shot him."

McCluskey sounded genuinely concerned. Blair went over the incident in his memory again.

"No, he wouldn't have done. I called out to Daniels just before the door opened. When he turned the gun on Mr. Lu, I didn't have time to give him another warning. I felt Mr. Lu was in imminent danger."

"Hmmm," McCluskey considered for a moment and then brought the interview to a close. "My men are carrying out house to house inquiries now. Most of the properties are derelict and empty, but some have occupants. Maybe one of them heard or saw something that corroborates your story."

"And if you don't find anybody?" Blair asked.

"Then I make my recommendations on the basis of the evidence I do have."

Blair knew better than to ask what that recommendation would be. Although McCluskey was a good man as far as I.A. went, he was still I.A. and they were miserable bastards at the best of times. Blair returned to Major Crime and plonked himself in front of Simon's desk and drank the coffee Jim offered him.

"How did it go?" Jim asked.

Blair smiled. "You mean you didn't listen in?"

Jim had the good grace to blush.

"It sounded okay to me."

"Yeah," Blair admitted. "McCluskey was alright, he's not a bad guy." Blair concentrated on his coffee. "I was thinking of visiting Simon if there's nothing else to do here."

"Good idea, Chief. Tell him to get well soon."

Blair laughed as he finished his coffee.

"If only you were sincere about that, Jim, I might just tell him."

"Oh I mean it, Chief. I really do. I have to get out from behind this desk and soon."

Chuckling, Blair left to visit the man in the hospital.

Friday

The next day followed much the same routine, only the paperwork was cleared before lunch. Blair and Jim went to Rosita's for cannelloni, where they ate garlic bread dripping with olive oil.

"Oh man, this is so bad," sighed Blair, sitting back.

"Come on, Chief, a little treat once in a while never hurt anyone and you deserve it."

Blair raised an eyebrow to ask why.

"The paperwork," Jim replied and Blair laughed.

As they were getting ready to leave Jim's bleeper went off. Blair saw the look on his face darken.

"Trouble?" he asked.

Jim nodded as he dialled his cell phone. Blair paid the bill as they hurried back to the truck. As Blair clicked his seatbelt in place, Jim closed his phone and started the engine.

"Looks like we have a bomb. There's been an explosion down on Maine by the Cannery. I need to drop you at the Station."

Blair was about to object. For a split second he had forgotten.

"Okay," he said quietly.

"I'm sorry, Chief."

"It's okay Jim. I understand."

Blair spent a quiet afternoon; he made two trips to Records, one trip to Forensics and the rest of the time he answered the phone. It was dull and boring. As people started filtering back into the office towards the end of their shift, Blair put on his jacket and once again made his way to the hospital. Simon was making a slow recovery and although the day before he had been pretty out of it during Blair's visit, Blair hoped he would be better today. Whether he was or wasn't, sitting in the hospital at Simon's bedside was better than sitting in the bullpen ignoring the sideways glimpses of those curious to know how he was holding up, even if they meant well. When the visit was over, Blair would go home and hold himself together until Jim came home to do it for him.

The Cannery on Maine was a small mall made up of snobby little fashionable boutiques. Or rather it had been. Now it was only good for matchsticks. The building had been completely demolished. According to the Bomb Squad Captain, they had five dead and ten seriously injured. Jim walked straight to Joel Taggart. It seemed that the former Bomb Squad Captain showed up whenever there was an explosion, despite the fact that he was no longer part of the Squad.

"Joel, what have we got?"

"It's a bad situation, Jim, but I'm not convinced it's a bomb."

"Looks pretty convincing to me," Jim said, indicating to the lack of structure. "If not, then what, Joel?"

Before Joel had a chance to reply the Fire Chief strode over.

"You were right, Joel. The report was made yesterday by one of the shop owners. Cascade Power was out to inspect this morning. They are trying to track down the engineers now. In the meantime we have three people still unaccounted for, so, if you'll excuse me gentlemen."

Without waiting for a response he strode away shouting orders.

Jim sniffed. "Gas?" he suggested to Joel.

That moment Jim heard his name called and turning he missed what was said in reply. The shout had come from McCluskey. Jim started towards the I.A. Captain but stopped and turned back to Joel.

"Give me a few minutes, Joel, and I'll help in the search."

Joel nodded and took off his jacket.

"Detective Ellison, where's your partner?" asked McCluskey.

"Riding a desk."

Jim felt a sense of unease.

"We have a witness."

Jim was not reassured and waited for McCluskey to continue.

"He was in a second storey room and claims he saw the shooting."

"That's good, isn't it?" Jim asked warily.

McCluskey put his hands in his coat pockets.

"He doesn't back up what Sandburg says."

Jim was dumbstruck.

"He's got to be lying. Sandburg would never shoot anyone willingly."

Jim took a deep breath. His head was spinning.

"According to the witness, Detective Sandburg chased the deceased, Daniels, into the alley and took a shot at him. Sandburg missed and shot a second time. He didn't miss. There was no warning and Sandburg shot Daniels in the back as he was running away."

"You can't believe that, he must be lying. Blair wouldn't ..."

Jim couldn't finish the sentence. The ramifications of what McCluskey was saying hit him.

"The autopsy had already told us that the round entered from behind," McCluskey paused. "I don't have any choice, Ellison. I have to take his badge and gun."

"You are just going to accept the witness' word? Aren't you going to check him out? He is setting Sandburg up. Blair wouldn't do this."

Jim was in McCluskey's face, shouting at the man. The I.A. Captain took half a step back, but didn't accept the criticism implied in Jim's rant. He pointed at Jim.

"I know my job, Ellison, and I will check this guy out, but there is a prima facie case here and I will have his badge. He is on suspension until my investigation is finished."

Jim glared.

"I came down here out of courtesy, Ellison, to let you know before I took that step. Don't shove it back in my face," McCluskey sighed. He tried to take the sting out of the situation. "I thought you might prefer to do it." The Captain waited for a reply.

"Yeah, thanks, Captain. I appreciate that. I'll do it."

Jim felt sick.

"I'll keep you apprised of any developments."

Jim stood watching the I.A. Captain leave, stirred only from his thoughts by Joel's hand on his arm.

"Jim, we need your help."

The last thing Jim wanted to do was stay but at this moment in time he knew where his duty and his responsibility lay. He wanted to be with Blair, but given what he would have to tell the younger man he knew Blair wouldn't want to hear it. Jim's conflict was put out of his mind for the next few hours while he worked with the Cascade fire fighters to locate the missing three people; two women and a young child. The women were quickly found and freed, but the youngster was trapped deep in the debris and was not only difficult to locate, but almost impossible to reach and then to free. Eventually, in order to save the young girl's life, a doctor had to amputate her foot. In the aftermath, the two Cascade Power engineers arrived on the scene and were immediately confronted by the Fire Chief. It took Jim, Joel and another fire fighter to pull the enraged man away from the engineers. They had been in attendance that morning to a report of a gas leak and had apparently made a cursory inspection before leaving, promising to return with the right equipment. The Fire Chief insisted that the Homicide detectives on the scene check the men's blood alcohol level. In the end he dragged the two engineers over to an adjoining building to view the five body bags laid out in a sad, straight row. Both men were whitefaced and shaking as they were led away by detectives.

Jim had to go back to Major Crime before heading home and so it was after 7.00pm before he put his key in the loft door. Blair was waiting.

"I saw the news, man. It was terrible. How are you doing?"

Jim sat on the couch and took the beer Blair offered.

"A seven year old girl lost a foot, five people died and a dozen were injured, all because two men were too lazy to do their job."

Jim rubbed at his temples trying to stave off the headache building up. He leaned back putting the bottle on the coffee table as Blair started to knead his tense shoulder muscles.

"That feels good."

There was a silence as Blair worked out the knots and Jim revelled in the feel of his lover's hands. He shifted his position as his body told him just how much he really was enjoying it. He heard Blair's smile and the tiny intake of breath that accompanied it.

"Blair, we need to talk," Jim said quietly.

"That's a shame because I had something else in mind," Blair teased.

Jim smiled and looked up at the man he loved. Reluctantly, he patted the seat next to him.

"Come and sit down, Chief."

"That sounds serious."

Jim sighed. "It is."

While Jim explained the impact of the witness evidence, Blair grew more and more pale.

"Why would this witness lie?" Blair was at a loss to understand. "Who is he? Why would he do this?"

"I don't know, but I am going to find out."

Blair could only nod as he stood and walked slowly to the door. He felt in the pocket of his jacket, removing the wallet that held his gold shield. He put it in Jim's hand. As he tried to remove his hand, Jim grabbed it.

"I will find out what's going on, Chief." Jim reassured the younger man.

"If ... if he sticks to his statement, what's the worse that can happen?" Blair asked quietly.

"It won't come to that," Jim insisted.

"I can be arrested, can't I, charged with murder?"

Now it was difficult for Jim to speak. He forced himself.

"It won't come to that," he repeated.

Jim pulled Blair close, hugging him in arms that wanted to shield him from the harshness. Blair settled his head on Jim's chest and they stayed desperate in their embrace until the last of the light went out of the sky and the loft was plunged into darkness. Jim was first to move, needing to empty his bladder. Once the comfortable link was broken, Blair moved into the kitchen, turning on lights. He pulled a covered tray out of the fridge and put it in the oven. As Jim came out of the bathroom, Blair was putting previously prepared vegetables into saucepans.

"Anything you want me to do?"

"No, I got it all done after I got back from the hospital."

"How was Simon?"

"Better than yesterday, but still sleeping a lot. He was awake for all of five minutes while I was there. When I told him about your promotion, he laughed and said you'd better not drink his coffee."

"Did you tell him about the shooting?"

Blair shook his head.

"I didn't want to bother him." He paused and looked at Jim. "I still can't believe this is happening."

Jim sat at the dinner table, holding the unfinished bottle of beer that was now warm.

"The way I see it, whoever this witness is, he has to be trying to set you up. So we find out who he is and then I go talk to him."

Jim's smile was all teeth.

"You make is sound so easy."

"It won't be easy, Chief. I'm not entitled to see the witness statement or know who the witness is, but we do have an inbuilt advantage," Jim said knowingly.

"That's unethical."

Jim stood up and came round the table to stand next to his lover.

"I'm not going to let rules and regulations take your badge away from you, Chief. We know what the truth is, your shoot was justified and now someone is lying to put you in the firing line. Nothing will stop me from getting to the truth. You deserve at least that."

It was said quietly, but with fierceness. Jim had to make Blair understand that they were going to beat this together. The rest of the evening was spent quietly. After dinner had been taken care of they sat together on the couch watching an old film. As John Wayne took his famous pose in the doorway and the credits rolled, Jim stood, stretched and looked down.

"Bed?" he suggested.

Blair nodded, but did not move. By the time Jim had finished locking doors and windows he expected to hear Blair in the bathroom, but he was still sitting on the couch. Jim knelt between his legs rubbing his hands on Blair's thighs.

"Hey," he whispered at Blair's distant gaze.

Blair focussed on him and smiled.

"Where were you?"

"Just ..."

"Processing?" Jim suggested.

"No, just wondering who could hate me enough to do this."

Jim moved further forward.

"Whoever it is and whatever the reason behind it, you have to know that I love you, Blair, and that is stronger that any hate."

Blair leaned forward and kissed Jim lightly.

"I love you, Jim Ellison."

Jim came up on his knees and taking Blair's head in his hands, he pulled him into another kiss; this one full of fire and purpose. Jim's tongue gave no quarter; he poked and prodded, dominating until he released Blair to gasps from both men. Blair slid slightly further down the couch and then they were kissing again. This time, Blair fought back and was winning until Jim's hands joined the fray. The surprisingly gentle hands went under Blair's various layers, thumbs brushing over his nipples. Blair squirmed. When Jim went for the nipple ring, Blair's groin arched up. The layers were pushed up and Jim's mouth attacked the skin of Blair's stomach. Jim could feel Blair's reactions, the way his skin tightened and how the hairs on his chest stood to attention, the way his skin heated up. He could hear Blair's heart speed up and the blood rush. Blair's breath came in gasps. When Jim undid Blair's fly, Blair was already hard and leaking. His body slipped further down and Jim thought he looked debauched.

"Jim," Blair pleaded.

Jim smiled and headed in. His mouth took Blair's cock, circling the head with his tongue, teasing the slit.

"Oh God, Jim."

Jim didn't answer, taking Blair further down his throat, allowing Blair to fuck his mouth. He sucked Blair, forcing his hips off the couch. Blair's hands were on Jim's head, holding him down. Jim used every tool in his arsenal until he had Blair a quaking mass and then he stopped, removing his mouth. Instead, a finger teased at the leaking slit. Jim covered his finger in Blair's cum and then slipped his hand under Blair's ass, reaching the puckered skin of Blair's hole. The finger nudged inside and Jim's mouth went back to Blair's cock. It was too much for Blair, and as the finger went past the first knuckle he came, grunting and exploding down Jim's throat. When Blair softened in his mouth, Jim looked up and saw the post orgasmic haze in his lover's eyes, the flush on his cheeks. Jim pushed his finger further in and Blair squirmed deliciously.

"I want you, Blair. Here. Now."

Blair nodded incapable of speech. In fact it took some considerable time before Blair could utter anything intelligible. Jim took him there on the couch and then again in bed. When Jim finally let Blair sink into oblivion, it was with the thought that he had fucked his lover senseless and for tonight, at least, he would sleep the sleep of the sated. Jim smiled as he slipped into the sleep of the almost sated.

David Ashcroft was drinking in a bar. He considered himself very lucky. He had just made the easiest ten thousand dollars ever. He pondered the chain of events that had led him to this moment. It had all started with a phone call on Wednesday evening. David had been out of work for over two years. When the CEO of the parent company he worked for was jailed, the company had pretty much fallen apart. Parts of it were sold off to the highest bidder and the trucking company he worked for was a casualty of one of those sales. He had only been a driver, low down the pecking order and the word was that they had been bought out by a rival, only to be shut down.

The boss of the trucking company he worked for had contacted him. The man, Stefan Hildred, had started out life as a longshoreman. He was a bear of a man with close cropped white hair and a scar that ran from his ear to his neck. No one messed with Hildred; he had big fists and was happy to use them. Most of the men David worked with had been scared of their boss, but Hildred had always been good to David, stopping to talk to him, praising him for a job well done. So when Hildred had phoned him out of the blue two years after they had last spoken, David had willingly agreed to meet him. The job was an easy one; move into an apartment across town on Mason and when the police came to call, tell them what Hildred wanted them to hear.

The apartment hadn't been bad and it had cable and it wasn't as though he had anything else to do. In fact, all in all, it was slightly better than the one he was living in. He had found the five thousand dollars in the apartment on Mason when he arrived on Wednesday evening and he had taken some time on Thursday morning to take it home and hide it somewhere safe.

He had heard about the shooting. It was all over the TV news and the man from the Chinese restaurant in the building next to the new apartment was telling everyone about the man who had tried to kill him. Before lunchtime on Thursday a parcel had arrived. In it were photographs and one piece of paper with typing on it. David knew from his previous phone call with Hildred he had to memorise what was written on the piece of paper and be able to identify the man in the photographs. This was what he would tell the police when they came calling and the man was the one he would identify as the shooter. He knew that if he was convincing when the police questioned him, there would be another five thousand dollars to match the one he already had. David took to his task with gusto. He had no love for the cops. As a truck driver they made his job hell and a little payback was what they had coming. Of course, the money helped ease any qualms he might have had.

When the police did appear at the front door of the apartment David had trotted out his story word perfect. Later that evening Hildred had visited, handed over the second five thousand dollars and had sat and had a beer with David. Before he left Hildred had gathered up the photos and the statement and put a hand on David's shoulder thanking him for a job well done. David had been pumped that this strong scary man had called him friend and thanked him. After Hildred had left, David was still buzzed. Taking two $100 bills from the cash Hildred had left, he walked down Mason until he found a bar he liked.

So here he was drinking cold beer with tequila shots and because he was flush it was Silver Patron, a luxury he could rarely afford. Another luxury was sidling up to him, sitting on the stool next to his. He knew she was a hooker. He could see past the makeup and the expensive clothes. Why not, he thought, I deserve it for a job well done. He allowed the hooker to string him along until the deal was done and then he downed the last shot and headed to her room in the motel across the road. His unsteady gait was balanced by the hooker's steady arm. Ashcroft had drunk too much, he knew that, but he didn't care; he had ten thousand dollars to his name and a good looking girl on his arm.

Saturday

Blair went back to bed after Jim went off to work the next morning, but he couldn't sleep and decided to get up, strip the bed of its used sheets and do the laundry. He might as well do the chores and save Jim the trouble, he thought while he could. There were three loads to do and Blair spent most of the morning going up and downstairs to the basement. When he had finished he still felt frustrated, his skin itchy. The day was, for once in Cascade, sunny and he pulled the afghan off the back of the couch and made his way to the balcony. Settling himself he tried again to meditate. His attempt two days ago had not been particularly successful. Vaguely aware of the phone ringing inside the loft, Blair ignored it as he slowly quieted his thoughts, controlled his breathing and looked inside himself.

He was surprised to note that two hours had passed when he came back from that relaxed state. He felt calmer, more positive and throwing the afghan back on the couch he headed for the shower. He was dragged from under the spray of water by a pounding on the door. He took Jim's robe, wrapped a towel around his hair and called out as he reached the door.

"Who is it?"

"Blair Sandburg, this is Captain McCluskey, can I talk to you?"

Noting that his hands were shaking, Blair slid the chain back and unlocked the door.

"Come in."

McCluskey looked embarrassed.

"Just let me get changed."

Blair disappeared upstairs and came down five minutes later, dressed and with his damp curls combed out.

"What can I do for you, Captain?"

"I tried to reach you on the phone this morning. Where were you?"

"Here. Why?"

"Why didn't you answer your phone? What were you doing?"

Blair frowned. "Laundry, meditating, shower. Why?"

"Did you leave home?"

"No. Why?"

"Did anyone see you, call you on the phone?"

Blair crossed his arms. "No and would you please tell me why you are asking me these questions?"

"A man was killed this morning. Shot with a .38 police special. His body was found at the Starlight Motel, Room 42."

Blair was confused. "What has that got to do with me?"

"The dead man was the witness in your shooting, Sandburg."

It all clicked horribly into place.

"What! And you think I had something to do with it?" Blair was starting to get angry.

"You have a motive, Sandburg."

"And you don't have jack shit or you would have arrested me already instead of standing here making polite conversation."

"Watch your mouth, Sandburg. I'm still a superior officer."

"Fuck you; you're an asshole on a fishing expedition. Now get out of my home."

"Don't leave town," McCluskey snarled as he left.

"That is so fucking clichd," Blair shouted after the man, "and the elevator isn't working."

He slammed the door to the loft and turned to look inside, realising the enormity of what he had just done.

"Oh fuck, fuck, fuck. He is going to nail my hide to the wall."

Blair ran upstairs and changed into sweats and then left the loft. He ran down Prospect, across the park and through the streets until he was blowing hard, standing across the road from Police HQ. The run had driven away some of his nervous energy. Taking his cell phone from his pocket, he hit speed dial. Jim answered on the fourth ring.

"Ellison."

"Hey, Jim, I'm outside across the street, feel like lunch?"

"Sure, give me ten minutes."

Blair was cold by the time Jim came down and they slipped into the nearest bar and grabbed a seat. There was a minor explosion when Blair told Jim what McCluskey had said. Blair had to physically restrain Jim from leaving the bar and beating the I.A. Captain until he was a bloody pulp. The other customers in the bar were taking an unusual interest in the two men, so Blair dragged Jim out of the bar and into the parking garage.

"Give me the keys to the truck."

Jim didn't even ask why, just handed them over. When they were seated Blair started the engine and turned up the heat. He started driving, heading in the direction of the loft. Blair could almost see the cogs whirring. Jim had finally stopped ranting as they had gotten into the parking garage which, given there were so many cops around and Blair probably wasn't even supposed to be on the premises, was no bad thing. Jim often teased Blair that he processed stuff, but right now Jim was processing what Blair had just told him at a rate of knots.

"You're right," Jim startled Blair from his own reverie. "If McCluskey had any hard evidence he would have arrested you. All he has at the moment is a dead body, lots of questions and no answers. Forensics won't have had time to report back, so he is probably hoping they are going to come up with something to tie you to the murder."

"Which they won't," Blair stated emphatically.

"Which they won't," Jim repeated. "Why are you driving?" he asked, surprised all of a sudden to learn he wasn't behind the wheel.

"Because you're thinking," smiled Blair.

"Smart ass," Jim smiled back.

Blair parked outside the loft and handed the keys to Jim.

"I guess I'll go finish my shower. Care to join me?"

"As much as I would love to, Chief, I think I have to go and see Dan Wolfe about a new case I'm working."

"Which one? You haven't mentioned a new case."

Jim looked innocent, which was always a bad sign.

"Oh." Blair realized what was happening. "Be careful, you don't want to join me on suspension."

"Yes, dad," Jim chuckled. "Now get out of my truck and let me go back to work."

Blair stuck out his tongue and exited the truck.

Jim went first to his office and grabbed a file before making his way down to Forensics. Listening, he waited until he knew the autopsy suite was empty. Going through the double doors he dropped his file on the technician's desk and made his way to Dan's office. He couldn't hear anyone inside the office and no one was approaching from the corridor. Dan's desk was its normal, neat self. Jim checked the pending tray first. None of the files there matched the details given to Blair. He tried the out tray next and there it was, third file down. Jim got a name, David Ashcroft and an address. The double doors opened and two men walked in. Jim returned the file to its place and walked out of the office and took the initiative.

"Dan, there you are. I've been waiting for the Cooper file. You said it would be ready this morning."

Dan narrowed his eyes and gave Jim a hard stare before he walked over to the technician's desk and picked up the file.

"Here it is, Jim. Sorry it took so long to get to you."

"Don't worry about it, Dan, I know you're busy. Thanks for putting a rush on this one for me. I owe you."

Jim heard Dan whisper to himself. "You owe me big time, Ellison."

The man who had been talking to Dan Woolf as he walked into the autopsy suite was the one person Jim had not wanted to bump into; McCluskey. He ignored the man, even though he wanted to punch him in the face. Jim left Forensics and walked to the stairs heading back to Major Crime.

"Ellison," a voice called after him.

Jim feigned deafness and walked into the stairwell.

"Detective Ellison." His rank was emphasized.

"What do you want, McCluskey?" Jim purposefully didn't give the I. A. captain his title.

"That's Captain McCluskey to you, detective."

"If we're getting into a pissing contest over rank, then it's Captain Ellison, McCluskey."

McCluskey flushed red and jabbed at Jim's chest with his finger.

"If I find out that your little visit to Dan Wolfe was anything other than innocent, I am going to have your hide."

"Are you on another fishing expedition, McCluskey? Hounding another innocent man without the evidence to back it up?"

Jim's anger threw caution to the wind and he was ready to take the I.A. captain on. Attack was always the best form of defence when you had nothing to lose. McCluskey backed down in the face of Jim's fury.

"Stay away from my investigation, Ellison, or you'll regret it," he snarled.

Turning on his heel the I.A. captain left the stairwell. Jim was left breathing heavily, the bang of the closing door reverberating around.

"Fuck, that was close," he muttered to himself.

On his way back to his desk Jim asked Rhonda to run a DMV check on David Ashcroft. Efficient as always, she had the results of that search on his desk within thirty minutes. Ashcroft had a licence issued in Cascade to drive the big rigs, but the check threw up a different address all the way across town. Things were fairly quiet in the bullpen at that moment and Jim was learning that there were definite advantages to being the Captain.

"Rhonda, I'm going out. Get me on the cell phone if you need me."

"Yes, Captain," she smiled as Jim left the bullpen, striding purposefully.

David Ashcroft's second address was in a run down area of old brownstone houses. The whole block was shabby and there was a derelict feel to the area; tired and dirty. Even with Ashcroft dead, Jim knew that McCluskey would check out this address. With a case to build against Blair, McCluskey wouldn't want to be surprised by anything the defence had to pull out of the hat. Jim didn't want to draw too much attention to himself. The last thing he needed was McCluskey getting wind of the fact that he had been sniffing around. He couldn't help Blair if they were both on suspension.

Walking up the steps to the front door of the building that housed Ashcroft's apartment, Jim checked the doorbells. Ashcroft's name was still marked against Apartment C. Jim left the building and walked the length of the block; first on one side of the road and then on the other. He had spotted Ashcroft's car early on. As he casually strolled past it, he noted that there was little to distinguish it from any other mid range sedan. There was however, a jacket on the back dash. A faded patch was visible on the right arm. Jim had to concentrate but he could make out 'Tech Know Trucking'. Getting back in his truck, Jim dialled quickly.

"Blair, do me a favor, see what you can find out about 'Tech Know Trucking'. Search the 'net, do what you do best, Chief, get that lap top working."

"What am I looking for, Jim?" Blair queried.

"I'm not sure, Chief, just call it a hunch. There's something about this Ashcroft guy that just doesn't add up. Maybe this will give us some answers."

"Okay."

"I should be home on time tonight."

"Love you, Jim."

"Love you, too, Chief."

Jim cut the connection and drove back to the station.

Blair got more and more frustrated with his surfing on the 'net. He had made a few notes but really he had come up with nothing he thought would help. McCluskey's visit that morning had rattled him more than he had admitted. He knew he was innocent; he had only killed Daniels as a last resort when he had been convinced that an innocent bystander was in imminent danger. He still felt guilty, though, and that grew doubt in his mind; could he have done more to stop Daniels before it had gotten to that last resort? Guilt warred with worry. It had taken Blair a long time to decide to become a cop, but once that decision was made, he knew it was the right one. He loved working with Jim and he was a good cop; passionate, diligent, brave. He and Jim made a good team. Now he knew he was close to losing all that. If McCluskey got enough evidence together to charge him, his career was over. He wouldn't be able to come back from that. After the dissertation fiasco, he had believed that his only course of action was to leave Cascade. He had truly believed that he would never be able to work with Jim again and his career in academia was well and truly over. Then Simon had thrown him a lifeline and although it had taken Blair a while to reel in the line, he had done it; he had gone to the Academy and become a cop. Now all that was at risk and Blair knew there would be no coming back from this. He took a deep breath, trying to still his worries and doubts.

A knock at the door startled him.

"Detective Sandburg, it's Captain McCluskey. Open the door please."

Blair's heart sank. Switching off the laptop Blair opened the door. McCluskey stood there holding a document in his hands. The paper was slapped into Blair's hands.

"That's a warrant. It gives me permission to search this place and your car and take a DNA sample. Please comply with the warrant or I will be forced to arrest you."

Blair was stunned.

"You didn't need to get a warrant. I would have let you search the place if you had just asked."

McCluskey ignored him.

"The Crime Scene Tech will take your sample, Sandburg."

A pale faced young woman stood in the hall outside the loft; behind her two more detectives from I.A. They all entered the loft and Blair shut the door.

"What do you expect to find, McCluskey?"

"The dead man didn't go quietly. Material was recovered from under his nails. We want a sample to match it against."

"I told you I was here all this morning."

"We are looking for blood stained clothing, anything with GSR."

"Are you even listening to me, McCluskey?"

"Start the search," McCluskey ordered.

Once again Blair found himself losing his temper with the arrogant prick. A quiet voice cut through his anger.

"Detective Sandburg, could you open your mouth please?"

Blair stared down at the technician and complied with her request. The swab felt dry and foreign as she wiped it round the inside of his cheek. Snapping the protective cover over the swab she placed it carefully in her case and stood to one side waiting for McCluskey to call her into action. Blair stood next to her, not trusting himself to follow McCluskey or his men around. If he kept away from them, there was less chance of him saying or doing something he would regret. Eventually they finished. Cupboard doors were left open, drawers had been emptied and the covers stripped off the beds. One of the two detectives had said something to the other while they were upstairs in the bedroom and both men had laughed. Blair cringed. While his old futon was still in the spare room it was obviously not used as a place for sleeping, piled high as it was with books and the rest of the paraphernalia that gathered in spare bedrooms everywhere. Blair knew it would be all over I.A. that there was only one bed in the Ellison-Sandburg household. Blair groaned and stormed to the couch, replacing cushions so that he could sit down.

"Car keys?"

McCluskey stood in front of Blair with his hand out.

"In the basket by the door."

Blair didn't feel inclined to be anymore helpful.

"Car?"

"Volvo."

Blair was interrupted, "I know what sort it is, Sandburg. Where is it?"

"Out front."

One of the two detectives took the keys and left the loft. Blair grabbed his jacket and followed reluctantly. By the time Blair got downstairs, the detective was scraping something from one of the Volvo's tires. The clear plastic bag with its slivers of something white was handed to the technician, who once again secured the sample in her case. Blair waited, leaning against the door jamb until the two younger men had finished searching his car. The keys were handed back without a word. The four invaders got back into one car and as it pulled away, it slowed down. McCluskey rolled down the window and leaned out as they passed Blair.

"I'll be in touch," he smirked.

"I bet you will," said Blair through gritted teeth.

Jim was surprised to see Blair outside checking his tires when he pulled into a convenient place outside 852 Prospect.

"Going somewhere, Chief?" he asked as he approached the younger man.

"What do you make of this, Jim?"

Blair moved aside and Jim could see something white on the tread. Jim squatted down using his senses to identify the substance.

"It's paint," he declared.

"McCluskey took a sample with him."

"He was here again?" Jim asked.

Blair sighed as he walked back into 852. "He turned up with a warrant, searched the loft and took some DNA."

"Why did he want the DNA?"

"They lifted something from underneath the dead guy's fingernails."

"Good," Jim smiled.

Blair look confused.

"When they check both DNA samples they'll know you were not involved," Jim explained.

Blair didn't look convinced. As Jim opened the door to the loft he pulled Blair inside.

"Listen to me, Chief, this is going to be sorted out. You did nothing wrong and we are going to prove it."

Jim put as much confidence and certainty into his voice as he could and it seemed to work. Blair smiled at Jim.

"Thanks, man, I needed that."

"You're welcome, Chief."

Over dinner Jim explained what he had found out about the dead man, David Ashcroft. The name meant nothing to Blair and he in turn told Jim what his search of the 'net had revealed, which wasn't much. As Jim took his second helping of the chicken parmegan Blair had cooked, he started to plan in his mind.

"The way I see it, we need to come at this from three ways. You need to get back to the laptop, dig deeper into 'Tech Know Trucking'. Meanwhile I need to get into that motel where Ashcroft died. There might be something I can sense in the room that McCluskey will have missed. We need to get into Ashcroft's other address, talk to the neighbors, find out when Ashcroft left and why."

"Jim, it's not that I don't agree with the plan of attack, but if you or I get involved in this McCluskey is going to hang us both out to dry."

"I know," said Jim with his mouth full of garlic bread, "which is why you are going to stay here in the loft and I am going to be very careful."

"Jim, this isn't going to work. McCluskey will find out and then you won't be captain anymore. In fact, you'll be lucky if you are still on the force."

Blair paused and Jim looked into those determined blue eyes.

"I won't have you sacrifice your career for me."

"Hey, I can be very discreet," Jim exhorted.

Blair raised a single eyebrow and Jim was forced to laugh. "One way or another, we will manage."

Blair nodded unconvincingly. They finished their meal and cleaned up still going over Jim's plans. Their discussions were interrupted by a knock.

"Not McCluskey again!" sighed Blair.

"Nope, it's Brown and Rafe."

Jim opened the door.

"Hey guys, come on in. What can we do for you?"

The big black man and his smartly dressed partner looked embarrassed. Neither spoke as they looked at each other.

"Want a beer?" asked Blair.

"Yeah," said Henri Brown.

"Sure," said Brian Rafe.

They both spoke at the same time. Settled on the couches, Rafe opened the conversation.

"H and I were talking and we want to help."

Once the statement was out in the open both men relaxed.

Henri went on, "We know Blair's shooting was justified, but I.A. seems to want to push the envelope. We want to help you prove your innocence."

Rafe nodded in agreement. Jim stood up. The two visitors braced themselves as though ready to brave an onslaught.

"Gentlemen, if you're serious about this, then your timing is perfect."

"Do you guys realize what you're risking?" Blair insisted.

"We realize, hairboy, and we know you would do the same for us. So tell us what you want us to do."

The four men spent the next hour planning. By the time the two visitors left the loft, Jim was grinning.

"Thanks, guys," he repeated as the elevator doors closed.

Returning to his lover, Jim placed a hand on each shoulder.

"Feel better now that I'm not on the case?" he asked.

"You are always on my case," Blair laughed.

"And what a pretty case it is," Jim whispered, as he leaned forward for a kiss.

Sunday

Blair got up at the same time as Jim the next morning.

"I thought you'd sleep in, Chief."

Blair shook his head, his mouth full of waffle. "Nope, I want to get over to the Library, check on our trucking company. I don't think the Internet is going to do it this time. I thought I might try the newspaper archives. It means reading microfiche, but I have plenty of Dramamine handy. "

"Okay, Chief, but be careful. McCluskey could be watching you."

"I'll leave the Volvo and go by bus if you think that's necessary. It would give me time to spot anything."

"Be careful," Jim mumbled as he left the loft pushing one arm into the sleeve of his jacket while holding a piece of toast in his mouth.

It was a two bus journey to the Library and a short walk between buses. Blair was pretty certain he wasn't being followed. He hadn't really believed that I.A. would go to the lengths of following him despite what Jim said, although they were sneaky bastards. He spent all day digging through back issues of the business section of the Cascade Herald. Finally one name fell into place and Blair sat back in his chair, stunned. If his stomach hadn't already been queasy from watching too much microfiche he would have felt like puking. Wasn't it enough that this guy's son had tried to do him some serious harm, twice? Now dad was getting in on the act too? Packing up and leaving the Library, Blair took a deep breath of fresh air as soon as he got outside. Taking out his cell phone, he called Jim to give him the news. At least they knew now who was behind this and why it was being done - revenge.

Henri Brown had spent the morning at work and while that wore at his patience, he was still fairly relaxed as he reached the brownstone where David Ashcroft had a second residence. He wanted to get inside Apartment C if he could, but he wanted to do it without pulling out his badge and demanding that the building Superintendent let him in. It wasn't going to be easy. Forcing the lock had been an option he had considered and discounted, it might make McCluskey suspicious. Instead, he decided to start with the neighbors. It soon became apparent that this second residence was Ashcroft's main home. According to Mrs. Dhaliwal, who lived in the same building, Ashcroft was 'a nice man, quiet but a bit simple'. He had lived in Apartment C for nearly six years. He wasn't married, had no girlfriends, didn't throw wild parties and about two years ago had lost his job. Since then he had done a few driving jobs here and there, but nothing long term and apparently not well paid. Mrs. Dhaliwal went to pains to explain that he hadn't changed his car since he had lost his job and his clothes had got a little shabby, but he had behaved himself. While a mine of information on some matters, she had no idea where he had been for the last few days. Further inquiries added small pieces to the puzzle, but nothing that could explain why this man, who had been settled for the last six years would suddenly get up and leave. He had never done anything like it before; he was a simple man, everyone agreed.

As the sun started to drop in the sky Brown walked back to his car, which was parked outside Ashcroft's building. Sitting on the stoop was a young Asian boy, playing on a Game Boy.

"You're the policeman who spoke to my nana," he blurted out as Brown drew level.

Stopping, the detective stuck out his hand and smiled, "Henri Brown, and you would be?"

"Sabrag Dhaliwal," he replied his eyes not leaving the screen of the Game Boy.

Henri withdrew his hand. "What ya playing?" he asked.

He was a fan of games himself and while he didn't own a Game Boy, he had a well used X Box at home.

"Pokemon Greenleaf," the boy replied.

"I hear that's good," Henri responded.

The boy nodded.

"You've been asking about Mr. Ashcroft," the boy said simply.

Henri didn't miss that the boy had cast a quick glance at him to judge his reaction to the statement.

"I know where he went to." Sabrag said quietly.

The boy's thumbs played on but now he was giving Henri at least half of his attention.

"You do, huh?"

Henri could play cagey when he needed and he knew this young boy would need careful handling if he was going to willingly give up all that he knew. The boy nodded at the question. Henri looked at the boy, as though sizing him up.

"And what would it cost me to get that information?"

The boy smiled cleverly and Henri knew he had him hooked. Ten dollars later, Henri Brown was sitting on the stoop next to young Sabrag Dhaliwal being talked through the various levels of Pokemon Greenleaf. Henri wasn't doing too well and Sabrag had little sympathy. Eventually, after he had failed again, he turned off the Game Boy and asked the question he had paid for.

"So where did Mr. Ashcroft go, Sabrag?"

"He went across town."

The boy was still being cautious.

"Do you know why?" Henri pushed on.

"Uh huh," the boy nodded.

"Gonna tell me?"

"This guy came to visit him, someone he used to work with. The guy asked him to go live in this other apartment. He paid him loads of money. Mr Ashcroft said I could help him pick out his new car that he was going to buy with his money."

"That must have been a lot of money."

"Do you know when Mr Ashcroft will be coming back? I miss him." The boy picked at a hole in the knee of his jeans.

"I don't know, Sabrag," Henri lied.

He believed if told this young man that Ashcroft was dead then he would lose his source of information. Cruel but true. The boy dug underneath his jacket and pulled out a key on a chain.

"He gave me the spare key to his place."

The boy stared at the key. Henri's heart beat fast.

"Why don't we go check and make sure everything is ok?"

Sabrag looked doubtful.

"I'm a police officer so you wouldn't be doing anything wrong."

"Are you sure?"

"Yep."

"OK."

The boy jumped up and led the way up the steps. Henri soon found himself inside David Ashcroft's apartment. Small, neat, but shabby. Just like the rest of his life, thought Henri. Sabrag had gone over and sat on the couch as soon as he had opened the door. Henri was relieved he wasn't forced to come up with an excuse to get the boy out of the way while he searched the place. Henri hit pay dirt in the small bedroom. Underneath the mattress was five thousand dollars in cash. It was all new bills, still with the wrapping on. Henri couldn't find anything else. He took the top bill from one of the bundles and carefully slipped it inside an envelope from his pocket. As he walked back into the living room the boy looked up. His face was sad.

"Mr Ashcroft's not coming back, is he?"

"I don't think so, Sabrag."

"Thought so."

Henri watched the boy lock the door to the apartment.

"I guess I better give the key to the Super," Sabrag said sadly.

"That would be a good idea," Henri replied.

Back on the stoop, Henri shook hands with the young Asian lad and walked off to his car. Taking one last look back, he saw the boy, head bent over the Game Boy, thumbs twitching. Henri hurried to report back to Jim and Blair on what he had found.

Brian Rafe was dressed as he normally would; suave and smart. He knew people joked about the way he dressed; he had heard the comments; Mr GQ, Armani Man. He didn't mind. He liked looking good at work and even though he was fussy about what he wore, spending his money on clothes instead of the normal 'guy' things, he didn't let the comments get to him. He stood out like a sore thumb now, though. Standing outside the Starlight Motel there were very few clothes to be seen, smart or otherwise. The Starlight was a hang out for hookers. If Ashcroft was in Room 42, it was a good bet he was with a whore. Rafe wanted to find her. So here he was, in the unflattering light of day, chatting up the less than lovely ladies of the night that frequented that flea-bitten establishment. One of his difficulties was the poor photo. They had all agreed accessing police records to get a decent photo would send off klaxons that McCluskey could not fail to hear so they worked with the one from the driver's licence.

He got his first break just after 3pm. A tall, black woman with a gold miniskirt and matching high heeled pumps that had her towering over Rafe, had suggested that he try asking Jody. Apparently Jody often picked up johns in the bar and brought them back to that particular room in the motel. Jody was not out yet. Rafe passed the time talking to the tall, black woman who was, appropriately enough, called Candy. She was like many other women working the streets; stoical about the risks of the job, but retaining a wry sense of humour despite that. She called Rafe 'Sugar', but he got the impression she maybe called all the johns by the same name. He didn't mind, it passed the time. About ninety minutes later, Candy pointed out a white woman wearing a small black slip of a dress with a short pink cardigan. Pink high heeled pumps clip clopped on the sidewalk as she hurried to the bar across the street. Slipping Candy a twenty dollar bill for her trouble, Rafe crossed the street, following Jody.

"You come back, Sugar, real soon," Candy called.

Rafe smiled to himself. He had fended off Candy's amorous advances for about an hour and it had become something of a joke with the two of them. Rafe had finally shown her his badge.

"Sugar, you think I didn't know. You just scream pig."

"And you just scream hooker," Rafe had laughed. "How about we call it quits?"

They had called an amicable truce.

Rafe headed into the bar, and ignoring Jody, but noting where she was, he headed to the bar and ordered a beer. Taking a gulp from the bottle, he swivelled around, reading the room. Jody sat in a booth to one side. As Rafe turned back to the bar he made sure she noticed that he had looked at her. Rafe had made sure that the seat next to him at the bar was vacant when he sat down and it was only a few minutes before Jody squeezed on to it. As he lifted his beer bottle to his lips, she jostled his arm causing him to spill some of his beer. She was profuse in her apologies, taking out a hankie to pat down the spill on his shirt. Their fist interaction ended up with Rafe getting a second beer and Jody getting a gin sling, which she sipped slowly. Rafe had decided not to confront her in the bar. It would be easier and attract a lot less attention to do it in the motel room they were inevitably heading for. Ten minutes later they made their move and Jody led her mark straight to Room 42, unaware that the day was going to take a decidedly unusual turn.

Entering the room, Jody did what any good working girl did, and asked for her money up front. Rafe reached into his inside pocket as though he was going for his wallet. It wasn't money he took out of his wallet, but his badge. The sweet little thing that had been Jody disappeared in a foul mouthed tirade against 'fucking pigs' in general and Rafe in particular.

"Sit down and shut up."

His voice was hard.

"Friday night you brought a mark to this room. His name was David Ashcroft." Rafe showed her the driver's licence photo. Jody shrugged. "He was found dead yesterday morning."

Jody squirmed. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking like she might bolt any second.

"I didn't kill him."

"I didn't say you did, but I want to know what you know about David Ashcroft."

"What's to know? He was a mark."

"Do you want me to take you downtown and question you about the murder?" Rafe's voice was cold.

Jody didn't answer, watching her pink shoes closely.

"Tell me what he told you" The words were almost shouted.

"Okay, okay, what do you want to know?"

"What was he doing here on Mason?"

"He said he was doing a favor for a friend."

"What was the friend's name?"

"I don't remember. But he was a big spender, said he had been paid ten thousand dollars for a job. I figured it was true, he had two brand new one hundred dollar bills with him in the bar."

"Think again. Did he mention a name?"

"Maybe. It was something odd. Foreign sounding ... like Steven ... but different."

"Stefan?" Rafe suggested.

"Maybe, yeah. I think so."

Rafe continued questioning Jody, establishing that she had taken one of the two one hundred dollar bills and left David Ashcroft sleeping on the dubious sheets of the Starlight Motel at about 2am, very much alive. He left the woman in the room. She came to the doorway, shouting after him.

"Hey, what about paying me for my time?"

"You got paid Friday night."

Rafe walked to his car and drove to the loft to report in.

When Rafe arrived, Jim and Henri were already there.

"Where's Blair?" he asked.

"We don't know," Henri replied. "He rang Jim earlier today, giving him a name, saying he was going straight home. Jim got in an hour ago and there's no sign of him."

"Shit! Who's Jim talking to?"

"Custody Sergeant. He thinks McCluskey may have got wind of our inquiries and pulled Blair in."

Jim slammed the phone down and the younger man winced.

"Blair hasn't been booked in and McCluskey hasn't been seen at the station since two pm."

"So where the hell is he?" Rafe demanded.

"That bastard McCluskey has him, I know it." Jim looked ready to explode.

Henri took on the role of pacifier.

"Jim, sit down. Let's hear what Rafe has to say, see if it gives us anymore to go on. It may not be McCluskey."

Jim glared at him. Rafe thought Jim was going to blast past the two of them, but he took a deep breath instead and reluctantly nodded. With all the information, pieces started to slip into place. David Ashcroft was a patsy hired by 'Stefan' to give a false statement, which would frame Blair for an unlawful killing. Ashcroft then winds up dead, presumably killed by Stefan, which cuts the link to him and makes Blair look as guilty as sin of two murders now, and behind it all was the ex CEO of Viewscape Industries, Norman Ventriss.

The puzzle was far from complete, and was only held together with imagination and a faith in Blair's innocence. As solid as that was among the three men sitting at the table in the loft, it wouldn't sway a jury and it certainly wouldn't convince McCluskey. More plans were made; Henri would see if there were any prints on the money he had liberated from Ashcroft's place and Rafe would find out what both Ventriss senior had been up to since he and his son had been brought down about eighteen months previously. Jim was going to turn Cascade upside down looking for his guide and lover and woe betide anyone who got in his way.

Blair had gone only a few paces after finishing his phone call when McCluskey had stopped him with a hand on his arm. Turning around to see who it was that had touched him, Blair realised immediately what was happening. McCluskey hadn't come alone; two IA clones were backing him up, no doubt itching for Blair to resist. As McCluskey recited the Miranda warning, Blair stood quietly. He didn't fight them and answered yes to the Miranda questions. To do otherwise was to play into McCluskey's hands. Blair waited for his turn, his phone call to bring in the cavalry.

Watching streets pass by from the back seat of McCluskey's car, Blair shifted, trying to get comfortable. His hands cuffed behind him was just another humiliation the IA captain had inflicted on him after a very public arrest.

"Hey, McCluskey, you missed the turn," Blair called out.

There was no reply. Blair kept his own counsel as they headed south. Eventually they pulled up outside the 29th Precinct station house, commonly known as Ladywood. Blair was pulled from the car and roughly manhandled into the foyer and past the desk sergeant, who merely nodded at McCluskey, acknowledging him by name.

"Dave."

"Where the hell are you taking me?" Blair was getting angry.

Stopping in the booking suite in front of the duty sergeant's desk, McCluskey finally gave Blair his attention.

"I'm a very busy man, Sandburg. I don't have time to take you all the way uptown for booking, so the kind cops here at Ladywood have agreed to process you and keep you here until you are arraigned in the morning."

"That is so out of order, man," Blair argued.

McCluskey laughed. "Didn't I tell you that I used to be stationed here before I went to IA? A lot of people here know me, and a few owe me favors. Favors I am calling in. And believe me, you little cocksucker," McCluskey practically spat in Blair's face, "it has been worth every one to see you brought down."

Blair wanted to retort angrily, but at that moment the duty sergeant appeared and announced his presence with a cough.

"Hey, Sydney. How you doing?" McCluskey smiled and held out his hand, which Sydney shook warmly.

"This is the guy I was telling you about. Can you book him and hold him on two counts of murder?"

"Sure, Dave, no problem."

Blair's protestations were ignored. He knew the process of booking someone; he had covered it from a legal point of view at the Academy and he had experienced it when someone at Headquarters thought it would be fun to fingerprint and photograph him after his little adventure with Iris. Sydney, like most duty sergeants Blair had come across, was a stickler for following the rules, so Blair was fingerprinted, photographed and then strip searched. Blair knew that McCluskey was heaping humiliation upon humiliation on his head and he was trying to bear it stoically, not giving his tormentor the pleasure of seeing how much it was hurting him, but the strip search was way too much. To be forced to remove all his clothes and stand naked in front of these men was a gross indignity. McCluskey stood leaning against a wall, watching everything. Blair felt his stare and covered his genitals with his hands.

"I can see why Ellison keeps you in his bed, Sandburg. That's a sweet piece of ass there."

"Fuck you," Blair spat back.

"No thanks, Sandburg, I prefer a real woman, not some kind of long haired wannabe."

Further retort from Blair was cut off by the technician who snapped on a pair of latex gloves and ordered Blair to get up on the examination table.

"Do they have to be here?" he asked, meaning McCluskey and the duty sergeant.

A cold latex covered hand was placed on his hip and he flinched.

"Carry on," Sydney said firmly.

"Just relax," the technician said quietly.

Blair was used to being fingered and more by Jim, but this invasion was painful and degrading. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe through it. It was soon over and Blair stood, reaching for his clothes to get redressed.

"Wait," Sydney stated. "I need to search those clothes."

The duty sergeant took his time, letting Blair stand naked. McCluskey sniggered at Blair's discomfort. Blair wanted to kill the man. He closed his eyes, gripped his hands into fists and tried to control the urge to put those same hands around McCluskey's throat and squeeze slowly. Eventually Blair's clothes were returned to him, minus his belt, his shoelaces and the contents of his pockets.

"Right, Mr. Sandburg, let's find you somewhere comfy for the evening."

Sydney led Blair out of the examination room and back out into the booking suite. Blair tried to make his way to the bank of payphones, thinking his call to Jim would have to be collect, as they had taken all his money. Sydney's hand on his arm stopped him and steered him to the door that led to the cells.

"What about my phone call?" he asked.

"Sorry, Sandburg, all the phones are out of order," McCluskey gloated.

Blair had taken enough, breaking free of Sydney's grasp, he tore across the room grabbing McCluskey's lapels and pushing him up against the wall.

"You fucking asshole. What stupid fucking game are you playing? You know I'm not guilty. You're breaking every fucking rule in the book. It doesn't matter what evidence you've got, you are blowing yourself out of the water."

McCluskey smiled maliciously and leant forward so that his lips were close to Blair's right ear.

"You always were a bright boy, Sandburg."

Blair's head snapped back as he stared wide eyed at the man he had pinned against the wall. He released his grip as Sydney grabbed him from behind and dragged him off, cuffing his hands behind his back.

"What have you done, McCluskey?" Blair shouted as he was dragged away by the duty sergeant.

"Let's add assaulting a police officer to the charges, shall we, Sydney?" McCluskey smirked.

Manhandled through the door and down a corridor, Blair was unceremoniously dumped in a cell. In the dark and alone Blair manoeuvred himself up from where he had landed, to stand shivering. Breathing deeply, he knew it wasn't just the cold that caused his tremors.

Rafe found Serena hunched over a microscope as he rushed into forensics. She looked up raising an eyebrow at his hurried entrance. The eyebrow went higher as Rafe strode purposefully towards her, his hands holding the one hundred dollar bill. Handing Serena the clear evidence bag the young detective spoke quietly but urgently to the black haired woman.

"Serena, this is a rush job. I need you to check this for fingerprints."

"Okay," she nodded. "Just let me finish this."

"No," Rafe said sharply. He breathed deep, "I need you to do this now. It's for Blair," he explained. "So I need it done now and I need it done quietly."

Serena sat back on her stool, holding the evidence bag in her lap. Slowly she nodded.

"Where will you be?"

"At my desk. You have my number." It wasn't a question.

Serena nodded again and opened the evidence bag, As Rafe made his way back to Major Crime, he was confident that if there was even half a print on that money Serena would find it.

Meanwhile, upstairs in Major Crime, Henri Brown was in the depths of a long and difficult conversation with the secretary of the Governor of Cascade Prison.

"Yes ma'am, I know it's late and I really do appreciate that you have a life, but this is very important."

Henri rubbed his hand over his head as he listened to the voice at the other end of the phone.

"Yes ma'am, you did mention that your shift ended ten minutes ago, but as I have said," numerous times Henri said silently to himself. "This is very important."

Henri looked up at his partner as he entered the bullpen and sat in the chair next to his desk. At Rafe's questioning look, he shook his head and shrugged.

"Yes ma'am, Brad Ventriss and Norman Ventriss. All visitors for, say, the last three months."

Henri pulled the phone away from his ear and grimaced. Rafe smiled as he heard the raised voice at the other end.

"Yes ma'am, three months." He paused, listening. "No ma'am, I will hold."

A few minutes later Brown started scribbling furiously. Rafe got up and walked round so he could read over the black man's shoulder. Brad Ventriss had not had many visitors, none more than twice and no names that rang any bells with either detective. His father on the other hand, had consistently received one visitor, Stefan Hildred. Brown whispered to Rafe. "That has to be our guy." Rafe headed to his own desk, turned on his computer and waited for it to warm up. Henri was being effusive in his thanks to the officious woman on the end of the phone.

"I really do appreciate your help, ma'am, and I will be sure to mention it to my captain. Yes, thank you, ma'am."

Brown put the receiver down and muttered at it, "Like hell."

He turned to his partner. "Anything?"

Rafe was talking to his computer. "Come on, come on."

The minutes ticked by as fingers flew across the keyboard. There was a cry of "Yes!" as Rafe hit the print button. Both men rushed to the printer.

"I'll put out the APB, you call Jim," Brown suggested, but Rafe was already picking up the phone and dialling.

Jim hadn't been sure what he hoped to achieve by heading out in the truck to scour Cascade. Actually, that wasn't true. He knew what he wanted, Blair safely back with him. What he didn't know was what point there was in driving round aimlessly. It was better than being in the office, though. There he would be inundated with paperwork, bureaucracy and phone calls. He didn't know how Simon put up with it day after day. Jim's admiration for the man had gone up in leaps and bounds since his promotion, and the day he could hand it back to Simon couldn't come soon enough. Jim felt guilty about not having seen much of his captain since he had been hospitalized but things had gotten a little bit crazy around Major Crime and now, well now, he had something far more important on his mind. The phone interrupted his thoughts.

"Ellison."

"Jim, we have a name and address."

Jim could hear the smile in Rafe's voice.

"Well done, Rafe. Let me pull over."

Jim jotted down the address. As luck would have it he wasn't far away.

"I can be there in ten minutes."

"Jim, it will take at least thirty minutes to get the warrant to you. Wait for us to get there. Don't go after him on your own."

Jim wasn't about to wait. "Get there as soon as you can Rafe."

It actually took Jim twelve minutes to reach his destination, a well-appointed two story house with a veranda running around three sides. It was neat and tidy, painted blue and white. There was no car in the drive and no light showing. Jim wasn't taking any chances, though, as he listened for any sign of life inside the building. Even though he couldn't hear any heartbeats, Jim proceeded carefully, his gun in both hands, ready. Neither the front door nor the rear door off the garden were open, but a small window had not been properly latched and Jim was able to force it open, reach in and unlock the window below, which was big enough for him to climb through. He managed to avoid putting his foot into the toilet bowl as he climbed into the bathroom. Slowly exploring the downstairs rooms, Jim was about to go upstairs when he heard car doors slam. Concentrating he recognised Brown and Rafe walking up the front path. He opened the front door and let the two detectives enter.

"Find anything?" Brown asked.

"Nope, but I was just about to go upstairs."

"We'll do that," Brown said as he and Rafe started up the steps.

Jim stood in the middle of the large downstairs room. Something was bothering him but he couldn't quite put his finger on what. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and listened. It was an electric hum, very low level, but definitely there. Jim tried to locate the source. Taking each section of the room in turn, he listened. The sound was coming from behind a wall or inside a wall. Jim stared hard at the wall and as his enhanced sense of sight expanded his vision, faintly he could see the outline of a door obscured by a book case and photographs hung on the wall. His fingers skimmed over the wall, searching for a catch, some way of opening the door. Whatever was hidden so carefully behind that wall was something Jim wanted to see.

There was nothing on the wall itself, so he started on the book case. Every book and ornament was removed, but still there was nothing. Jim was subliminally aware of the two detectives watching him from the stairs, but it didn't distract him. Standing up and stepping back, Jim surveyed the wall again. There were small smear marks at one corner of one of the photographs. Just like the sort of marks you get on a door where hands are used to push it open regularly, or where kids' hands catch a wall as they turn a corner, a sort of oily film. The photograph was carefully removed from the wall, and underneath was a small quarter sized depression. Jim pressed and a click signalled the unlatching of a door.

Inside the hidden room a computer had a screen saver running, but what made Jim stare was the rest of the room. Photographs and plans covered the walls, and files and folders littered the large table that stood in the middle of the room. It reminded Jim of briefing rooms he had been in during his Ranger days. That was just what this was; a centre of operations, a headquarters for the planned downfall of his best friend and lover. He stood silently for a few seconds, taking it all in. Turning to Brown, he gave orders in a quiet contained voice.

"Get forensics over here. I want everything tagged, bagged and documented and I want it done by the book. When they are done it's all to be escorted back to headquarters by the two of you. There is to be no opportunity at all for IA to interfere in this. Are you clear?"

Brown nodded silently. Jim walked to the front door.

"Where are you going?" asked Rafe.

"I'm going to talk to McCluskey," Jim said coldly.

As he crossed the front lawn, he heard Rafe speak.

"I wouldn't want to be in McCluskey's shoes."

Jim smiled, but there was nothing friendly about it.

McCluskey was sitting at his desk when Jim strode in without knocking. Making his way from the garage, Jim had been aware that people in front of him had stepped aside as if he were Moses at the parting of the Red Sea, but he had ignored it. He had one goal, he wanted the bastard who had taken Blair from him and if McCluskey wasn't the one, then he would know who it was and Jim would get that information out of him. There was no doubt in his mind about that.

"What do you want, Ellison?" McCluskey asked.

The greeting was far from friendly. Jim had barged into the office of the IA Captain, without observing any of the niceties of knocking or closing doors. Jim was stonily furious.

"I want you to tell me why you have done nothing to investigate the Ashcroft shooting."

"I don't know what you are talking about. Get out of my office."

McCluskey was trying to ignore Jim, but the fine tremors that ran through his body were all the proof Jim needed to confirm his theory.

"I'm not leaving until I get the truth out of you." Jim paused, moved forward to McCluskey's desk and leaned over, resting his hands on the wooden surface. "One way or another."

The implication hung in the air, a tangible threat.

McCluskey bluffed again, "I told you to get out."

Jim stood his ground, leaning further forward, enjoying the smell of fear that oozed from the man in front of him. McCluskey eased his chair back from his desk, trying to increase the space between himself and the intimidating man before him.

"You know what I think, McCluskey? I think you have deliberately failed to investigate the case properly. You have ignored anything that doesn't implicate Sandburg, building a case on circumstantial evidence."

"Ridiculous," countered McCluskey, standing up to get away from Jim.

Continuing, Jim moved away from the desk and with a nonchalance that was frighteningly false, he leaned against the door, barring McCluskey's exit.

"I think you are on the take." With a glint in his eye, Jim dropped his bombshell. "I think Ventriss is paying you off."

Jim waited for McCluskey's reaction, expecting the IA captain's heart rate to go through the roof. He was disappointed and a little confused. McCluskey's vital signs had started to drop, he was showing signs of calming down, of relief, Jim thought. McCluskey even smiled and there was a confidence in it. Jim got it.

"You don't know, do you?"

Now it was Jim's turn to be confident. "You've been used. It was Hildred that paid you off, wasn't it?"

Now Jim could see McCluskey sweating, his pulse and respiration increased. Jim's chuckle was cold and ruthless and McCluskey paled.

"And you had no idea who he was working for, did you? But then, you didn't care, did you? A lot of money in your pocket, a chance to get at a man promoted straight from the Academy to Major Crime while you languish down here in IA. Getting a little payback on the side, were we, McCluskey?"

Jim's voice had become more strident as he had spoken. He moved from the door approaching McCluskey with fists clenched, backing the man into a corner.

"Where is Sandburg?" Jim hissed.

"I'll have your badge for this, Ellison." McCluskey had found some bravery from somewhere.

"You can have it willingly, but if Sandburg has been hurt, you are going down for it, McCluskey, believe me."

The last two words were spat out. McCluskey said nothing. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed with a dry throat. Jim invaded his personal space.

"What have you done with Sandburg?"

Each word was said quietly and slowly, emphasised for effect.

"Nothing," McCluskey whispered.

"Where is he?" Jim asked, equally as quietly.

McCluskey took the wrong option and said 'nothing' again. Jim moved with lightening speed. Between one breath and the next McCluskey was grabbed by the lapels and pushed up against his own filing cabinets, echoing one of Jim's first encounters with the man he loved.

"Ladywood," McCluskey squeaked out. "In the lock up. He's safe; he's just being kept there until he is arraigned tomorrow morning."

"You've charged him with murder?" Jim demanded.

"Two counts," McCluskey muttered, finally ashamed of his actions.

"You fucking bastard. You didn't have the evidence to do that and you know it."

Jim let go of the IA captain and wiped the palms of his hands on the man's jacket. Slowly he walked towards the door. Opening it, he stopped.

"Why Ladywood?" Jim asked.

"That's what he wanted."

"Hildred?" Jim asked.

McCluskey nodded.

Jim paled, realizing the significance, "How long ago?"

McCluskey checked his watch, "An hour, maybe two. Why?"

"You're a detective, work it out."

Jim left the room running. Stopping only to make sure the desk sergeant didn't let McCluskey leave the building, he headed to the garage.

Blair was pissed. Seriously pissed. Procedure dictated the removal of cuffs once a prisoner was placed in a cell. He had been left cuffed. The cell he had been thrown into smelled and it was cold and dark. He had shouted for attention and that had failed. He had kicked the door and that hadn't worked either. His throat hoarse and his toe throbbing, Blair had finally sat on the bed cursing his own bad luck. The handcuffs were on tight; pinching his skin, there was no way out of them. Blair leaned back against the wall, regaining control of his breath. He tried to think of a way out of his predicament, but he struck out on every option. He had to hope that Jim would track him down. After what seemed like hours, but was probably not even one Blair heard a door open and footsteps approached. He jumped up and shouted. He was ignored again. A door opened again and was closed and then the footsteps retreated. Twice more Blair shouted for release when the silence was broken. On the third occasion a night stick banged harshly on the door to his room and Blair jumped back in surprise. He was still locked away.

As time passed Blair's wrists grew more painful and then the numbness set in. The pain across his shoulders increased and nothing he could do relieved it; standing up, sitting down, it was all the same. A door opened and there were footsteps. Blair ignored them this time but they stopped outside the door to his room. Blair stood up, suddenly nervous. He heard keys and as the door swung open the light that exploded into the dark room blinded him. All he could make out was the shape of a large man who walked into his room and stood in front of him. For a second he thought it was Jim, but it wasn't. No words were spoken and Blair could hear a rhythmic tapping. He couldn't identify its source.

"At last. What the hell is going on here, man? You can't treat me like this. I want my phone call. I want these cuffs off and I want a piss, just not necessarily in that order."

Blair drew in a breath, blinking to clear his eyes. The man's face was still hidden from him and the gentle tapping continued.

"Turn round, then."

The words had an accent but Blair ignored that, relieved that the handcuffs would be coming off and this whole thing was going to be resolved. At the thought that he would soon be confronting McCluskey and the duty sergeant who had put him where he was, Blair happily presented the large man with his unprotected back. The tapping stopped and Blair was unprepared for the blow that struck him high on the back and pushed him face first into the wall. His forehead connected with a sharp pain over his left eye. Before he could voice his shock and anger, there was a second blow to his kidneys, which took his breath. Blair managed to stay on his feet, but only just. Something warm dripped down his face and he managed to splutter a wordless objection. The third blow was across the back of the knees and Blair collapsed, the pain, an agony made all the worse for its unexpectedness.

A hand grabbed his hair, pulling his head up. Something slipped past his face and was pulled tight around his throat. Blair gasped, the tightening continued and he couldn't breathe. Every fibre of his body tried to draw breath but there was no respite. Darkness seeped into his peripheral vision and he screamed inside his head for his sentinel. Suddenly the pressure stopped and Blair fell sideways, gasping like a fish out of water. He was vaguely aware of raised voices and harsh sounds before he let go of consciousness. A soft hand on his face brought him back and he tried to speak, to call Jim's name. Nothing came out and his throat burned excruciatingly.

"Shhhhh, try not to speak. The bastard tried to strangle you."

Blair opened his eyes to look up at his savior. His hands were free and he used them to grab Jim's arms as much for reassurance as in mute thanks. Jim understood.

"It's okay, Chief. Lie still, the paramedics are on the way."

Blair nodded and leaned back taking in what was going on behind Jim's back. Two or three police officers were squeezed into the small cell. One was picking up a long thin strand stained with blood. Blair recognised his bootlaces and swallowed, setting off the pain in his throat off again. Another officer handed Jim a bottle and it was put to Blair's lips.

"Just small sips, Chief. Take it easy."

It was icy cold and slipped down Blair's throat, soothing some of the pain. With the arrival of the paramedics, the small room was filled to capacity. Blair patiently withstood their ministrations but shook his head violently when they indicated their intention to remove him to hospital.

"You have to go, Chief," Jim explained gently.

Blair fixed him with a stare that promised retribution at a later date. Jim smiled at him and patted his shoulder as the stretcher was placed on the floor next to Blair.

"As soon as you are ready, Chief, it'll be a pleasure," Jim smiled, relieved beyond measure.

Monday

The paramedics reassured Jim that their patient was fine and that the trip to Cascade General was really just a precaution. They were confident he didn't have a concussion, and apart from bruises and abrasions, the only real cause for concern was the damage to his throat. So it was that the next morning a subdued and almost silent Blair Sandburg followed his sentinel through the door to the loft, took a bottle of water from the fridge and flopped down on the couch, the picture of dejection.

"Chief, I thought the doc said you should go straight to bed?"

Blair held the bottle of water over his head and waggled it to indicate his intentions.

"Okay, Chief, but then straight to bed."

Jim heard a sigh and smiled. He knew Blair was wired; a combination of fear, righteous indignation and the comedown from an adrenalin high that hits you after a near death experience. Jim was exhausted. He had accompanied Blair to the hospital, explaining to him on the way that desk sergeant Sydney had been found dead in the cell next to Blair's. He had been dead an hour or so. The younger man paled at the news, realizing that one of the sets of footsteps he had heard must have been the murderer depositing the body. Jim had not given out any more information, respectful of Blair's state and the fact that whatever was said would be overheard by the paramedics. Now, though, he knew Blair would fight him over the doctor's instructions until he had all the details. Jim leaned over the back of the couch.

"Tea?" he asked.

Blair shook his head, obviously content with water. Jim felt the need for caffeine and soon had his hands wrapped round a large mug of hot, black coffee. He sat on the coffee table and examined the man on the couch, who was now sitting back, eyes closed, hands held loosely in his lap, cradling the bottle of water. The lines around his wrists were starting to bruise. They looked red and raw and would look worse before they got better. Blair wasn't sleeping; his heart beat was just a little too fast for that. Jim took in all the details; the pale face, the smudges of dark under both eyes, the circle of bandage around the throat he loved to nibble and suck and the butterfly strips over the left eye. One eye opened and surveyed him back. Jim smiled, that eye said so much. Then both eyes were open and Blair had pushed himself into a more upright position. He brought the bottle of water to his lips.

"Tell," he whispered and then swallowed two mouthfuls of water easing the pain of speaking even that word.

Jim knew that Blair would not rest without the information. He explained all that happened since Blair had been arrested, the information that Rafe and Brown had uncovered and the room at Hildred's. Stopping to sip his coffee, Jim took Blair's raised eyebrow as an instruction to continue.

"As soon as you are settled I am heading back to the station to interrogate Hildred. I wanted to wait until forensics had got a chance to go through the stuff we got from his place."

Blair nodded, his eyes fighting to stay open.

"Come on, Chief, let's get you to bed."

There was no fight left in Blair. What had fuelled his anger only minutes before now left him drained and tired. Jim could read the shifting emotions and had been through the same thing himself numerous times. He soon had Blair upstairs, undressed and in bed. Blair was asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow. Returning upstairs with a fresh bottle of water which he placed on the bedside table, Jim dropped a kiss on Blair's forehead. A small smile ghosted across Blair's face. Jim wanted nothing more than to cuddle up with Blair, but he shook himself, put on his game face and walked downstairs, ready to interview a murdering bastard.

Checking with forensics first, he had been informed that the detailed plans and records Hildred had kept were enough to clear Blair and put Hildred on Death Row. Everything had been documented, from the recruiting of Ashcroft to the buying of McCluskey and Hildred's own attempt at murdering Blair. The plan had been to strangle Blair and then stage it so that it looked like he had committed suicide with his own bootlaces. It was a plan that was complex and simple all at the same time and it came so close to succeeding that it frightened Jim. Taking that fear, Jim walked to Interrogation Room 4, turning and twisting those feelings until they became a solid mass in his stomach, fuelling his determination and anger. Before he could get to Hildred, he was interrupted by Taggart.

"Jim, McCluskey has lawyered up, he isn't saying anything."

"It doesn't matter, Joel. We have enough from Hildred's place to put him away for a long time."

"Good. How's Blair?" the older man asked changing the subject.

"He'll be okay."

Jim knew he didn't sound convincing. Pausing in his walk, Jim turned to the black man who had always had a soft spot for Blair right from the beginning.

"It was a close call Joel. Too close."

Joel placed a hand on Jim's arm. It was an unusual gesture for the big man.

He nodded in agreement and added, "But don't turn it into something it isn't, Jim. You know Blair wouldn't want you to and it only belittles what he has achieved to get this far."

Jim accepted the truth behind the statement and knew his thoughts had strayed along the line of wondering if Blair could come back from this, if Jim should let him come back from it. Joel smiled and left Jim in the corridor. Jim resumed his journey to the interrogation room, but more slowly this time, mulling over Joel's words. Blair would make his own decisions and while Jim wanted Blair safe and protected from harm, he knew that what he wanted was not always what Blair wanted. Jim knew he would accept that as he inevitably did.

The interview had gone strangely from the outset. Hildred had refused a P.D. and was happy to admit pretty much everything. The only time he showed remorse was over the murder of duty Sergeant Sydney. In his words it had been 'sloppy' and 'unnecessary'. He wouldn't say anymore on that, but still admitted he had committed the murder, using the same nightstick he had used on Blair. Jim was pleased at the ease with which the case was wrapped up, but if he were honest with himself, he was a little disappointed that he had not had to strong arm the information out of Hildred. He was frustrated as well. Hildred had insisted he was working alone. Jim wanted to tie Ventriss to Hildred and put the man away for the rest of his life. Conspiracy to commit murder would do that. Without it, though, Ventriss would complete his current sentence in six months and be free. As Jim sat behind Simon's desk, he read the transcript of the last few minutes of the interrogation as he remembered the exchange.

"Acting Captain Ellison: Why are you protecting him? What has he done to deserve your silence?
Stefan Hildred: Mr Ventriss has nothing to do with this. A. Captain Ellison: Do you think he is going to thank you for this? You are being hung out to dry. Help us nail Ventriss and I'll personally speak to the D. A. on your behalf, but you'll have to give me something.
S.H: Mr Ventriss was not responsible for any of this. A. Captain Ellison: Does he have something on you? We can make sure he can't reach you, put you in an out of State prison, keep you safe. S.H: No.
A. Captain Ellison: Stop this shit. Why would you do this? Blair Sandburg is nothing to you and yet you expect me to believe that you would do all this to frame him? It doesn't add up.
S.H: McCluskey failed. He was supposed to gather enough evidence to put Sandburg in prison. When it became apparent his incompetence was jeopardizing that, I knew I had to take matters into my own hands.
A Captain Ellison: Why? Just tell me why you wanted to do this to Sandburg?"

Hildred had not answered. There was more, not much, but all along the same lines. Hildred gave no reason for what he had done and insisted Norman Ventriss was not his employer or involved in anyway. A ringing phone interrupted Jim's thoughts.

"Ellison."

"Hey, Jim."

"Chief! How are you?" I'm sorry; I meant to get back to the loft before you woke. The voice sounds better. How does your throat feel?"

"Hurts like hell," Blair whispered.

"Listen, I'm gonna call Simon before I get back. Apparently Joel told him yesterday what was going down with you being missing and he practically had to be restrained. He tried to get out of bed, nearly split his stitches."

"Ok."

"I'll bring dinner with me. Noodles okay?"

"Yeah."

"Blair." Jim paused. "Hildred 'fessed up. It's a watertight case. You will be cleared of all charges."

"Good."

The line went quiet. Jim wanted to tell Blair that they couldn't make a case against Ventriss, but he wanted to do that within the framework of a plan to counter the lack of evidence. So far he didn't have that plan and was unsure how to tell Blair that.

"Ventriss?"

Jim sighed, "Nada. Nothing yet, Chief, but we will get him believe me."

"Okay."

Blair sounded convinced. Jim wished he was as confident. He changed the subject.

"Hey, you should be resting that voice, remember what the doctor said."

There was a gruffness in his voice that he knew he didn't mean. Smiling, he knew Blair would see through that.

"Yes sir."

Jim laughed. Even with the minimum of voice Blair could still stay so much.

"See you soon, Chief."

"Love you."

"I love you too."

Jim looked at his watch as he put down the phone. Checking the pile of urgent messages that Rhonda insisted he had to deal with, he reckoned it would be at least thirty minutes before he could escape the clutches of captain's duties. With a sigh, he picked up the top message, checked the number and started dialling.

Fifteen minutes later Rafe interrupted, announcing that Ventriss had been brought in from prison and he and Brown were going to interview him. Jim wanted to conduct the interview himself, but one of the drawbacks of being captain was having to delegate tasks. He knew the two detectives were more than capable of handling the interview but if he had been plain old Detective Ellison, he and Blair would have been asking the questions. But he was behind the big desk now and Blair was recovering from attempted murder. Things change, things stay the same and there were still phone calls to be made.

By the time Jim had returned all the calls, the interrogation of Norman Ventriss was still going on. Jim spent a few minutes watching from behind the two way mirror. It was apparent from the short time Jim spent there that Ventriss was maintaining his innocence. Jim knew that there was not enough evidence to convict as things stood and he felt as though he had failed Blair. Leaving instructions with Rhonda for Rafe or Brown to update him on the interview when it was over, Jim headed out to the hospital and to his Captain.

Simon Banks hated hospitals, he hated not being in the thick of things and he hated being kept in the dark. When Jim Ellison stepped into his hospital room he had been in the middle of explaining this forcibly to his Australian detective, Inspector Megan Connor. He noticed the look of relief crossing Connor's face at Jim's entry and smiled. With pleasantries disposed of, Simon began explaining to Jim his current dislikes. Having heard it once already Connor sat down, but Simon included her in his 'explanation' as well. Simon had to give Jim credit; he listened quietly and then gave him a full and detailed update on the case. Simon took it all in, saving all his questions for the end, and then one by one he clarified point after point until he had satisfied himself that he had all the information there was.

"How's the kid holding up?"

"Hating being quiet."

"And you?"

"Enjoying the peace and quiet."

Simon wasn't fooled by the answer he had expected to hear.

"Peace and quiet isn't all it's cracked up to be, believe me," he replied with feeling.

"So, how are we going to get Ventriss? Connor asked.

Until now Megan Connor had been quiet, listening to what Jim had been saying. Jim sat down on the edge of his Captain's bed. Simon moved his feet out of the way and grumbled to himself. He knew that Jim could hear him, but chose to ignore his mumbled complaint. Jim answered Megan's question.

"To be honest, I don't know. The only link we have between them is the prison visits. There was nothing at Hildred's and he's admitting everything except any connection to Ventriss."

"Did the prison record his conversations?" Megan asked.

Jim shook his head. "It's a low security prison."

"Monitor his phone calls?" she continued.

"No."

"His mail?"

Jim gave her a disparaging look.

"Just trying to help, Jimbo," she said sweetly and smiled as she crossed her legs.

A silence fell. Simon waited.

"When do you get out of here?"

Jim was a little too eager to ask the question, thought Simon.

"Tomorrow, first thing in the morning."

"Want me to pick you up?"

"Thanks, but Darryl has already offered."

"So how long until, you know ... you get back to work?"

Simon knew Jim had wanted to ask that question since he walked in.

"The doc says maybe three weeks." Simon sighed loudly. Watching his best detective try to hide a horrified look behind a sympathetic one almost made him laugh. He took pity. "I should be back part time in a week, provided the doctor signs me off."

Jim just nodded, the relief evident. At least he had the good sense to look at his feet, acknowledging his embarrassment. Megan smirked.

"Jim, about Ventriss, have you thought about following the money?" Simon asked leaning back into the pillows, suddenly feeling tired. He stifled a yawn.

"The money?"

"Think about it, where did Hildred get all the money to do this? I'm not just talking about the ten thousand dollars. Everything he set up cost big bucks and I bet they didn't come out of his own pocket."

Jim stood up.

"Of course, why didn't I think of that?"

"Sometimes it's tough to see the wood from the trees."

"Simon, there's a very good reason why you're the Captain and I'm not."

"I know."

Simon smiled smugly and yawned again.

"Come on, Connor; let's leave the man in peace."

Megan Connor had to work hard to follow Jim Ellison's truck. Poor Sandy, she thought, having to put up with Jim's driving. Having gotten caught by a red light, she could see Jim standing by the elevator as she pulled into the parking garage. She considered making him wait, but realized that would serve no purpose although it would have been fun. She sighed. Riding up together they discussed how to best use their resources. Splitting up as they entered the bull pen, Megan powered up her computer and put in her password. Jim spoke from behind her desk.

"According to his file, apart from the Company accounts, which he no longer has access to; Ventriss had three separate bank accounts when he was arrested."

Jim rattled off the names of the accounts as Megan continued to type in the details on the warrant request.

"No signs of any offshore accounts?" she asked.

Jim shook his head. "Not as far as we could tell."

Megan hit print and then walked over to collect the paperwork they would need.

"Who have we got tonight?" Megan asked.

"Judge Andrews is on duty," Jim replied.

"She's a good egg. We should be alright."

Jim grunted as he continued to go over Ventriss' file.

"You know that even if we get the warrant tonight we won't be able to serve it until tomorrow," Megan continued.

"I know," muttered Jim.

"So why don't you go home, spend some time with Sandy? He could probably do with the company."

As Jim started to object she spoke again. "I'll call as soon as we get the warrant and we can be waiting for the bank to open tomorrow morning."

Megan saw Jim check the clock on the wall and waver. As he reached back for his jacket Rafe and Brown walked in and Jim's hand never completed its journey. We'll never get him home at this rate, she thought. Megan listened as the two detectives relayed more bad news; Ventriss had not changed his story, there was no chink in his armour and he was now on his way back to prison.

"The strange thing is, as much as I don't like the heartless bastard, I think he was telling the truth," said Brown.

Jim sat down.

"Hildred had no reason to do this on his own. He must have been working for Ventriss. There is no other explanation. Why can't we make the connection?"

"We will, Jim, just give it time," Henri answered.

"Jim, weren't you on your way back to the loft?" Megan prompted.

Jim grabbed angrily for his jacket and as he strode out of the bullpen he called back to Megan.

"Make sure you call me when that warrant comes through."

Megan waited for Jim to get into the elevator and turned back to the two men who stood dejected by her desk.

"You guys up for some overtime?"

"What have you got in mind, Connor?" Brown asked looking interested.

"How about we give the files the once over, see if anything has been missed?"

"It's a long shot," sighed Rafe.

Megan smiled.

Brown sat down at his desk and held out his hand, "Give it to me."

Megan started handing out the folders.

"You two take these and I'll do these ones, just as soon as I hand the request for the warrant to the duty sergeant."

Apart from the occasional phone call, they worked quietly for the next two hours.

"You know Ventriss has been a model prisoner," Rafe said to no one in particular.

Megan glared at him. That wasn't helping. Ten minutes later Megan slammed down the final folder. Crossing her arms across her chest, she glared at the folders and the world in general.

"Nothing," she declared.

"I told you it was a long shot. Ellison wouldn't have missed anything," Brown said carefully.

"Yeah, I know."

Megan felt momentarily defeated and then springing to her feet spoke again, "Right, I'm off to hunt down that warrant. Thanks for your help, guys."

"I just wish we had found something," Rafe's tone was heartfelt.

"We will," Megan smiled. "You'll see."

Jim was later getting back to the loft than he had planned or anticipated. He hoped Blair had managed to get some more sleep. His wish was granted. Taking the stairs to their bedroom two at a time, it seemed to Jim that Blair hadn't moved from the position he had fallen asleep in that morning. Stopping for a moment to watch his lover, Jim eventually went back down stairs and into the kitchen. Quietly he made and ate dinner. He watched television with the sound turned down and then showered quickly. With the loft secured Jim went back up the steps. Blair lay on his side now, the pillow under his head damp with drool. Jim stripped down to his boxers and gently lifted the covers to slip in behind Blair. The younger man hardly stirred as Jim slipped an arm beneath him and pulled his warm relaxed body into the shelter of his embrace.

Tuesday

They met Megan at the First National Bank of Cascade ten minutes before it was due to open. Jim had tried to dissuade Blair from accompanying him that morning but a long sleep had done wonders for Blair's energy levels even if his throat still burned and ached when he tried to speak and swallowing was still painful. The doctor had said it would be two days at least before Blair could do more than whisper the odd word. At least he had been able to shower that morning. Jim had patiently redressed his neck and Blair had put on a high neck sweater to hide the bandage and then quietly but firmly followed Jim from the loft blithely ignoring his protestations.

As soon as the bank opened, the three detectives entered and asked to see the manager. They were forced to wait before the short, weasel-faced man appeared, giving off an air of aggrieved impatience. Jim introduced them all and the man checked the warrant in minute detail. Sitting in front of the manager's large mahogany desk, Blair thought that under other circumstances this man's self-importance might be amusing, but with the prospect of finally linking Ventriss to the murders Blair's mood was far from amused.

"Well, I suppose it is all in order," the little man finally admitted.

He stretched across the very large desk, almost coming out of his chair to press the intercom.

"Miss Ratchett, bring me the printouts for Mr Ventriss' accounts for the last six months."

Blair stared at Jim and mouthed 'Miss Ratchett'. Jim shrugged his shoulders, ignoring the open mouthed look he was getting. Quiet descended. The bank manager inspected his fingernails and looked bored. Blair cleared his throat and Connor looked up, shushing him with a look. Jim's head came up a short while before the catch of the office door snicked allowing Miss Ratchett to enter the room. Blair turned to see if the woman lived up to her film counterpart. He was disappointed to note that she didn't. The woman who entered the room was as tall as he and smartly dressed in a black two piece suit and white blouse. Blonde hair in a short bob finished the picture. She walked confidently around to the bank manager's side of the desk.

"Sir, I brought printouts from Mr Ventriss Senior and Mr Ventriss Junior. I wasn't sure which accounts you were referring to and as there has been no activity on Mr Norman Ventriss' accounts for the past six months I thought you might mean Mr Bradley Ventriss' accounts."

The officious man tutted and held out his hand for the printouts.

"Brad Ventriss," Blair gasped.

It came out as a whisper. Jim came out of his seat and held his hand across the desk.

"May I?" he asked for the printouts.

"Your warrant only covered Mr Norman Ventriss."

The bank manager held out three sheets of paper, retaining the others.

"You know we can get another warrant for Brad Ventriss' accounts."

Jim remained standing, imposing himself on the bank manager. It didn't work.

"And when you do I will gladly hand over the information, Detective Ellison. In the meantime, I am afraid I must keep hold of these."

The little man stood, signalling an end to the interview.

"Pencil-pushing asshole."

When Megan Connor took a dislike to someone she certainly let you know about it, Blair thought. The three of them stood in the parking lot of the bank. Jim handed out the computer printouts. Miss Ratchett had almost been right. There had been some activity on Norman Ventriss' accounts, but it was just normal utility payments, all easily checked. Blair started as Jim pounded the hood of the truck.

"How did we miss this? All this time we have been looking in the wrong direction."

Blair put a hand on Jim's arm, trying to calm him. Jim looked at Blair, his eyes full of anger. Blair put all the calmness he could muster into his face, returning Jim's stare and saw the bigger man physically relax.

"Okay, let's think about this."

Jim ran his hand over his hair.

"We want another warrant. Megan, you take care of that. Blair, we need to link Brad Ventriss with Hildred. According to the records of prison visits Hildred never visited Brad, so how did these two communicate? Hildred did not do this on his own. I will not accept that."

Jim looked at Blair as he said the last five words and put his hand over Blair's. He saw Megan smile at the intimate touch and blushed slightly. Megan chuckled and walked over to her car.

"See you back at the station, boys. Don't do anything I wouldn't," she laughed.

Jim turned to Blair, "Are you okay?"

"Stiff, sore," Blair managed.

"Let me take you back to the loft."

There was a pleading tone to Jim's voice. Blair shook his head.

"Chief ..." Jim warned.

Blair stood resolute, giving Jim one of 'those' looks.

Jim sighed, "Okay, but don't overdo it."

Blair nodded. This not being able to speak was getting real old real quick, he thought. The journey back to Major Crime went by in silence. Every now and then Jim looked over to Blair as though he were expecting something. His right hand strayed to Blair's shoulder when the driving allowed. As they pulled up in the parking garage, Jim took the keys out of the ignition. He put a hand on Blair's knee.

"You know, it's weird not hearing you chatter away, Chief." Jim paused. "I never thought I would say this, but ... I miss it."

Blair smiled. Maybe not having a voice had some good things going for it, thought Blair. Jim had definitely become more touchy feely and that was a situation Blair could put up with for any amount of time.

Jim held back as Blair entered the bullpen, allowing the younger man to enjoy the welcome from his fellow officers. Slipping into his office, he checked the coffee machine and reminded himself to thank Rhonda for filling it and turning it on. Jim poured himself a full mug and allowed himself to enjoy the aroma and a mouthful before picking up the phone and dialling. He was busy jotting down names when Blair finally made it into the office. Jim pointed at the coffee machine and Blair dramatically sighed, pushed himself up and poured Jim a second cup and himself a first.

"Thanks, that's a lot of help." Jim hung up and handed Blair a list of names. "Recognise any of these?" Jim asked.

Blair shook his head.

"It's a list of the visitors Brad has had since the trial."

There were six names on the list.

"Let's go check them out."

The names were handed out and six detectives suddenly got busy. A short while later the phone rang on Megan's desk. She stood, announcing that she was going to collect the warrant. Blair, who had been forced into computer duties, conveyed the suggestion that he take over from Megan. She smiled at him.

"Are you up to it Sandy? You're looking a little peaky."

"I'm sure," he whispered.

"Okay, but I won't be long."

Blair settled into her seat and took a long gulp from the ever present bottle of water that seemed to be the only thing that eased the burn in his throat. Stretching his back to ease the ache there, Blair jiggled the mouse to remove the screensaver. A face appeared on the screen. Blair stared.

"Jim."

In his office Jim looked up at Blair's barely spoken word. By the time he reached Megan's desk, Blair was reading a list of names. Jim's eye followed Blair's finger as it crossed the screen.

"Joe Hillier, a.k.a. Jimmy Hughes, a.k.a. Jozef Hildred. Born St Petersburg 1957 to parents Tomaz and Maria, granted asylum in the US in 1970. Brother to Stefan. He's one of Brad's goons, one of the guys who attacked you in the street. I thought he was still inside," Jim commented.

As Blair scrolled down the screen Jim read on.

"Paroled Starkville State Correctional Institution."

The date was almost two months ago. Further down the page was the name of a parole officer and a current address. Blair hit print as Jim called Brown and Rafe over. Megan walked back into the bullpen as the two detectives were leaving. The smiling faces were a change from the studied determination that had clung to the room before she left.

"I got the warrant," she announced.

"Take a uniform and go serve the bank and don't take any shit from that asshole," Jim ordered.

"No worries, Boss."

She smiled at Jim's reaction. Jim put a hand on Blair's shoulder, gently massaging the sore muscles underneath.

"Not long now, Chief, and Ventriss will never see the light of day," Jim smiled confidently.

Blair grinned back and continued to bring up more information on his previous attacker. Jim's hand lingered on Blair as his mind cast back to those few minutes in the alley outside the parking garage behind the loft. He had dropped the shopping as he had heard Blair's gasps of pain and one, two, three, four, five blows hitting flesh. Blair had been on all fours and the three men and a baseball bat were closing in on him when Jim arrived. The oldest man, the one with the moustache, the one they now knew was Jozef had held Jim off with a gun. Then Jim had turned to Blair who was dazed and bleeding.

Jim shook himself and realised his hand was at the nape of Blair's neck and Blair was looking up at him, a gentle question in his eyes. Jim smiled down and reluctantly took his hand away.

"Let's go, Chief."

As they drove up to Jozef's address Rafe walked away from the building that housed the wanted man's apartment.

"No one's seen him since this morning. According to his parole officer he isn't working yet, but he's not here."

Jim scanned the street.

"There's a car coming. Get out of sight."

Jim went back to the truck and got in next to his partner. Rafe and Brown took up position inside the building. A dilapidated Dodge Dually pulled up on the street outside Jozef's building. The man got out and juggled keys in one hand as he approached the front door. Stopping before he got to the front door he looked around him as though suspicious of something.

"Chief, stay here."

Jim opened the truck door just a crack, ready to move.

"No," Blair stated quietly.

Jim held the door still. Jozef resumed his walk and pushed the front door of the building open. Turning, the man suddenly ran, heading away from Jim. As he sped away Rafe and Brown burst out of the building. Jim's truck had been parked a little down from the building and that gave the two detectives a head start on their temporary captain. He soon caught up with them. The man they were chasing had slipped between two buildings and as they rounded the corner they saw him scale a wire fence. Redoubling their efforts they went after him, Jim getting in front of them as he made it over the fence first.

Blair had followed Jim from the truck and then hesitated, thinking about the wisdom of joining the chase without a weapon. He went back to the truck and took Jim's spare weapon from the locked box, then ran back chasing after the four men, ignoring the pain in his legs and back. He turned the corner to see Brown turn right on the other side of a high wire fence. He scrabbled over it, ran to the edge of the alley and went right. There was no one in sight.

"Shit!"

He ran on until he came to another junction. He could hear footsteps and followed left. He knew he was slowing and soon the sound of the footfalls disappeared. He stopped, panting. Blair swallowed hard, the saliva not easing the pain in his throat.

Jozef Hildred was fit. That's what prison will do for you, Jim thought. He kept up with the fleeing man, though he wasn't able to make any headway and close the gap. Bursting out on to a busier street, he couldn't find any sign of the man. Rafe and Brown came to a stop behind him. There were only two routes the man could have taken.

"You two take left, I'll go right. Don't let him get away."

The two men nodded and set off. Jim started running again. He had known Blair had followed him from the truck and had now stopped. Worried that Blair was overdoing things he reassured himself with the steady, albeit slightly faster pitter patter of his lover's now stationary heartbeat. Concentrating all his senses on the chase, Jim suddenly veered left. A smell of sweat and fear had caught his nose. His hearing picked up a rapid beat, faster than anything else on the street. He followed it.

Blair was undecided. If he went on he had no idea which way to go and could be wandering around uselessly. He could go back and wait in the truck, maybe call in reinforcements. He stood unsure and picked up the sound of running feet. He moved towards them, the gun warm in his grip. Jogging now, he put the gun in both hands, standard grip for pursuit. Another corner loomed and before taking it he hugged the wall, chancing a quick glimpse. Running at him was Jozef. The man had obviously given Jim the slip and doubled back. Stepping forward, bringing the gun up to point directly at the middle of Jozef's chest, Blair said, with as much force as he could

"Cascade PD. Armed police officer. Stop, put the gun down and raise your hands above your head."

The man obeyed the first instruction but pointed his gun at Blair.

"Put the gun down." Blair managed to get out.

It was a stand off. This couldn't be happening again, Blair thought. His hands shook slightly, but the gun remained aimed at the man's heart. He throat felt as though he had swallowed razor blades.

"Put the fucking gun down, man. Don't do this."

Please don't do this to me. I don't know if I can shoot you, you little shit. Can I kill you to save my life? Don't make me decide. I don't know. I don't want to know, not now, not so soon after ... before. Words raced through his mind and his stomach gripped in fear.

"Drop the gun, you schmuck, or I'm gonna shoot you," he croaked at Jozef.

"I ain't done nothing; just get out of my way."

"Then put the gun down and put your hands in the air."

"Ain't gonna happen, shortass. I'm gonna finish what I started."

Blair watched as Jozef's gun, which had dropped momentarily as the man spoke, came back up and his world slowed into strange distorted images where the blink of the man's eyes and the tightening of his trigger finger took an age rather than a fraction of a second; where Blair had time to think and reason and to know that he could kill this man to save his own life, even though he would do everything in his power to avoid that. Determination settled over him like a heavy coat on a warm day.

The wanted man twitched his head as a figure appeared behind him. The gun drooped and a strong arm came round the front of the man and removed the weapon. He went to his knees and put his hands on his head, obeying orders that Blair couldn't hear. Blair stepped back behind the wall and slumped down, letting the bricks hold him up. Flipping on the safety, he pushed the gun into the waistband of his jeans and sniffed, drawing the back of his hand across his face. He stepped back out.

"You okay, Chief?" asked a worried voice.

"Fine," he managed to squawk out as he approached the two men. "Thank for the back up."

Jim nodded. "My pleasure."

Jozef Hildred was walked back to the truck as Jim called Rafe's cell phone to give the good news. Blair was silent all the way back to the station. Jim hoped it was due to the strain on his throat from warning Jozef. Jim took the man to booking as Blair headed back to the bullpen.

The prisoner was all bravado until Rafe told him that they had his brother in lock up charged with murder. The fight went out of him and the ADA was called to take his statement. Jim and Blair watched from behind the two way mirror. Jozef was only the go between. It was he who had passed on Brad's instructions to his younger brother to visit Norman Ventriss; it was he who told his brother to target Ashcroft, the loser who could be bought for money and McCluskey, the dirty I.A. cop. Jozef enjoyed believing he was 'The Man', manipulating and twisting events to implicate Blair and leave him vulnerable. In reality, he was still a thug with a baseball bat. The cunning in this plan came from Brad Ventriss and the execution from Stefan Hildred, who was more thorough than an IRS inspector on the trail of unpaid taxes. Jozef was not a particularly bright boy, but he was strong, amoral and violent and the more he said the more pieces fell into place. He and Brad Ventriss had shared a prison wing and when Jozef was released from prison after serving his sentence for assaulting Blair, he left with a plan in place and the promise of enough money to keep him happy for a very long time.

When asked why Stefan had visited Norman Ventriss so many times, Josef had revealed that Brad had ordered it saying he could kill two birds with one stone. Stefan had also been the gopher between Brad and his money. Brad's lawyer had seen to that.

"The cold-hearted bastard," Jim spat out. "He deliberately set up his old man."

Jim looked at Blair noticing the paleness of his skin.

"Let me take you back to the loft, Chief. You don't look so well."

Blair nodded. "Ventriss?" he asked.

Megan and I will go over to the prison after I drop you off and charge him. I'll be back before you know it."

Blair nodded again, "Okay."

When Jim got back to the loft two hours later, he found Blair dozing on the couch. A bottle of water and a package of Tylenol sat on the coffee table. Jim had not turned on the lights as he entered the loft and as he sat on the couch, he watched Blair bathed in the dim glow of the side lamp. Even in sleep Jim could see the pinch of pain around his eyes. Blair stirred and Jim smiled.

"Hey, Chief."

"Hey." Came the reply.

"Feeling any better?" Jim asked.

Blair waggled his hand palm down to indicate 'so, so' and reached for the bottle. Taking a long sip, he managed to ask, "What happened with Ventriss?"

Jim felt like the cat that had got the cream.

"Charged and tucked up like a baby. He didn't break down and cry but I've never seen the ADA so happy before. She says we have it all tied up, regardless of what Brad says."

"Good," Blair whispered and then grimaced.

"I checked with the ADA. She says Brad was moved from Starkville after his attempts to get to you through Tres Hunter. Cascade was considered a more secure prison than Starkville. Ventriss must have worked this all out with Josef before his transfer and then all he had to do was wait for Josef to get out. With the case against Ventriss and Hunter ongoing, Ventriss had all the access he wanted to his lawyer and whatever money Stefan needed was arranged." Jim watched Blair move his body trying to find a comfortable position, as he explained.

"How about a massage, ease some of those aches and pains?"

Another gulp of water and Blair managed, "That would be good."

Jim surveyed the pale skin underneath his hands and continued the gentle pressure on Blair's chest. He had made Blair lie on a large soft, fluffy bath towel and put on the light by the side of the bed while Blair lay on his back and Jim straddled his hips. Blair had handed Jim the vanilla massage oil and settled himself. As he relaxed under Jim's gentle ministrations, he whispered, "Good."

"I still can't get over Ventriss setting up his old man like that. I can understand him going after you or me, but his father tried to cover for him."

Blair raised an eyebrow at Jim's words and huffed. Jim looked down and smiled at Blair, seeing the sparkle in his eyes, knowing that his lover wasn't really angry at his comment. Leaning forward, Jim stole a kiss from those pursed lips and Blair returned the touch. Jim moved off the body beneath him and spoke.

"Turn over, Chief."

Blair did as he was told. Jim winced at the bruises on the back of Blair's body. No wonder Blair had walked up to the bedroom like an old man. Apart from the mark around his neck, there were two other series of purple, red and black discolorations; one across the lower back which ran from almost one side of his waist to the other and another which travelled from the nape of his neck to just below the left shoulder. The nightstick that Hildred had used had done too much damage as far as Jim was concerned. The blows that had caused the bruises had been well-aimed and designed to incapacitate. In deference to the pain he might cause, Jim knelt to one side of Blair rather than straddle him. His hands were soon soothing the knots from the battered body. He could feel Blair relaxing.

"You've got magic hands," Blair mumbled.

"So I've been told," Jim teased.

Blair chuckled. Sentinel senses gave Jim an edge in finding those knots of tension and easing them away. It wasn't long before Blair's body was a pliable heap of muscle and bone. Jim realised that the massage was relaxing him almost as much as Blair and found himself closing his eyes and relying on touch alone. Jim wasn't sure when it happened but he slowly became aware of Blair's other reaction to his hands; his heart rate had kicked up a notch, his mumbles of relaxation had become quiet groans of pleasure and there was an aroma of arousal that tickled Jim's nose. Opening his eyes, Jim grinned. Blair was not in any shape for love-making but that was no reason why Jim couldn't give his other half the sort of pleasure that would complete what the massage had started.

Gently he moved his hands to below Blair's waist and started kneading the muscles of those sweet ass cheeks. Blair's body shifted beneath his hands.

"Comfy, Chief?" Jim asked, knowing full well that the younger man was getting hard.

Allowing Blair to find his own position that didn't put too much pressure on his cock, Jim eased off for a few seconds. Blair stilled and Jim continued. One hand slowly made its way to the dip between those cheeks. One finger delved further, parting the cheeks as it sought the pucker of skin that was its goal. The body under his hands shivered in anticipation.

"Jim," Blair whispered.

Leaning forward, keeping that finger tenderly rubbing over the raised skin, he kissed Blair's back caressing the bruise at the nape of his neck. The finger pressed down entering Blair's unresisting body, while Jim's lips continued to kiss the bruise in the gentlest way and the finger pushed on.

"Oh God," Blair sighed.

Slowly Jim let his finger fuck Blair, easing and pushing forward. He felt Blair push back as the finger inexorably progressed. Jim's kisses continued, providing a second stimulation to the abused body. The tender motion continued as Blair's breath became a little ragged. The finger withdrew completely and there was a groan of disappointment which swiftly became as whimper of contentment as one finger was replaced by two. With his left hand palm down, the effort of maintaining the rhythm of fucking Blair was a strain on Jim's wrist, but the reaction it was provoking in his lover more than made up for the discomfort.

Time to take this up a notch thought Jim. On his push into that sleek, tight hole Jim angled his fingers seeking Blair's prostate. As he hit the raised, area Blair's body spasmed, his hands grabbing at the towel he lay face down on and his knees pulled up as he gasped for air.

"Like that, lover?" Jim asked, pleased beyond measure that Blair couldn't answer.

The finger fucking became more insistent, each forward stroke stimulating Blair's prostate. Jim could feel Blair's body coil and knew he was approaching his climax. He pulled both fingers out.

"No," Blair gasped.

Three slick fingers entered Blair pushing against his prostate. A hoarse scream was dragged from him as the extra pressure tipped him over the edge. Jim felt Blair's orgasm from a unique perspective as muscles contracted round his fingers. Jim kissed at the second bruise as Blair's body collapsed back on to the bed. Waiting until the final ripple of release echoed through his lover's body, Jim removed his fingers and heard Blair sigh in completion. Blair rolled to one side and raised himself up on his elbow so he could see Jim.

"I love you."

He spoke quietly. Jim leaned forward and kissed the lips that he adored so much.

"I am so glad you are still here," Jim admitted.

He searched the face below him as though he could divine any damage to that beautiful soul from the taking of another life. Blair turned all the way onto his back and returned Jim's gaze. Jim placed his hand over Blair's heart.

"Are you going to be okay?"

He saw understanding in Blair's eyes; the younger man knew he wasn't just talking about his physical injuries. Blair paused and stared hard at Jim.

"I will be," Blair swallowed. "With your help and your love."

Jim smiled, not trusting himself to reply immediately. He pulled the towel out from under Blair, wiped his hands and threw the towel on the floor. Covers were pulled up and he gathered Blair's body to his side.

"Always, Blair, always," he murmured as he kissed those beautiful lips.

The End.

End

Two Birds with One Stone by Rae: [email protected]
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