"The Sentinel" is the property of those holding legal copyrights to the shows or their characters and stories. No money is changing hands on these stories, and they are written for the sole purpose of entertaining other fans and sharing with friends. No copyright infringement is intended.

This story has been in the works for a year and a half, and there were times when I despaired of ever finishing it. Without the following friends' encouragement, this story would've languished half completed on my hard drive forever: Dolimir, Autumn, Alyjude, Belinda, Beth, Jo Ann, Kira, Susan, and Tricia. Thank you all so much for your invaluable feedback!

One of my favorite TS stories is "Detour" by Emily Brunson. I absolutely adored her proud but vulnerable Jim. One day while listening to Barry Manilow's "Keep Each Other Warm" the idea for "Harbor of My Heart" hit me. It has a Jim Ellison reminiscent of Emily's in "Detour" -- lost, hurting, but still the sentinel -- still the protector. In steps Blair Sandburg, who is also a protector in his own right, but also alone and lonely. "Harbor of My Heart" is the story of these two diverse men who learn how to trust and love.

"Come sail into my arms, the harbor of my heart, and trust that love is all we need to keep each other, keep each other warm." Keep Each Other Warm sung by Barry Manilow

PROLOGUE

It was too late.

The moment he stepped into the condemned warehouse, he knew. The odor filled his sensitive nostrils with the all too-familiar stench of death. He dropped to his knees beside her.

"Mommy's sick," one of the two identical blond girls exclaimed from beside him, her lower lip trembling.

The man struggled against his anger toward the mother of the young twins; anger for leaving her daughters with this final memory. He could smell the acrid scent of the drug as it invaded the woman's body, slowing her heartbeat and respiration. If he suspected she had any chance at all, he would have called for help and damned the consequences. But she was minutes from death and on some elemental level the five-year-olds also recognized the grim reaper's sinister approach.

The woman's pale eyelids fluttered open and her pupils were dilated, covering most of the bluish-gray irises. She raised a thin arm and the needle marks were plainly visible as harsh bruises against her white skin and shallow blue veins. "J-Jim..."

The man named Jim lifted her shoulders and head into his lap as the twins knelt on either side of him. "I'm here, Dee."

He could see her battle to focus on his face and recognized the moment when she won the tiny victory. She managed to lift a trembling hand and rested it against his cheek -- her palm was ice cold. His anger fled to someplace black and deep within his chest. "Why?" he asked, his voice breaking.

Self-hatred flashed across her waxen features. "S-So hard to f-forget. Tried to, b-but couldn't."

Jim knew what she referred to -- the pain of betrayal and the horror of rape by someone she had trusted and loved when she was little more than a child. He glanced at the twins, still amazingly innocent in spite of the fact they had spent most of their lives living on the streets or in cockroach-infested apartments.

He steeled himself and turned his attention back to the girls' mother. "I know, honey, I know."

Her faltering gaze slid across her daughters and a single tear rolled down her cheek. "Oh G-God, I'll m-miss my b-babies." Dee's expression grew frantic and her muscles tightened. She clutched Jim's shirt front with skeletal fingers. "T-Take care of them, Jim. Please." The last word was both a plea and a benediction.

Jim's throat closed and he nodded jerkily. "I'll treat them as my own. I swear."

The woman, only nineteen years old, appeared thirty years older. The years of doing what she had to in order to survive had taken their toll. But now Dee's expression relaxed, as if Jim's promise had given her the peace she had lost so many years ago. "Thank you," she whispered, then closed her eyes. After two more rattling breaths, her heart ceased beating.

There was a long moment of silence before Jim became aware of a small, warm hand on each of his shoulders. He took a deep ragged breath and blinked away the moisture in his eyes. "Your mommy's gone to heaven." It took almost more strength than he possessed to say those words.

There were no screams or cries, but the children's stillness was even more disarming. Jim lay Dee's body on the warehouse floor and put an arm around each of the girls. They fell against him and Jim held them close, smelling their salty tears as their small bodies shook with mute sobs.

"We're family now and I'll take care of you," Jim whispered. "I promise."

TWO WEEKS LATER

The Major Crime detective trudged into the bullpen as he rubbed his gritty eyes. Three weeks straight of eighteen-hour days were beginning to take their toll on his physical and mental energy. An average of four hours of sleep a night might have worked five years ago, but not anymore.

"Sandburg, my office! Now!" Captain Simon Banks shouted from his doorway.

Detective Blair Sandburg groaned and Rafe gave him a sympathetic pat on the back as Blair passed him and his partner Henri Brown.

"Maybe he's going to give you a day off," Brown said.

"Yeah, and maybe it won't rain tomorrow," Blair retorted over his shoulder.

The long-haired detective knocked on the door frame once and slipped into Simon's office. The smell of some exotic coffee wafted around him and made his taste buds stand up and take notice.

"Close the door," Banks ordered.

Blair lowered himself into the hot seat in front of the captain's desk as Simon set a cup of fresh coffee in front of him.

"Thanks, Captain," Blair said. He closed his eyes and took a sip. "Ahhhhhh -- almost orgasmic."

When the young detective opened his eyes, he caught the glint of tolerant amusement in Banks' usually stern expression. "Probably as close as you've come in a while."

Blair snorted. "If my boss would give me some time off, I might get lucky -- " he grinned, " -- and get some sleep."

Simon leaned back in his chair and took a drink from his own cup. "I remember a time I would've chosen a woman over sleep. But it's been awhile. How many classes are you taking this semester?"

"Started with two, but I dropped one." He shrugged negligently, his curly hair brushing his shoulders. "Couldn't keep up with both them and the job."

Simon grimaced apologetically as he eyed his youngest detective. "You should have said something. I could've assigned the arson case to someone else."

"No, sir, this is my job and I'm damn good at it," the younger man stated matter-of-factly and without vanity. "This arsonist has murdered two people already." His eyes hardened uncharacteristically. "Even if they only lived on the street."

Banks stiffened. "I have never treated one victim differently than another. Each one deserves our best efforts to find his or her killer."

Blair let out a gust of breath and his shoulders slumped. "Shit. I know that, Simon. It's not you I'm mad at. It's the whole fucking system that -- " For one of the rare times in his life words failed him and he merely ended with a helpless shrug.

Simon heaved a long sigh, his defensiveness draining away. "I know. It's our superiors who play the game and you know what they say about shit rolling downhill .... " He aimed an unlit cigar at Blair. "Don't you ever let me get caught up in that political bullshit. And that's an order, Sandburg."

Blair smiled crookedly at his boss and friend. "Yes, sir."

"Do you ever wish you would've stayed at Rainier instead of joining the force?" Simon asked after a few moments of companionable silence as they sipped hot coffee.

Blair shook his head without hesitation. "No, sir. As much as Naomi hated authority figures, I think even she would've agreed with my decision." Sadness shadowed his eyes, turning them a midnight blue. "I can't believe it's been three years since she was murdered."

"And nearly that long since you went to the academy and graduated at the top of your class," Simon added. "For what it's worth, I think you're going to make a damn fine professor, but you're already a helluva cop."

Blair smiled, but his thoughts remained on his mother and the serial killer who had claimed her as one of his victims. Simon Banks had been the homicide detective in charge of the investigation. Grief-stricken, Blair had become obsessed with the case and had been instrumental in exposing the identity of the killer, coming up with a profile which had led to the man's capture. In fact, because of the arrest, Simon had been promoted to captain.

Blair and Simon had many talks during that time and it was during one of them Simon suggested he join the police force. At first Blair scoffed at the idea, but the more he considered it, the more it appealed to him. Although he abhorred guns, he loved to help people and as a cop, he could. His mind was also sharp enough to find clues in the most obscure evidence and information. So he processed through his natural aversion to guns and joined the force. Simon Banks had gone to bat for him and he was enrolled in the academy in less than a month. After a token three months as a uniformed patrol cop, Blair had been added to Simon Banks' department -- Major Crime -- and the younger man had never regretted his decision. He was also grateful he had never had to kill anyone in the line of duty. Yet.

With the current case, Blair was working with Debra Reeves, an arson inspector with the Cascade Fire Department, to track down the person responsible for the fires and deaths. He had worked with Debra a year ago on another case and the two of them had become friends -- not close, but as close as Blair let anyone except Simon Banks into his hermitic life.

"Any new evidence from the fire last night?" Simon asked.

Blair squeezed the bridge of his nose. "None. Debra said it was the same pour pattern and the same chemical accelerant used on the last three."

"Any leads with the accelerant?"

Blair shook his head. "Too common."

Simon grunted in comment. "Do you think there will be more fires?"

"Yeah, definitely. He's not going to stop until we stop him." The young detective shook his head and an unruly curl spilled across his brow. He brushed it back with an impatient hand. "The need is growing in him. There's less and less time between the fires -- there were only nine days between the last two; there were three weeks between the first and second. He's getting edgier, more impatient. He'll make a mistake and when he does, the bastard is ours." His passion extinguished as quickly as it had ignited, and Blair closed his eyes and tipped his head back. "Gods, I'm tired."

"Put in for vacation time after this case is wrapped up," Simon encouraged. "You haven't taken any time off since you started up here, except for the occasional three day weekend."

"Seems a waste of time when we're buried in unsolved cases. Besides, all I'd do is study."

"I'm serious, Blair. You're getting burnt out."

Blair opened his eyes and rolled his head so he could look at his boss. "Great choice of words there, Simon."

"Don't be a smart ass, Sandburg. You know what I mean."

Blair sighed, accustomed to Simon's curtness. "Yeah, I know, but there just doesn't seem to be any point. I have no personal life except for the few times we all go out for a drink at O'Shaunnesy's. Dating is a word I haven't used in months. My advisors want the first draft for my dissertation yesterday and I still haven't found a study subject."

"Is this still the sentinel thing?"

Blair straightened in his chair and his face lit with long absent enthusiasm. "There's got to be one out there somewhere, Simon. I just know it. The days I'm not here at the station, I'm conducting tests on subjects at the university. I've only found a few people with enhanced senses and with them it's only one or two senses."

"Like that coffee taster and perfume sniffer you were telling me about last month?"

Blair nodded. "I've searched for a sentinel nearly half my life. I can't stop now." His expression fell. "But I can't put off the committee for very much longer. Another week or two, then I'm screwed."

"Would it be so bad to do your dissertation on another subject?"

"I guess not, but my heart wouldn't be in it."

"Maybe you'll find your sentinel," Simon offered, though there was little conviction behind his words.

"Maybe." In spite of his previous enthusiasm, there was even less conviction in Blair's voice. He set his empty cup on Simon's desk. "I've got a few calls to make on the Carver case, then I've got class tonight."

Concern touched Simon's brown eyes and Blair knew his boss worried about him -- about the loner he had become since his difficult days at the police academy. Blair's personality was far from the norm of those who went into law enforcement and he was often the brunt of practical jokes, which he had endured with amazing equanimity. He hadn't joined the force because of some ego trip, but to help people, and he had decided early on no one would make him forget that.

Banks made a shooing motion with his hand. "Go get those calls made so you can get your butt out of here."

Blair smiled and stood. "Yes, sir." But his smile disappeared as soon as he spotted his desk overflowing with papers and files.

Blair unlocked his Expedition's passenger door and made a bowing motion to Karen Sutter. "Your carriage awaits."

Karen, a fellow graduate student who was in the same evening class as Blair, laughed and punched his arm, though her aim was a little off after more than her share of beer. Her fist grazed his jaw and Blair laughed. "I could arrest you for assaulting an officer."

Giggling, the brunette leaned into Blair's chest and unbuttoned a shirt button. "Please officer, I'll be good." Her voice became sultry. "Very very good."

Blair's libido liked that idea -- a lot -- as the blood headed south of his belt buckle. It had been a long time since he'd been laid, probably the longest dry spell since he had lost his virginity at fifteen. Karen was cute and sexy, and more importantly, she wasn't expecting anything more than a rollick between the sheets. But he did have one requisite which he doubted she'd pass -- he liked his dates to remember what they had done the next morning.

Blair captured her hands and helped her into the SUV. "Be a good girl and buckle up."

She pouted and Blair merely shut the door after making sure all her limbs were safely inside. He climbed in behind the wheel and buckled his own seatbelt then checked Karen's, finding it in place. After Professor Tomkin's dryer-than-dust three-hour lecture, Blair and four other classmates had decided to find a bar and debate the merits of various cultural mores and taboos, which had ended with a spirited and somewhat drunken discussion of odd sexual practices.

Blair drank only two beers, afraid that any more would merely put him to sleep rather than give him a pleasant buzz. He started the Expedition and pulled onto the nearly deserted street. He glanced at his watch -- 12:30 a.m. Damn! He had to be at the station at six thirty tomorrow -- today. Any more thoughts of accepting Karen's invitation were dispelled.

"That was fun," Karen commented, sounding slightly more sober.

"Yeah, it was," Blair said. "It got late, though."

She snorted. "The night's just starting."

"Maybe for you, but I have to be at work at six-thirty."

She turned clumsily in the seat to face him. "What's it like being a cop? Is it like some cosmic power trip?"

Blair gritted his teeth -- suddenly Karen didn't look so cute. "I'm a cop because I like to help people -- people who have nobody else to turn to."

"Oh, come on, Blair," she pleaded in a wheedling tone. "You can tell me."

In fact, Karen was starting to look downright homely. "I told you," he said somewhat impatiently. "It's never been a power issue."

The young woman crossed her arms and turned to stare out the front window. "Whatever."

The temperature in the vehicle dropped twenty degrees. Blair braked at a red light and opened his window to breathe in some heavy saltwater-tinged air. Though it wasn't exactly fresh, it cleared his head. A high-pitched scream sounded and Blair's exhaustion vanished in a heartbeat. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

Blair made a sharp U turn and there was an audible thump as Karen's head struck the window. She muttered a curse. He cringed, but was focused on reaching the source of the harrowing cry. "A scream. Someone's in trouble."

After a block, Blair stopped and visually searched the dark alley frantically. "Call 911 and have them send back-up." He jumped out of the vehicle, pressing his phone into Karen's hands.

The woman fumbled with the cell phone.

"Do it," Blair ordered, trotting backwards into the alley.

Only after Blair saw her punch 9-1-1 did he turn and run into the pitch black passage. His nape tingled and all of his cop training came to the fore. A rustle made him draw his gun and aim at the noise -- a cat's glowing eyes stared back at him. With his heart thundering in his chest, Blair continued on. He strained to see in the darkness as his ears picked up the unmistakable sounds of fist against flesh and the occasional moan and grunt.

He was almost to the back of the alley when he spotted some dark humps moving against a building's brick wall. He moved in closer and his eyes adjusted until he was able to make out three men beating on another who had fallen to his knees. Even outnumbered and being pummeled, the single figure continued to fight, but there was no doubt he was going to lose.

Blair took the proper stance and held the butt of his revolver in two hands. "Halt! Cascade PD!" he shouted.

The three figures backed away from their victim and after only a moment's hesitation, disappeared into the alley's shadows. The object of their beating was struggling to his feet when two small bodies emerged out of the darkness.

"Uncle Jim," a little girl's choked voice cried as she launched herself into the victim's arms. Another little figure pressed herself against his other side and the man -- Jim -- held them close as he knelt, slumping, on the alley's dank ground.

"Shhhh, it's all right," Jim murmured soothingly in spite of his own injuries, which had to be fairly extensive. For an insane moment, Blair wanted to offer this man the same comfort he gave the children.

Blair approached them tentatively and eased down to his haunches so he was at eye level. "Are you all right?"

The man straightened his spine, but kept a protective arm around each of the girls. His eyes, silvery blue in the moonlight, stared straight at the detective and Blair shivered under the direct gaze. "I'm fine."

No thank you; just a flat "I'm fine."

"You should get to the hospital. You probably have some broken ribs, man."

"I'm all right." Then the man named Jim started to push himself upright, as if to prove his words. A slight hiss escaped his compressed lips and when Blair reached forward to help, the man's iron gaze aborted the gesture. Finally, Jim was on his feet, albeit unsteady and looking as pale as a wraith in the moonlit night.

"My name's Blair Sandburg. I'm a detective with the Cascade PD," Blair introduced himself as he, too, stood.

The man's lips curled into a sneer. "And I'll bet you even have a shiny gold badge to go with it."

Taken aback by his vehemence, Blair held up his hands. "Look, man, we got no beef. I was just passing by when I heard a scream." He glanced at the wide-eyed girls, their faces faint ovals in the darkness, as they clung to the man's legs. "Are your nieces all right?"

Startled fear flashed through Jim's eyes; then it was gone and the man's eyes were cold and forbidding once more. "Nobody touches them."

"I didn't mean anything by it," Blair assured. "Did you recognize any of the men who attacked you?"

"No."

Blair knew Jim hadn't spoken the truth, but short of calling him a liar, he didn't have any recourse to follow. "If you say so," he said deliberately, telling the man he recognized the lie. "I know you probably don't have any reason to believe me, but I care what happens to you," he finished.

For a long moment, Jim stared at him, then nodded slowly as his granite expression eased minutely. It wasn't much, but Blair figured it was a huge concession. Blair reached into his jacket pocket and the other man tensed once more. "I'm just getting one of my cards," the detective said, keeping his voice low and soothing.

Though Blair didn't figure Jim could see him that clearly, the man's gaze never left him and he tilted his head slightly as if listening to something in the distance. Blair withdrew one of his business cards and handed it to the man who, after a moment of indecision, reached out to take it from his grasp. Jim's cool, callused fingertips brushed Blair's hand.

"If you need any help, call me. Or if you just need someplace to crash for the night, use my cell phone number," Blair said.

Jim stared at him, his expression never changing. "Why?"

Blair smiled warmly. "I told you, man. I care."

The man didn't reply, but tucked the card into his jacket pocket gingerly. Blair eyed him a little closer, noticed how he favored his left side and arm. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine," came the same succinct reply.

Blair suspected the beating he had received had been pretty damned vicious, but he also understood the street peoples' wariness when dealing with the cops. A few bad apples among the force had stolen their trust. No, not stolen -- trampled it into the ground and destroyed it. It was up to Blair and other compassionate cops who felt the same way to try to re-establish some type of faith among the homeless.

He squatted down and spoke to the girls who hadn't relinquished their hold on their Uncle Jim. "My name is Blair. What's yours?" he asked, using the soothing voice he relied on to defuse domestic disturbances and strung-out addicts.

"Holly," the one on the left said. She pointed to her sister. "And that's Haley."

"Shhhh. We're not supposed to talk to strangers," Haley hissed at her twin.

"That's a very good rule," Blair said seriously. "But I'm a policeman. You can trust me."

Haley shook her head vehemently. "Policemen are bad. They hurt people."

Suddenly bright flashing lights turned into the alley and the blaring yowl of a siren filled the narrow passage. Headlights illuminated the man and the two girls. Jim visibly flinched and a low groan escaped his thinned lips.

"We have to go," the man said, his voice husky. The girls each took a hold of one of his hands and, without another word, the family disappeared into the alley.

Two uniformed cops came running over to Blair. "What happened?" one of them asked.

Blair stared into the blackness which had swallowed the small family. "It was only a misunderstanding." He glanced at the two uniforms and recognized both of them. "Hey Charlie, Lester. Sorry to roust you out here for a false alarm."

Charlie frowned. "Did you know them, Sandburg?"

"No," he simply replied, and motioned toward their vehicles. "Let's get out of here."

Shaking their heads, Charlie and Lester got back into their patrol car and left with a wave. Blair was startled to see Karen in the Expedition, then remembered he had been taking her home.

"Thanks for calling it in," Blair said as he took his phone back.

"Who were they?" Karen, now sober, asked as Blair pulled onto the empty street.

He thought of the man's shielding stature and the adoring looks the twins had bestowed on him. Though the three of them had been dressed in secondhand clothes which were clean but threadbare, Blair suspected they possessed something infinitely more precious.

"Just a family trying to hold it together," he answered in a soft voice.

Going through one of their hidden escape routes, Jim and the twins emerged six blocks away from the cops. He listened intently for sounds of pursuit, extending his hearing as far as he dared, but he heard nothing except the typical night noises. Pressing back the throbbing aches and pains of his battered body, he gave his attention to the girls. "Those men didn't hurt you, did they?"

Haley and Holly shook their heads.

"They were bad men," Haley said fervently. "They hurt you."

Jim's heart clenched. "I'm all right." If something had happened to the girls because of his condition, he would never have forgiven himself. He forced a smile, but was certain his swollen lips made it appear more a grimace. "Let's go home and get some sleep."

"Home" was an abandoned warehouse where Jim had made a second floor corner nest for himself and his two young charges. An old Coleman lamp that ran on batteries illuminated relatively clean foam-filled mats, which were covered by sheets and blankets bought at a thrift store. A couple rickety chairs and a table, two crates, a propane stove, some battered cookware and chipped dishes populated their little area. A bright but cheap tablecloth gave it some color and sometimes the girls found flowers growing in vacant lots which ended up in an old mayonnaise jar set in the middle of the table.

While the girls changed into their pajamas, which were little more than old t-shirts their mother had worn, Jim sat on a chair and did a sensory sweep for intruders in the condemned warehouse. He kept his sense of touch down to a minimum by sheer force of will. He knew he had a couple cracked ribs and a whole array of cuts and bruises, including the knife wound on his left arm which had finally stopped bleeding.

"Uncle Jim?"

At the sound of Holly's tentative voice -- which was a little lower than her twin's -- Jim lifted his head. Holly was setting a pan of water on the table while Haley opened the first aid kit Jim had put together. Their expressions were somber but determined -- much like their mother's had been when she wasn't high. "What's this?" he asked softly.

"We're gonna take care of you," Holly said firmly. "Take off your coat."

Jim couldn't help but smile. "Yes, ma'am."

But he found his body resisted the motion needed to remove the jacket and the girls helped him, being especially careful with his injured arm.

"Now close your eyes and we'll wash your face like you do to us," Haley ordered.

Jim did as she said. Keeping his hearing level up so he could monitor for danger, he leaned his head back and allowed the girls to wash away the blood.

"You went away again, didn't you?" Haley asked.

Went away -- that's what the girls called his blackouts.

"Yes," Jim replied and was startled to hear a tremor in his voice. "I'm sorry."

A small palm pressed against his hot cheek. "That's okay, Uncle Jim," Holly said. "We screamed just like you said and you came back."

"It also brought that policeman," Haley reminded.

"It's all right, Haley. I'm glad she did," Jim said. If the cop hadn't shown up, he was certain he would've lost the girls.

The cloth was dipped into water and wrung out again, then was gently laid on his arm. Jim jerked, unprepared for the pain of the gash. The cloth was lifted off.

"Sorry," came a whispered apology.

Jim opened his eyes to see Holly looking down at the wound, her eyes glistening with tears. "It looks worse than it is, sweetheart. I can clean it."

Holly nodded and handed him the damp rag. Haley came to stand by her sister's side as they watched Jim wash away the blood, revealing a cut four inches long and half an inch deep. The wound gaped open and Jim suspected it could use stitches, but with no insurance, he would have to let it heal on its own. That it would leave a scar was a given -- what was one more to his collection?

"Would you get me that white tube from the first aid box?" Jim asked Haley.

The girl rummaged around for a moment, then brought out the flattened tube of antibacterial cream. There wasn't enough left for his wound and no money to buy more, so Jim placed the tube back in the kit in case one of the girls needed it later. He wrapped the cut loosely with some gauze, having the girls help him.

"Now it's time for bed," Jim announced with a smile even though a headache drilled his brain and his wounds throbbed and ached.

"Do you feel good enough to tell us a story?" Holly asked shyly.

"Do you think a couple little owies can stop me?" Jim asked in feigned outrage.

The girls giggled and crawled under the blankets on the thin mattress, their blue eyes bright with anticipation and their arms wrapped around their stuffed animals -- the only toy each of them owned. This was their favorite time, when he would tell them a story and they would fight to stay awake as his low voice gently lulled them into slumber.

The big man settled cross-legged on the floor beside them, keeping his left arm close to his side. He patted Holly's cat and Haley's dog with his right hand and smiled down at the girls' expectant faces, allowing his own worries to dissipate. "Which one tonight?"

"Tell us the one about Wolf and Panther," Holly whispered, her eyes round.

"But you've heard that one a hundred times already."

"Don't care. It's our favorite," Haley said stubbornly.

Jim tapped her cheek gently. "So it is." He rested his elbows on his thighs and began. "In a place far far away, there lived a beautiful gray wolf. He was so beautiful and so smart that the other wolves were jealous of him, so they chased him away. Although Wolf was very sad, he soon found he enjoyed traveling to new places and meeting new friends. One time he stopped to help a lion who had been hurt. The lion was so grateful, he allowed Wolf to stay with his pride. Wolf liked getting to know the lions, but in a few months, he grew restless and continued his travels. While he was hunting for mice one day, he ran across a fawn that had gotten separated from its mother. Wolf tracked the mother down and returned her baby to her. The deer was very happy and asked Wolf to stay with them. Liking the deer and their quiet ways, Wolf stayed and learned more about them. But again he grew restless and left. During his travels, he met a bear and a raccoon and a porcupine and lots of other animals. Since Wolf was so kind and gentle, he made friends easily and learned many things about the other creatures, but the restlessness would always come back and he would move on."

"Because Panther was waiting for him," Haley interrupted triumphantly.

Holly elbowed her. "Shhhh!"

Jim ignored their antics and continued. "One day Wolf heard a horrible cry from deep in the forest. He knew the dreaded panther lived there, but he couldn't close his ears to the cries for help. Ignoring his animal friends who were terrified of Panther, Wolf ran deep into the trees where it was very, very dark. Finally, he reached Panther who was caught in a trap."

"Poor Panther," Holly said quietly, her blue eyes glistening with tears as she tightened her arms around her stuffed black cat.

Jim swallowed the lump in his throat as he smoothed Holly's blond hair from her forehead. "Panther was special -- he could see and hear and smell better than all the other animals, and bad men wanted to capture him and keep him in a cage where they could study him. But Panther only wanted to be free." Jim paused to stare into the distance. A tug on his arm brought him back.

"Uncle Jim, don't go away again," Haley said with a frown.

Jim smiled weakly. "Thanks, sweetheart." He took a deep breath. "Panther snarled at Wolf, but Wolf knew Panther wasn't really mean, only scared. When he got close to Panther, the cat scratched him, but Wolf knew he only did it because he was in so much pain. Wolf lay down in front of him, showing him he wasn't going to hurt him, and finally Panther allowed him close enough to help get the snare off his leg. When Panther was free, he turned to Wolf expecting him to run away, but Wolf didn't. 'Why aren't you afraid of me like all the other animals?' Panther asked him. 'Because you are afraid,' Wolf said with rare wisdom. 'I only wish to be your friend.' Panther didn't know what to think -- no one had ever wanted to be his friend without wanting something in return, but he trusted Wolf like he had trusted no other animal. Panther nodded, and Wolf and Panther disappeared into the forest."

"Where they lived together happily ever after helping the other animals and keeping them safe," Haley finished, rubbing her chin on her dog's head.

Jim tapped the end of her nose. "Next time you can tell the story."

"No. We like your voice, Uncle Jim. It makes us feel safe," Holly said.

Jim glanced around the condemned warehouse and bitter bile rose in his throat. If he truly wanted to keep the girls safe, he would turn them over to the authorities. The life he was forced to lead wasn't good for two young children who needed a real home and love. But he was too damned selfish. He'd been alone for so long ...

"You need to go to sleep now," Jim said firmly. Ignoring his body's complaints, he leaned down and kissed Holly's, then Haley's forehead. "Good-night, angels."

"Good-night," they murmured in unison.

Holly's hand crept over to Jim's uninjured arm and she patted it. "Don't give up, Uncle Jim. Wolf will find you."

"It's only a story, sweetheart," he said around the lump in his throat.

"He'll come," Holly said with so much certainty Jim almost believed her.

"Good-night, Holly."

She studied him a moment longer, then turned onto her side and closed her eyes. Jim watched the girls drift into slumber and wished he still believed in bedtime stories and happily-ever-afters. He pushed himself to his feet, stifling a groan. Sitting in one position had stiffened his bruised muscles. He worried briefly about how he was going to move in the morning.

After making one more check around their home, he settled on his thin pallet, but sleep eluded him in spite of his exhaustion. Listening to the rats scurry in the darkness, he shuddered, remembering too well the sight of a baby killed by the rodents when the mother had left the infant alone. He closed his eyes tightly, but the image of the mutilated infant was seared in his mind.

Knowing sleep would be long in coming, he thought about his earlier blackout in the alley. He had focused on a rhythmic tapping noise and had gotten lost in his mind. Richey took that moment to arrive with his thugs and only Holly's scream had brought him out of the blackout.

If the cop hadn't shown up, the girls would have been bound for a short life of horror and abuse. His whole body trembled with a bone-deep chill and he didn't fight it, but welcomed the agony that washed through him as punishment for his failure to protect Haley and Holly.

He had to face the music -- his control was failing. Following his return from a two-week foray into South America over a year ago, two MPs and a colonel had come to his VOQ and escorted him to a special testing facility. There he had learned he had been under scrutiny since an ill-fated eighteen-month tour in Peru six years previous. At the testing facility, Major Jim Ellison had followed orders and done the tests demanded of him. But when they began to give him drugs which intentionally forced him into "blackouts", he rebelled. It was then he had become a prisoner rather than a soldier. Seven months ago, he'd had a bad reaction to a drug. For a week he dipped in and out of consciousness with his senses spiking in no particular pattern. When he finally regained some control of his senses, he made his escape and became a deserter.

Death was stalking him. He had known it would happen the moment he escaped. One day he would slip into a blackout and not come out of it. At least his death would be easy. For him.

He glanced at Haley and Holly, and even though it was dark, he could see them clearly. God, he didn't want to die and leave them alone, allowing scum like Richey to prey upon them. The son-of-a-bitch would sell them to the highest bidder -- some perverted bastard who got off on doing it with children. Jim choked back his revulsion and rage. Although he would rather lose an arm or leg than give up the two children, he had to find someone to watch out for them before he went into one of his blackouts and didn't return.

Someone like the detective?

Could he trust him? Trust. Jim had long ago given up on it. Too many betrayals, starting with his father, had eroded his faith in the human race. Fathers were supposed to love their children, not beat them. Commanding officers were supposed to lead with integrity, not order their men killed or tortured. Policemen were supposed to serve and protect, but vice detectives exchanged blowjobs for allowing a prostitute to continue plying her trade; homicide detectives were unconcerned about the murder of a homeless person because those nameless ones were nobody important, nobody worth their time; patrol cops turned a blind eye to drug deals because someone gave them an envelope with money to buy a new stereo or big screen television.

Moving painfully, Jim reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the detective's card. Detective Blair Sandburg, Major Crime Division, Cascade P.D. What was his angle? Everyone had one.

I care.

The soft-spoken words echoed in Jim's mind, Sandburg's smooth timbre rolling through his thoughts like a tropical ocean breeze across his skin. God, he wanted to believe Sandburg cared, but that wish was dangerous even to contemplate. He took hold of the card between his fingers, intending to tear it in half, but couldn't complete the motion.

Reluctantly, Jim placed the card back in his pocket.

He had to come up with a solution to his dilemma soon -- he was already living on borrowed time.

FOUR DAYS LATER

Blair sat up, his heart racing. Darkness surrounded him and the only sounds were those typical of the night, but something was wrong. He could feel it. He glanced at his digital clock on the nightstand -- 1:57 a.m. He had gotten home from the station at seven with Chinese take-out in hand. After eating, he had plopped on the couch to watch a Jags game, but had fallen asleep within minutes. He barely remembered hauling his butt upstairs to bed.

Suddenly, the phone shrilled loudly. Blair reached out and nabbed the receiver on the second ring. "Sandburg."

"There's been another one," Debra Reeves, the arson investigator, said grimly.

Blair closed his eyes tightly and raked a hand through his mussed hair. "Any victims?"

"Three."

"Fuck! Dead?"

"No, but they're suffering smoke inhalation and minor burns. They're refusing to allow the ambulance to take them to the hospital." There was a long moment of silence. "It was a man and two little girls."

Jim and his nieces. Blair jumped up, already reaching for his jeans which had been dropped on the floor when he had collapsed in bed. "Where?"

"Warehouse on Fourth and Lesley."

"I'll be there in ten minutes, fifteen tops." Blair punched the off button and scrambled into the rest of his clothes.

Grabbing his jacket and keys he raced out of the loft, locking the door behind him almost as an afterthought. The full moon hung low in the sky and Blair sped down the nearly deserted streets with his lights flashing. Long before he arrived, he could see the fire's orangish glow. The smell of the rolling black smoke struck him six blocks before the burning warehouse came into view. Finally he turned a corner and ran into a roadblock of fire engines, police cars, an ambulance and an EMT unit. The fire's glow and the headlights of the vehicles gave the whole area a nightmarish aura that sent a shiver skidding down Blair's back.

He jumped out of the SUV as his gaze searched the flickering figures and came to rest on Debra, two EMTs, Jim and the girls. He jogged between firemen and policemen, jumped water hoses, and finally arrived at Debra's side, but he focused his attention on the family who was wrapped in blankets.

"You really need to be checked out by a doctor," one of the EMTs was speaking to Jim, who sat on the end of the ambulance.

"No. No hospital," Jim replied, keeping a twin pressed to each side of him, an arm wrapped around their thin shoulders. His voice sounded raw and raspy. "We're fine."

"That must be your motto, man -- 'I'm fine'," Blair said with a smile as he eased his way past Debra and the EMTs. He met each of the girls' wide eyes with a wink and grin. "We meet again."

"You're that policeman," the girl holding the stuffed dog accused.

Blair squatted down in front of her and affected a hurt expression. "And what's wrong with being a 'good' policeman?"

"Are you a good one?" the other girl -- this one with a black cat -- asked, her voice barely registering above the shouts, water pumps, and the fire's crackling and hissing.

"I like to think I am," Blair said. "Are you Haley or Holly?"

"Holly." She pointed to her frowning sister. "That's Haley."

Blair moved his gaze to Jim's face, less than three feet from his own. It was pale and sweating and his pupils were dilated. Drugs? It was possible. "How are you really doing, man?"

"Cold, tired, and homeless, but I guess we were homeless before, so just make that cold and tired," Jim answered, his tone razor-sharp.

"And we don't got any clothes anymore," Haley spoke up.

"Or our beds," Holly added, her eyes glistening with tears.

"One of us can give them a ride over to the shelter on Ninth and Davenport," Debra whispered in Blair's ear.

"No! No shelter," Jim stated vehemently.

Startled, Blair's gaze flew to Jim. How had he heard her quiet words?

Jim stood and swept off the blanket, dropping it in the ambulance. Beneath it, he wore a soot-stained t-shirt and baggy gray sweatpants that had seen better days. His feet were covered with socks which had once been white, but were now dingy and dirty. "Come on, girls. We're leaving."

Without hesitation, Haley and Holly stood, also leaving their blankets behind. They wore adult sized t-shirts that hung to their calves and their blond hair was wild and frizzed. Soot and reddened skin gave them a ragamuffin appearance, and the worn stuffed animal each girl carried added to the picture.

"You should at least have that arm checked out -- it's probably infected," the red-haired EMT called out.

Without a word, Jim stooped down to pick up a barefoot girl in each arm, then turned his back and strode away.

"He's crazy," Debra said with a shake of her head.

"Most of them on the street are," the female EMT commented sadly. "But he really does need to see a doctor. He wouldn't let me remove the bandage around his arm, but I could feel how hot it was."

Blair watched Jim walk away, his broad shoulders squared and his backbone straight. The man had too much damned pride for his own good. Blair's legs reacted before his mind caught up, and he ran after Jim and the two girls. He had to convince them to go someplace safe for the night. They also needed clothes, shoes, and jackets against the cold Cascade night.

"Leave us be, Sandburg," Jim said tersely as Blair came up behind him.

"Please, listen to me. Just for a minute," Blair pleaded as he skipped ahead of the trio.

Jim stopped and sighed heavily. "What?"

Now that he had Jim's attention, Blair had no idea what to say. Blair Sandburg, at a loss for words -- Simon would love that. He quickly improvised. "Look, you can't just go walking around Cascade at night in November without shoes and a coat. You'll all freeze and get pneumonia or something. And where are you going to go? If you don't like shelters, do you have a friend you can stay with? Do they have extra clothes for you and the girls? What about a bed to sleep in?"

"We've lived without beds before," Jim said.

"But not clothes or jackets or shoes. And what about food? That takes money and by the looks of you, I doubt you have some tucked away in a pocket since you don't seem to have any pockets," Blair continued, a smile easing his blunt words. "And from what I understand about the hierarchy of the homeless, they tend to be very territorial unless some gesture of goodwill has been offered and accepted, which is a lot like many tribes in New Guinea and South America. In fact, I once lived in a village in Borneo where if a person came to visit with empty hands, it was thought to be the most terrible insult a person could give."

"What are you talking about, Sandburg?" Jim asked, his voice weary.

"Hospitality," Blair said with a weak grin. "What I'm trying to extend to you and your nieces."

"But we'll be coming empty-handed."

So Jim had been listening and understood. "But we aren't in Borneo."

"You're full of shit, Sandburg."

"Uncle Jim," Holly broke in, putting her palm against his mouth. "Shit is a bad word."

Blair's grin widened. "That's right, Uncle Jim. You should have your mouth washed out with soap."

"And who's going to wash it out?" Jim asked.

"I bet Haley and Holly would help me, wouldn't you?"

One girl nodded; the other shook her head.

"Stalemate," Jim stated.

"Then I suggest you all come home with me so we can debate the issue," Blair said blithely.

"No." Jim continued walking away from the conflagration.

Blair hustled to stay in step with him. "Why not?"

"I can't pay you."

"Damn it, I'm not asking for money," Blair said in exasperation, his arms flying about to emphasize his words. "I have this loft apartment with two beds and a couch all to myself. It's no bother, really. In fact, I'd take it as a personal insult if you don't accept my invitation."

"And if I insult you by refusing, what would my punishment be?" Jim asked, his footsteps slowing markedly.

Hope lifted Blair's spirits -- Jim was weakening. "In New Guinea, you'd be my main course at dinner."

Jim barked a hoarse laugh, surprising Blair ... and the twins. The detective's grin escaped its confines and he pressed his advantage. "Come on, Jim. Your girls need someplace safe and warm to sleep, and I'm sure you could use a good night's sleep, too."

Jim came to a halt and spent a full minute studying Blair. The younger man refused to squirm under his scrutiny, and he had an odd feeling it wasn't only Jim's eyes which were examining him. The older man's nostrils flared and he tilted his head, like someone who was trying to hear something from afar.

Finally, Jim nodded ever so slightly, his pale skin stretched taut against his cheekbones, and his jaw clenched. "I don't like being in debt -- "

"You can't be in debt if it's free," Blair said quietly.

Jim blinked as if the concept was a totally foreign one.

"My car's over here," Blair motioned toward the Expedition. He noticed Jim's slumping shoulders and lines of pain in his brow. "Do you want me to carry one of the girls?"

Jim started to shake his head, but Holly spoke up. "I can walk."

"Not with all the water and debris," Jim said firmly.

"Then l-let the policeman take me." She leaned close and whispered something in his ear that Blair couldn't hear. After a moment, Jim gave a resigned nod and Holly reached out toward Blair. Surprised but pleased, he lifted the young girl into his arms and her thin legs wrapped around his waist as one arm encircled his neck.

"Thank you for trusting me, Holly," Blair said quietly.

Blair and Jim walked side-by-side to the SUV and once there they situated the girls in the back seat and belted them in.

"Go ahead and get in, Jim. I'm going to tell them I'm leaving," Blair said, placing a hand lightly on Jim's back.

Blair watched the older man climb into the front seat and noted his sweating brow and trembling hands. Jim was definitely in a world of hurt, but Blair was under no illusions -- the proud man would go to his grave before admitting it.

Blair joined Debra who was speaking with the EMTs as they packed up their equipment.

"I'm taking them to my place," he said without preamble.

"Is that safe?" Debra asked, frowning.

Irritation made his voice sharp. "I'll hide all the knives and the family silver."

Debra's scowl deepened. "They've been living on the street for God knows how long, Blair. You may never get rid of them."

"Who says I want to?" Blair retorted without hesitation. At the woman's surprise, he held up a conciliatory hand. "I had to do a lot of talking to convince Jim to accept my offer. I suspect he'll be out the door as soon as the sun rises." He turned to the paramedics. "Give me a rundown on what I should do for them."

The two EMTs exchanged looks and the woman spoke. "Overall, the girls are in good shape but both them and their father could use some nutritious food. And try to talk him into seeing a doctor for the cut on his arm. If it's not taken care of, he could lose the limb."

Blair blanched. "It's that bad?"

The red-haired paramedic nodded. "I examined the area around the bandage -- it's hot to the touch. It's definitely infected. I was shocked when he picked up one of the girls with that arm. It's got to be damned painful."

As if pulled by an invisible thread, Blair turned to look at Jim in his vehicle. Jim was looking straight at him. Awareness punched him in the gut and he couldn't seem to find the next breath of air. He forced himself to look away, to face the three people staring at him. "I'll see what I can do."

"And make sure they drink plenty of fluids," one of the EMTs said. They picked up their equipment and returned to the emergency vehicle.

"I know you feel responsible, Blair, but this isn't your fault," Debra said, laying a hand on his arm.

Although she meant the fire, it wasn't that which Blair felt responsible for; it was the almost overwhelming sense of protectiveness he felt toward the displaced family. "I can't stand to see anyone suffer -- not when I have a place big enough to give them a roof over their heads and a comfortable place to sleep."

"You'll be careful?"

"Promise." Blair managed a smile.

The concern left her, replaced by professional detachment. "I'll stay here and make sure the physical evidence is gathered after the fire is out."

"Thanks. I owe you."

"Yeah, you do." Then Debra shifted into investigator mode and moved off to question Captain Stokes, the fireman in charge.

Blair jogged back to the Expedition and glanced in the rear seat to find the two girls slumped over in slumber with their arms wrapped around their stuffed animals. He opened the door as quietly as he could and slipped in behind the wheel.

"They were exhausted," Jim said in a low voice.

Blair shifted so he could see the girls behind him. "Losing their home and everything they owned in the middle of the night would exhaust even adults." He deliberately moved his gaze to Jim.

"I get the picture, Chief," Jim said wryly, though his face remained stony.

Blair started the SUV and slowly maneuvered it through the labyrinth of emergency vehicles until he made it onto the clear street, then sped up. The silence within the confines, though not totally comfortable, didn't grate on Blair's nerves like it usually did. He had grown so accustomed to filling conversation voids that he now did it without thinking -- usually coming up with some bizarre story from his anthropology days at the university.

A pang of something akin to homesickness struck him. He missed the camaraderie and intellectual debates with anthropology students and professors. Becoming a cop had put an invisible barrier between himself and them. Though everyone at Rainier who'd known him as a student still welcomed him when he was on campus, the conversations were short and superficial -- how much could a cop and an academician have in common? Not a helluva lot when it came right down to it.

The police force at large saw him as an outsider to their society, too. The long-haired son of a former flower child had little to discuss with cops other than cases, and those conversations were often wrought with stiffness and unease.

No, Blair lived in two worlds -- academia and cop -- though he wasn't considered a full citizen of either of them. But, then, at least he halfway belonged somewhere, unlike his subdued passenger. Blair took a deep breath and sent a sidelong glance at Jim. The streetlights kept shifting shadow bars across his face -- one time casting his profile into glacial darkness; another time cutting valleys beneath his cheekbones; and still another, hiding all but the icy blue eyes in blackness.

It was a strong face -- a fierce face, like that of a tribal warrior. Honed with marked angles and bold curves, Jim's features were those of a primitive hunter and his piercing eyes only added to the image. Where had he come from? What had sent him to the street?

Blair turned onto Prospect and three blocks later, parked across from Colette's.

"I live above the bakery," Blair said, suddenly feeling a restless need to fill the silence.

Jim opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it. Each man carried a drowsy twin into the building and Blair was thankful the elevator was actually working. He unlocked the door to apartment 307 and led the way inside, turning on the light as he entered.

Jim flinched and his eyes narrowed, as if squinting. Although puzzled by his reaction, Blair merely said, "There's a futon in the spare room. The girls can sleep there."

Jim followed him into a small room beneath the stairs. The futon was perpetually made with clean bedding, so Blair carefully laid his petite burden on the farthest side, and Jim set the other twin beside her. Blair eased the covers over their shoulders and watched as they readjusted their positions until it was obvious they were down for the count.

Blair guided Jim out of the small room and into a chair by the table in the kitchen. "I'm going to put a fresh bandage on the cut on your arm," Blair said.

Jim drew the soot-smudged forearm close to his side. "It's fine."

"Not this time," Blair said stubbornly. "I want to see how badly infected it is."

"Damn it, Sandburg, I told you it's fine."

Two sets of blue eyes dueled in a silent battle of wills. Blair wasn't going to let Jim win this one -- the man's life depended on taking care of the injury which Blair was certain he'd received the night he was beaten in the alley.

"Please," Blair said.

The soft plea startled Jim and he glanced away. "All right," he allowed grudgingly.

Resisting the urge to smile in victory, Blair retrieved the first aid items from the bathroom and a bottle of water from the fridge. He opened the bottle and set it down on the table in front of Jim. "Drink."

Startled, Jim blinked then reached for the water. As Jim drank in greedy gulps, Blair unwrapped the wound. The ugly gash was swollen and yellowish pus oozed from some of the edges.

Jim plunked down the empty bottle and covered his nose and mouth as he gagged. His face paled even further. "God, that stinks."

Although Blair could smell the infection, it wasn't overwhelming. "It's not that bad."

"Maybe not for you."

He must have a really sensitive nose, Blair thought as he cleansed the wound carefully with peroxide. "So how long have you lived on the street?" he asked, hoping to divert Jim's attention.

"Long enough," he replied between clenched teeth.

Blair glanced at him, seeing white lines of pain etched at the corners of his mouth. Sweat coated his face and as he watched, a droplet slid down the side of his face, rolling down his cheek and through the maze of stubbled whiskers to drip onto his chest. Realizing he was staring in absorbed fascination, the younger man flushed and concentrated on Jim's arm.

"If this isn't better in the morning, I'm taking you to my doctor," Blair stated.

He saw and felt Jim's muscles stiffen. "I told you, no hospital."

"I didn't say hospital; I said doctor," Blair said patiently. "Besides being my doctor, Kathleen is a friend. She'll help, no questions asked."

Although Jim didn't say anything more, Blair could tell he didn't like it. Not one damn bit.

Blair put the finishing touches on the bandage, then squatted down in front of him and rested a hand on his knee as he gazed up at him earnestly. "If not for yourself, think of Haley and Holly. What'll happen to them if you can't take care of them?"

Jim stared at Blair, his frosty eyes not thawing one degree. He clenched and unclenched his chiseled jaw as he struggled with, what only Blair could imagine were, personal demons. The cop understood -- he had his own closet full of them.

Jim's gaze flickered down to Blair's hand on his knee and suddenly the younger man was aware of how intimate his touch and posture were, yet he didn't feel uncomfortable. Jim met his eyes again and this time Blair saw a glint of something -- something which softened the icy blue.

Finally, Jim nodded though the simple gesture seemed to take all his strength. "All right, Sandburg. If it's not better, I'll go see her."

Though it was unspoken, each man knew Jim would be seeing the doctor. The infection had gone too far and only medical intervention would help now.

Blair pushed himself upright. "Would you like to use the bathroom and wash up?"

The minutest flash of pleasure crossed Jim's face. "Are you sure you don't mind? I'm pretty dirty."

Blair laughed quietly. "Besides the obvious, bathrooms are used to wash away dirt. No, I don't mind. Honestly." He grasped Jim's bicep and helped the older man up. Jim's quick intake of breath told Blair how much he was hurting and he took a firmer hold. "I'll help you in there."

"Are you going to give me a bath, too?" Jim asked with sharp sarcasm as they walked toward the bathroom, Blair's arm around his waist.

The image of running a washcloth over Jim's bare shoulders and chest brought a rush of heat to Blair's face, and he swiftly dispatched the vision. "If you want to take a bath and need help, I can do that, man. During my undergrad days, I worked at Conover. I did a lot of that kind of thing," he said lightly.

"I might take a bath tomorrow, but I'll do it myself."

Jim's cool, formal tone put Blair in his place as effectively as if Jim had slammed him up against a wall.

"No problem, man," Blair said in a low, mild voice. "Whatever you want."

Jim paused as the two men stood outside the bathroom door and he turned his head to the small room where the girls slept. The French doors were open and a shaft of light from the hallway illuminated their still bodies. Jim tipped his head to the side and Blair's gaze moved from him to the girls and back to the mysterious man.

"I'll check on them while you're in the bathroom," Blair assured.

"They're sleeping soundly," Jim said, then shifted away from the younger man. "I can take it from here, Chief."

Blair released him and the older man shuffled into the bathroom.

"If you need help, just yell," Blair said as the door closed.

Jim's answer was muffled, but Blair was certain the older man had heard him. He listened for a few moments longer, then left when he heard Jim using the toilet. Knowing Jim needed a comfortable place to sleep more than he did, Blair decided to give the man his bed. He would make himself a nest on the couch where he could hear Jim and the girls if they needed something.

With a plan of action, the detective grabbed fresh linens from the closet and ran upstairs to strip his bed and remake it with clean sheets and blankets. When he was done, he hurried back down to the living room and used the sheets from his bed to make a place on the couch for himself. One more trip upstairs to retrieve some clothes for Jim, and Blair walked down the hallway and rapped lightly on the bathroom door.

"Hey, man, I've got some underwear for you," Blair said, then added reassuringly, though with a mischievous smile, "they're brand new, never been worn."

After a few moments, the door cracked open and Jim stuck his hand out. Blair gave him the t-shirt and boxers.

"Thanks." Jim's voice was so hushed, Blair almost missed the single word.

"You're welcome." Then the younger man tiptoed into the girls' room, careful not to awaken them, although he wondered if a marching band could disturb their sleep.

Blair stood beside the futon and looked down at the two girls, noting the identical delicate features -- winged brows, dainty chins and bow-shaped lips. Dirt smudges marred their smooth skin, but otherwise they didn't appear harmed. He suddenly shivered. These little lives -- human beings with a wealth of potential -- had come so close to being lost tonight.

His eyes filled with moisture and he was glad no one saw him. Not that he was embarrassed by his emotions, but few understood the natural empathy he possessed. He had always felt things strongly -- when he was a child, he knew when one of Naomi's boyfriends was mad at him ... or wanted him.

Naomi's gone. Let the anger go.

A stuffed black cat lay about six inches from Holly on the futon and Blair tucked the cat close to the girl. The child instinctively put an arm around the toy and curled it into her chest.

"What're you doing?"

Blair spun around, startled by Jim's proximity. With the older man less than a foot from him, Blair could easily perceive the cold stoic mask which had been re-donned. "I was just checking on them. Making sure they were all right."

Jim moved to stand between him and the girls. His protective stance made it clear he trusted no one with his nieces and from what Blair knew of street living, he understood. There were always rumors of children disappearing and hushed voices expressing sympathy for those taken, but nobody ever stepped forward to offer help in stopping the bastards who pedaled young flesh like a grocer sold fruit.

"They're all right," Jim stated.

"I know," Blair whispered. He moved out of the small room and wasn't surprised when Jim didn't follow immediately. In the hallway, Blair paused and looked back to see Jim touching first one girl's head, then the other. His lips moved but Blair couldn't hear what he was saying. The gentle, caring expression on the man's face, however, told Blair everything he needed to know.

After a moment Jim joined him in the hallway, his mask firmly in place.

"How are you feeling?" Blair asked.

He nodded curtly. "Better. Uh, thanks for the underwear." A faint flush spread across his cheeks.

The t-shirt Blair had given him was a little snug across the chest, but the boxers seemed to fit fine. Jim appeared self-conscious, and the younger man didn't want to make him any more so. "No problem. Did you throw away the clothes you were wearing?"

"They're the only ones I have." Pride stiffened Jim's backbone and made his words terse.

"They're going in the garbage. Come on upstairs and I'll find you something."

"No more, Sandburg. You've already done more than enough."

Blair's throat felt tight. "It wasn't much. Your bed's upstairs."

Blair led the way, not looking back to see if Jim was behind him. A minute later, he heard Jim's bare feet on the stairs. As the detective rummaged through his closet, there was a stumble and a soft thud, then a vehement but low curse. Blair charged around the corner to the stairs and saw Jim sitting on a middle step, his back pressed against the brick wall and his wounded arm held close to his side.

Blair hurried down the steps and dropped beside him, instinctively resting a hand on his shoulder. "You okay, man?" he asked, worried by Jim's pallor.

Jim tilted his head back against the wall and stared at the ceiling. "My arm feels like it's on fire, and my clothes ... they hurt."

Blair frowned. His arm would be painful, but no more so than it had been fifteen minutes earlier. His clothes comment, however, made him recall his suspicions about possible drug use. What if Jim had taken something while in the bathroom? "Are you using, man?"

"No," came the immediate response. "I've never touched that shit." But then his eyes closed and Blair had the feeling the older man was hiding something.

"I'm not asking so I can bust your ass," Blair said quietly. "Damn it, I'm worried about you."

Jim's blue eyes flew open and there was surprise which was quickly covered by suspicion in their depths. "Look, Sandburg, I don't do drugs. It's just that I'm ... my sense of touch is more sensitive than other peoples'."

Though Blair hadn't known Jim long, he suspected the man was lying, but not about the drugs. "All right. I'll help you upstairs then you can get into bed. Maybe your sensitivity is related to the infection."

"Maybe," Jim said noncommittally as he allowed Blair to help him to his feet.

Once at the top of the stairs, Blair maneuvered him to the side of the bed. "Do you need some help?"

"No."

Blair stepped away from him. "I'm going to find some clean clothes you can put on in the morning."

Jim arched an eyebrow quizzically. "Your clothes aren't going to fit me, Chief."

Blair turned away and began to rummage around in his closet. "I had a friend who was about your size. He left some clothes here one time after spending a weekend -- " The detective cleared his throat. "With me."

Though Blair didn't dare look at Jim, he could almost feel the censure searing a hole in his back. A couple minutes of searching through the chaotic mess in his closet yielded a pair of blue jeans and a hunter green crew neck sweatshirt. He turned, not surprised to see Jim already lying in bed. He had the sheet and blanket pulled up over his chest as he watched the younger man.

"You can put these on tomorrow morning," Blair said as he laid the jeans and sweatshirt on the end of the bed. He scrounged around in his dresser and came up with a pair of socks. "You might need these, too."

He glanced back to see Jim still staring at him. His stillness unnerved him.

Blair shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Look, I know you might be a little uncomfortable, but -- "

Jim's expression didn't change; not even a blink. Blair's discomfort changed to concern. He crossed to the bed, leaned over the older man and waved a hand in front of his face. No reaction. He perched on the mattress and touched Jim's bare shoulder. "Jim? What's going on here, man? You said you weren't on drugs and I believed you." He paused when his words had no effect on Jim. Without even realizing what he was doing, he laid his hand on Jim's chest. "C'mon, man. Come back from wherever you are, big guy. You're like scaring me here."

Suddenly Jim blinked and comprehension flooded his features. "Damn."

Blair drew his hand away from the man's warmth. "What the hell was that?" Concern made his voice sharp.

"I-I'm just tired," Jim said softly, the weary pain in his tone cutting through Blair's irritation. He shifted away from Blair, moving toward the other side of the bed, and closed his eyes.

A hundred questions stampeded through Blair's thoughts but Jim's obvious exhaustion prevented him from asking them. The cop straightened, suddenly realizing how tired he was, too. He looked at the digital clock by the bed -- 3:47 a.m. He could maybe catch a few hours of sleep then run out and pick up some things for Jim and the girls at the 24-hour Wal-Mart a few miles away.

He turned the bedside lamp off and tiptoed down the steps. Halfway down, he heard a quiet voice. "Thanks, Sandburg."

Blair smiled, inordinately pleased by his gratitude knowing it wasn't something Jim gave easily or readily. "You're welcome," he whispered back.

After checking on the girls one last time, Blair stripped to his boxers and t-shirt and crawled into his makeshift bed on the sofa. It wasn't long before the detective fell prey to slumber.

Jim awakened, but kept his eyes closed as he lay motionless, reconnoitering the warehouse and ensuring nothing or no one was nearby. It had become second nature to do so and he stretched his senses without conscious thought. He frowned. The only familiar sounds were Haley and Holly's heartbeats and breathing. Remaining still, Jim became conscious of the soft mattress and clean smelling pillow beneath him.

Sandburg.

The detective had brought them to his place after a fire destroyed the warehouse and everything they owned within it. He swiftly became conscious of another fact -- his left arm burned and throbbed. The infection. The heat and smell were more than enough to convince Jim the wound had worsened.

Steeling himself, Jim opened his eyes and pushed himself up so he was leaning against the iron rails. He barely managed to control a groan of agony. He looked around, acquainting himself with the loft bedroom. It was clear Sandburg had never heard of the old saying "Cleanliness is next to godliness." In a corner was a pile of clothes which Jim assumed was dirty laundry. Books, papers, pens, and notebooks littered a dresser situated in the far corner of the room. The closet door was open only half a foot, but Jim could see the mess trying to escape its confines. Even though Jim had lived in a condemned building, he had always tried to keep it neat and orderly. Fifteen years in the military did that to a man.

Sunlight shafted in through the skylight above him and he glanced at the clock radio -- 9:46 a.m. No wonder it was so bright. The sound of small foot patters alerted him to the awakening of Haley and Holly. He glanced over the rail to see them rubbing their eyes as they stumbled into the living room. A white piece of paper on the dining room table caught his eye and he focused his vision on it.

Jim, Haley, and Holly. Make yourselves at home. I had to run some errands. I should be back around ten or so. Blair. P.S. Please don't leave.

Jim didn't know what to think of the younger man. He had opened his home to them, seemingly without any strings attached. He all but admitted to a former male lover, which also didn't fit with the image of a cop. Was he simply someone who truly put people ahead of everything else -- power, money, or status?

"I'm up here, girls," he called down.

Twin sets of blue eyes found him and the faint worry in their faces disappeared. "Uncle Jim," they cried and ran up the stairs.

The girls paused at the top of the steps, suddenly nervous.

"You don't look very good, Uncle Jim," Holly said worriedly as she hugged her black cat to her chest.

"Are you going to go to heaven like Mommy?" Haley asked, her blue eyes saucer-wide.

"Not if I can help it," Jim replied, pasting on a reassuring smile as he blinked back the moisture in his eyes. He patted the bed next to him. "C'mon up."

The twins clambered onto the mattress, one on either side of Jim, who pushed back his pain and wrapped an arm around each of them in spite of the acrid smell of smoke embedded in their hair and pajamas. "Did you sleep all right?"

They nodded together.

"It was kinda nice," Haley said. "Even though this is that policeman's house."

Jim kissed her crown. "I think we may have found a good policeman," he said.

Holly smiled. "I just knew he was nice."

Jim dropped a quick kiss on the other girl's head. "You were right, angel."

Holly's smile faded and she twisted around to look at Jim's injured arm. "Are you going to the hospital like that man last night said?"

"No, but I might see a doctor. Blair, the policeman, said he knew someone who would help me."

"Is that safe?" Haley's blue eyes clouded with apprehension.

Jim stifled a sigh. "I don't know, sweetheart, but I do know if I don't get some medicine, I'm going to be very sick."

"Where'd the policeman go?" Holly asked.

"He went out for something. He should be back any minute now." Jim cocked his head, listening to footsteps in the stairwell and the heartbeat that accompanied it. "In fact, he's back now."

The girls didn't question how he knew; they just accepted that he did. Jim wished adults were as open-minded. A minute later he heard muttered curses in the hallway and Jim frowned. "Why don't you two run down and unlock the door for Mr. Sandburg? It sounds like his arms are full."

Haley and Holly did as he said, although Haley held less enthusiasm for the task. She had always been the more suspicious of the two. Holly undid the lock and swung the door open.

Surprise lit Blair's face, then he smiled and his eyes twinkled behind round glass lenses. "Thanks. I was going to have to set everything down to find my keys." He handed Haley a couple packages, then Holly. "Could you take these please?"

The girls accepted them without comment and moved back as Blair shuffled inside bearing more blue plastic bags with Wal-Mart on them, as well as a box with Colette's logo on it. He used his foot to close the door behind him and glanced up into the loft bedroom as if he had known Jim was watching him. "Morning, Jim," he called up.

The sincere smile that went with the greeting almost undid Jim's impassive mask, but he held it in place by reminding himself of the times he had been tricked before. "Sandburg."

The cop's smile slipped a notch and Jim felt an odd regret for being the reason for the loss.

Blair turned away from Jim to face the girls. "How would you two like to clean up while I make scrambled eggs and warm up the muffins and bagels from the bakery?"

The undisguised pleasure in the girls' faces first warmed, then chilled Jim. He was rarely able to offer them more than oatmeal or bread for breakfast, with an occasional over-ripe orange or banana. Haley and Holly looked up at him, asking his permission. He nodded. "We would appreciate it," Jim managed to say past the lump of pride in his throat.

The girls clapped their hands and Blair sent Jim an extra bright smile. Jim blinked against the emotion which threatened to overwhelm him. He clamped down on it. Now was not the time to let down his guard.

"Do you need some help getting up and dressed?" Blair called to him.

"No." The answer came without hesitation. Jim didn't like being beholden to anyone and he was dropping deeper into debt by the minute with this puzzling detective. "I'll be down in a minute or two."

"Do you mind if I start a bath for Haley and Holly?" Blair asked.

Sandburg had obviously picked up on his protectiveness of his "nieces" and the fact that he asked spoke volumes for his integrity in Jim's mind. "Go ahead. I'll be down to help in a minute."

As Jim struggled out of bed and into the clean clothes Sandburg had left out for him, Jim eavesdropped on the conversation below.

"You mean we get to take a real bath?" Holly was asking.

"That's right," Blair said. "Complete with -- " there was a rustle of plastic, " -- Mr. Bubbles."

Two squeals of excitement made Jim grimace and try to tone down his hearing. Only by sheer force of will could Jim control his senses. More often than not, they controlled him. Sounds too loud, lights too bright, smells too pungent, tastes too caustic, and touch too intense. Pain had become a constant companion and Jim, already well-schooled in the art of repression, was fast becoming a master at ignoring the unremitting headache and the sensory-induced throbbing which accompanied it.

There were footsteps into the bathroom then the sound of the bath tap being turned on and adjusted, each sound as clear as if Jim were standing beside Blair and the girls.

"Now how much do we put in?" Blair was murmuring.

"Lots!" Holly cried out.

"No. Just a little so it lasts," Haley said.

Jim's breath caught in his throat. How often had he said those exact words to the twins in the past six months?

"How about right in between 'lots' and 'a little'?" Blair asked, compromising.

"Okay," the girls chorused.

A few oohs and aahs followed, then there was the sound of Blair walking into the kitchen and the girls climbing into the bathtub. Jim listened to their quiet splashes and a soapy sweet smell rose up to twitch his nose. He sneezed which jarred his infected wound, making him groan aloud.

"Jim, are you okay?" Blair called out as he raced up the stairs.

Involuntary tears of unexpected pain slipped down his cheeks and he rubbed them away with an embarrassed swipe of his uninjured arm. "Fine, Sandburg."

"Jesus, what'd you do?" Blair demanded as he wrapped an arm around Jim's waist and forced him to sit on the bed. The younger man stood above him, his hands pressing down on Jim's shoulders.

Irrational fear surged through Jim as memories of how he'd been physically restrained while a syringe with unknown drugs was injected into him. Then there had been the leather restraints which bound him to the bed as the tests were done. Visual tests, auditory tests, taste tests, smell tests and the worst, tactile tests, which involved his body's reaction to hundreds of different stimuli, including dispassionate handling of his genitals. Never-ending agony ... humiliation ... rage. He blindly struck out with his fists. His wrists were gripped and a scream clawed up Jim's throat, but then a calming voice stilled it as he listened, strained to hear ...

"Shhhhh, take it easy, Jim. It's all right. You're safe here. Just relax. Shhhhh, it's okay," Blair Sandburg said in a gentle, soothing voice.

The mattress dipped beside him and a body pressed close to his as arms encircled him loosely. Blair's tranquil tones continued to whisper through him, easing taut muscles and relaxing him like some kind of aural drug.

Jim leaned into the bastion that was Blair Sandburg as the flashback receded. The pain of his injured arm returned threefold and he squeezed his eyes shut against it. He allowed himself to rest against the younger man, to take the comfort and safety he hadn't felt in years ... since his mother had left her nine-year-old son.

After a few minutes of selfish indulgence, of being soothed by Blair's low voice and strong arms, Jim forced himself away from the solid body and stood. He was pleased when he didn't pitch forward onto the floor. Gathering his composure and keeping his gaze averted, he tugged the sweatshirt on over his head. He tensed when Blair stood to help him get his wounded arm through its sleeve, but the detective's touch was gentle and impersonal.

"What happened, Jim?" Blair asked quietly.

Jim turned away, unable to lie face-to-face. "It was nothing."

"Bullshit." There was no force behind the expletive. "You told me you didn't do drugs." This time there was accusation ... and disappointment.

Jim met his eyes, saw his bitter disillusionment, and suddenly wished their paths had never crossed. He hated hurting the younger man, even though they were by all intents and purposes strangers. "I swear to you, Sandburg, I've never touched drugs of my own free will."

Jim could almost hear Blair's mind kick into gear as fear expanded in his belly. He couldn't let him find out ...

"Thanks for the clothes," Jim said, using a preemptive strike to halt the younger man's questions.

For a tense moment, it looked like it wasn't going to work. Then Blair said, "No problem. I've got some more things for you downstairs."

"Sandburg," Jim growled in warning. "What'd you do?" A rare pleasure filled him at the hesitant delight in Blair's eyes.

"Who, me?" Blair asked innocently. "Come on. I'll help you downstairs. I need to make sure the bathroom isn't overflowing with Mr. Bubbles."

Though he tried, Jim couldn't hang on to his defensiveness around the young detective. In spite of the horrible things Blair must have seen in his job as a cop, he still retained an innocence and generosity which were at odds with life's hard realities. He was obviously tougher than he appeared to the casual observer.

The trip down the steps would've been much worse without Blair's help. At the bottom of the stairs, Jim surrendered his hold on Blair and shuffled toward the bathroom where he could hear the girls giggling. Blair followed and the two men stood in the doorway side-by-side as they watched Haley and Holly facing each other in the tub and having a bubble war.

"Take it easy," Jim warned. "We don't want to get Mr. Sandburg's bathroom all wet."

Blair grinned. "I don't mind. Have all the fun you want."

Jim narrowed his eyes at Blair who merely raised his eyebrows in a "what?" expression.

"Remember to do some cleaning while you're having fun," Jim finally said, giving in to the inevitable. "Holler out when you're done or if you need anything."

The girls nodded, then went back to their bubble battle.

"Go sit down on the couch and relax, Jim," Blair said. "I'll get coffee and breakfast going, in that order."

Indecisiveness froze Jim until Blair gave him a gentle nudge. The older man wasn't used to being catered to, but he realized his current condition made him less than effective in the kitchen or anyplace else. Holding his left arm close to his side, Jim shuffled into the living room and carefully lowered himself to the couch. A moment later, Blair handed him some Wal-mart bags. "Here, check this stuff out. Make sure it's okay."

Blair then hurried into the kitchen and began to break eggs into a bowl. Warily, Jim opened the first bag and was met with girls' underwear -- Winnie-the-Pooh, Barbie, and balloons and rainbows dotted the white fabric of the panties and undershirts. There was a total of twelve sets. Socks in pastel and rainbow colors came next, followed by knit pants, denim overalls, jumpers, sweatshirts and turtlenecks. There were also flannel pajamas, tennis shoes, and heavy jackets. Everything was in twos.

"Jesus, Sandburg, what'd you do? Buy out the store?" Jim asked.

Blair sent him a cocky grin. "Not yet." His smile faded. "Did I get the right sizes? I had the department manager help me, but -- "

"I don't go by sizes. I go by what they look like and I'm pretty sure these will fit, but we can't accept all this. Maybe one set of clothing and a pair of shoes each, but you have to return the rest."

From beside the stove, Blair waved a whisk at him. "I already threw away the receipt so you have to keep everything. Go on, keep looking."

Irritation vied with heartfelt gratitude, which only baffled Jim more. He took a deep breath and inspected the contents of the next bag: two children's toothbrushes and some sparkly toothpaste especially for kids; combs, brushes, hair ties, and barrettes; two backpacks -- a purple one and a green one. There were also coloring books and crayons, four picture books, as well as a couple children's card games.

Jim glanced into the kitchen to find Blair with his back toward him as he cut onions and peppers to add to the eggs. The young man's long hair was tied back, which in Jim's military world would've made him the recipient of politically incorrect jokes, but the broad shoulders defied the stereotype. Though Sandburg was only about five eight, his body was definitely masculine, from the shoulders to the narrow waist to the curve of his backside --

Jim halted that line of thought immediately. "You shouldn't have bought all this," he said.

Blair looked at him over his shoulder. "I wanted to, man. Just say 'thank you' and accept it."

Jim took a deep breath, fighting the pride that tied his tongue into a knot. "Thank you." Then he asked gruffly, "Don't you have family to spend your money on, Sandburg?"

Sadness flashed through Blair's face a moment before he turned away. "No. Check out the rest of the bags."

Startled by the younger man's sudden withdrawal and embarrassed by his unthinking comment, Jim couldn't help but wonder what kind of ghosts existed in his past. However, he reminded himself, Sandburg's life wasn't any of his business. Tomorrow he and the girls would be gone and they'd probably never see the cop again. He glanced around and spotted three more bags, then reached over to pick them up with his good arm.

Again, the detective had outdid himself. In the first bag, there was a razor, shaving cream for sensitive skin, toothbrush, toothpaste and deodorant. "You trying to tell me something, Sandburg?" he asked, holding up the deodorant.

Blair grinned impishly. "It won't hurt, man." He sobered. "Last night you seemed to have some extra-sensitivity involving your skin. I thought the non-allergenic products would be better for you."

Those items were also twice as expensive. Damn, what was it with Sandburg? Anybody as thoughtful as him couldn't be real. He continued rummaging through the bag, finding handkerchiefs, boxer shorts, and a six-pack of white cotton socks -- he was pretty sure Sandburg was thinking of his skin sensitivity again. In the next bag was a flannel shirt, a denim long sleeve shirt, two Henley tops, and two packages of v-neck t-shirts, as well as a pair of tennis shoes.

"I know they're not exactly Nikes," Blair began, noticeably nervous. "But the Foot Locker wasn't open yet. I can go back -- "

"No!" Jim shouted, then realized how he must have sounded. He gentled his voice before speaking again. "This is already more than you should've gotten."

The younger man shrugged and Jim could see a flush on his cheeks. "It's not like I have anyone else to spend my money on and besides," he raised his chin and met Jim's eyes squarely, "I wanted to do it."

Jim didn't know what to say so dug into the next bag and found a pair of sweatpants, another pair of jeans, khaki trousers, and a winter jacket with a hood.

"I hope I got your size right," Blair said as he sat on the sofa's arm beside Jim.

Jim kept his gaze aimed at the pile of clothing around him. "Uh, yeah, they look good."

Blair's scent -- herbal shampoo, lightly scented soap, coffee, and gun oil from the weapon usually worn at the small of his back -- drifted around Jim and he breathed deeply of the pleasant mix. The younger man's heartbeat slid effortlessly past Jim's ramparts and surprisingly, subdued his usually unmanageable senses.

"I called Kathleen. She said to stop by around noon," Blair said. "Your arm needs to be checked out, Jim."

"I'm not going to argue with you, Chief."

Blair's shock was worth the price of Jim's pride -- the younger man had obviously been expecting a fight.

"Okay. Good. All right. I'm glad." Blair couldn't seem to string more than two words together.

Jim laid his hand on Blair's leg. "Calm down, Chief. Breathe."

Blair laughed. "Sorry. I just thought you'd refuse to go."

"I figured." Jim gave his knee a squeeze. "Hope you like burnt eggs."

"Shit." Blair jumped to his feet and ran back into the kitchen. "Caught them just in time," he said, stirring the egg mixture in the frying pan.

"You're not feeding an army, Sandburg," Jim said wryly as he slowly joined him.

Blair's flushed cheeks and glasses combined to make the detective look even younger. "I'd hate to run out."

"We're done," the two girls called out together from the bathroom.

Blair met Jim's eyes. "I'll get some clothes for them if you want to go in there and start drying them. Towels are in the linen closet. I'll be in there in a minute."

Ten minutes later, after the girls were dressed and done admiring their new clothes, the group trooped into the kitchen. Blair had everyone take a place and poured orange juice for all of them, a glass of milk each for Haley and Holly, then coffee for himself and Jim. He set the bowl of scrambled eggs in the middle of the table surrounded by muffins, bagels and toast, along with strawberry preserves, peanut butter and cream cheese.

"Dig in and if we run out, I can make more," Blair said.

Jim's fever had returned, lessening his appetite while sharpening the pain of his wounded arm. Blair spared him a worried look, but Jim was grateful he didn't allow the girls to see his concern. For being only five years old, the girls had faced more than most people do in a lifetime and Jim hated them worrying anymore than they already did.

For the next fifteen minutes, the only sounds were those involved in eating. Jim managed to eat a small portion of eggs, along with half an oatmeal raisin muffin. He'd spent most of his time watching the twins enjoy the delicious breakfast. Though he hated to admit it, he spent a great deal of time watching Blair, too. The man appeared to be a natural with children. He complimented them on their new overalls -- Holly's had Tigger on the bib front and Haley's had the Tasmanian Devil. Smiling to himself, Jim realized the characters fit each of the girls. Blair asked them about their stuffed animals and even managed to get Haley talking.

Once everyone had eaten their fill, Blair wiped Holly's face with a napkin while Jim did the same for Haley, eliminating the crumbs and milk mustaches. Jim started to rise to help clear the dirty dishes but the world tilted and he grabbed the edge of the table to keep from taking a nose dive into the leftover eggs.

"Sit down, Jim," Blair ordered in a quiet but firm voice. "Haley and Holly can help me clear the table and wash the dishes, right?" he asked the girls.

They nodded, but their concern for Jim shown clearly in their young faces.

Jim lowered himself back to his chair, resisting the urge to wipe away the sweat from his brow. He smiled reassuringly. "Go ahead and help Mr. Sandburg, girls."

Blair showed the twins how to dry the dishes after he washed them, then patiently pointed out where everything went. Jim noticed he encouraged them to look in all the cupboards and drawers, as if wanting them to grow accustomed to his kitchen, like they would be here for some time.

No, Jim wouldn't think beyond tomorrow. He would see this doctor friend of Blair's today and get the medical attention he needed. Just one more night, and he and the girls would go back to the street and find a new place to live. He knew it would be difficult leaving this snug world, but he couldn't risk anyone finding out about him. If Sandburg learned who he was, the cop wouldn't hesitate to see him in Leavenworth, or worse, back in the military hospital.

"We're done, Uncle Jim," Holly said as she and her sister came around to join him. She laid a hand on his cheek and gazed solemnly into his eyes. "Mr. Blair says you're going to feel better after you see the doctor."

Jim arched a brow and glanced at Blair, who was leaning against the wooden post with his arms and ankles crossed. A little smile claimed Blair's full lips. Jim's belly tightened at the unintentionally sexy pose of the younger man. It had been a long time since anyone -- man or woman -- had affected him so powerfully.

"He's probably right," Jim admitted, his voice surprisingly steady.

Blair pushed away from the post. "We should get going in about forty-five minutes." He approached Jim. "Do you want to take a bath before we leave?"

Jim nodded without hesitation. He could actually feel each particle of dirt in his pores and smell the sour tang of old sweat coating his skin. A bath sounded like a slice of heaven. Before he could protest, Blair helped him to his feet and into the bathroom as the girls stood back, watching with faint apprehension, although they seemed to trust Blair.

The detective didn't stop at the door this time, but went inside as he handed Jim a bag. The older man glanced inside to see his new toiletries.

"Go ahead and shave while I start filling the tub for you," Blair said.

"Hold on, Sandburg -- " Jim growled, catching the younger man's arm. "I'm not helpless."

"No one said you were. I'm just giving you a hand." Blair shrugged. "Something a friend would do."

Startled, Jim stared into his midnight blue eyes. "We hardly know each other."

"Friendships have to start someplace, don't they?"

Damn. How did the kid do it? He always knew the right thing to say, unlike Jim who had learned at an early age the less spoken the better, especially when it involved senses which were different ... freakish. His father had drilled that precept into him with the aid of a leather belt.

Jim released him and turned his attention to shaving with his new razor. But even as he concentrated on removing his whiskers, he was constantly aware of Blair's presence. One time, Blair slipped out to check on the girls and Jim had a momentary flash of panic at his absence, then cursed himself for acting like a fool. By the time Jim finished shaving, the tub was half full and Blair turned off the tap.

Jim reached up to remove his sweatshirt and gasped at the arrow of pain from his infected arm.

"Let me help," Blair said. Carefully, he removed Jim's shirt and froze when he caught sight of his back. "Jesus, who did this?" His fingers brushed along years-old scars covered by more recent injuries.

"It's none of your business, Sandburg." Jim wasn't angry; rather, the words came out empty and indifferent.

Blair continued to run his fingers across the marks, his touch feather-light and leaving an amazingly warm tingle in its wake. Jim had lived with the scars since he was ten years old and had learned to keep them hidden from prying eyes. In the high school locker room, he was always careful to hang a towel across his back; swimming, he wore his trunks and a t-shirt; in the communal military shower, everybody was scared to look, as if one peek would label him queer.

However, having Blair see them didn't bother him. He instinctively knew there would be no condemnation, no disgust or stupid macho remarks.

"I hate him." Blair's voice vibrated with a rage so strong it alarmed Jim.

He turned slowly to face the younger man who gazed up at him with shimmering eyes. Jim's breath gushed out of him like he'd been gut-punched.

"Why?" Blair whispered. "Why would someone do this to you?"

Blair's empathy washed over him, bathing him with concern, compassion and horror for the little boy who had endured such pain. Nobody had ever cared, not the doctor who had treated him after he'd fallen out of a tree when he was twelve, nor the woman he thought he had loved and nearly married.

"It was a long time ago, Sandburg," Jim said in a raspy tone.

Blair skimmed a bruise on his chest with a fingertip and shook his head. "Not so long ago. Less than a week." He grazed another contusion with the backs of his fingers. "Those men in the alley -- they did this to you."

Jim didn't bother to reply.

"But the older ones ... Who?" Blair demanded.

Jim caught Blair's roaming hand. "It doesn't matter now."

"But -- " Blair's blue eyes widened.

"Let it go." Jim couldn't help but caress the gentle, magical hand he held -- the hand which could center him and make his senses behave. "I have." Then he released him. "Go. I'll be fine."

Blair's reluctance was clearly evident in his expression, but he nodded and did as Jim said.

Alone in the bathroom, Jim indulged in the hot bath. Since he didn't want to immerse his wounded arm, using only one hand to bathe was difficult, but he managed. After he was done, he toweled himself dry, then rolled on the fancy deodorant Blair had bought for him, expecting the burn of the chemical on his skin, but there was only a slight prickle. Sandburg had been right. He brushed his teeth, enjoying the luxury of real toothpaste rather than baking soda.

He dressed in the new blue jeans, pleased by the comfortable fit, and donned the tan and blue sweater awkwardly. The socks and athletic shoes completed his new attire. Jim ran a comb through his collar-length hair. He wished he dared cut it short like he used to have it. Though he liked Blair's long curly hair -- hell, if he was honest with himself, he more than liked it -- he preferred a brush cut which camouflaged his shrinking hairline.

A soft knock sounded on the door. "Are you doing all right?" Blair asked from the other side.

In reply, Jim opened the door.

Blair smiled. "You still look a little pale, but at least you don't look like some escapee from a prison now."

Jim stiffened. Blair's words hit a little too close to home. "Thanks," he said curtly and tried to step around him.

Blair's expression fell as he moved out of the way. Jim didn't mean to hurt him, but the detective had reminded him too much of the ominous situation he was in -- between the proverbial devil and the deep blue sea.

Or maybe between the devil and a blue-eyed angel tempting him with what he could never possess.

Jim rounded the corner to see Haley and Holly sitting at the dining room table, with a coloring book in front of each of them and crayons scattered between them. Then he became aware of another person in the room and spotted the woman from last night at the fire sitting in the living room.

"Jim, you remember Debra Reeves? She's the arson inspector I'm working with," Blair introduced.

Debra stood and joined them. Jim gave her a curt nod. "Ms. Reeves."

"Jim." Her tone of voice told Jim she didn't trust him. He couldn't blame her -- Sandburg was obviously a friend of hers, although he couldn't help but wonder how close they were.

"Debra's going to stay with Haley and Holly while I take you to the doctor," Blair interjected.

Jim's startled gaze went to the girls.

"It's okay, Uncle Jim," Holly said. "Mr. Blair 'splained to us that she's a friend and she'll take care of us."

"Haley?" Jim asked softly, wondering what the more cautious twin thought.

She nodded. "We'll be all right, Uncle Jim. You need to get better."

Surrounded by such luxury, it would be easy to convince the girls that Sandburg and Reeves were friends. But prisons weren't all made of iron bars.

"I don't like leaving the girls here, Sandburg," Jim said in a low voice.

"We'll be gone an hour, maybe two. You don't want them to be sitting in a clinic's waiting area that whole time, do you?" Sandburg asked, his voice equally low-pitched.

He had a point, Jim admitted to himself. But it went against every protective instinct he possessed to leave the girls with a relative stranger. Still, he had no choice. His arm definitely needed to be treated. "All right. Let's go and get this over with."

He gave Haley and Holly a kiss. "Be good for Ms. Reeves. We'll be back in a little while."

The girls hugged him, promising to listen to the woman.

Jim kept his hearing aimed at the apartment as he and Blair walked down the hallway to the elevator. Jim walked unaided; the older man couldn't afford to display any more weakness -- the jugular was easier to rip out when the victim's guard was down. He made it into Blair's SUV, but the moment he was seated, he closed his eyes against the dizziness whipping through him.

A silky sensation against his neck made him recoil and his eyes flashed open. The detective's curls were brushing his skin and the warmth of Blair brought heat to a part of his body which hadn't shown any signs of life since Jim had escaped.

"I'm just getting your seatbelt on," Blair reassured.

Jim closed his eyes again, but the image of Blair's chestnut highlights and soft, curly hair was burned into his sensory memory. For a moment, he simply enjoyed the awakening of his formerly quiescent passion and the lightning arcing through his veins.

Jim noted Blair's retreat, and disappointment laced with reality returned. Now was hardly the time to indulge in his body's instinctual responses. He kept his eyes closed, but his hearing and sense of smell made up for the lack of visual input. Sandburg's scent wafted across him and his rapid but even heartbeat steadied Jim in a way nothing else -- even the drugs at the hospital -- had ever done. It was almost as if he were back in Peru where there was less stimuli, and he had a Chopec friend named Incacha to guide him.

"We're here," Blair said a short time later.

Jim forced himself back to the present and nearly groaned when he sat up and opened his eyes. His left arm throbbed in time with his pulse and the area around the wound burned.

He struggled to undo the seatbelt latch, but his futile attempts were halted by a firm hand. Blair freed him in silence. Jim barely made the journey across the parking lot and into the clinic, but was constantly aware of the detective never far from his side.

Things became hazy and he focused on Blair, listening to the detective's tones as he spoke to the receptionist. A part of him longed to touch the younger man, knowing instinctively that to do so would further ground him with his tactile sense. But then, Blair placed a hand on his back to guide him to a chair, and the sensory static abruptly disappeared. His senses settled back to normal: he could breathe without flinching from the air moving across his lips; see without squinting against the too-brilliant glow of colors; hear without his eardrums crashing like cymbals with every syllable. The only aberration left was Blair's heartbeat -- Jim could hear it as well as he could hear the baby crying two chairs over.

Blair's touch left Jim for a moment, then they were sitting shoulder-to-shoulder. Jim closed his eyes, allowing the steady heartbeat to replace his wound's throbbing. He lost track of time, but didn't zone. Finally, he was called into an exam room. He stood and paused, gazing down at the still-seated detective. Although he fought it, Jim couldn't stop himself from asking, "Will you come with me?"

Blair blinked, startled, then stood and took Jim's arm to steer him toward the familiar exam area and into the correct room. He helped Jim onto the bed then eased the older man's sweater off. Jim could almost taste Blair's nervousness -- a bitter acrid flavor -- as he pulled the sleeve over and off the wound.

"Do you want me to stay when the doctor comes in?" Blair asked softly.

"No," Jim replied, but he was clutching Blair's forearm.

Blair smiled gently. "I won't go anywhere unless you want me to."

Relief filtered through Jim's scrambled senses.

A nurse came in to take his vitals -- temperature, blood pressure, and pulse. She worked quickly and efficiently, jotting the results on a clipboard with obscenely loud pen strokes.

Less than five minutes later, the door opened and Jim looked up to see a woman in a white jacket enter. Her auburn hair was pinned up and a pair of narrow glasses were perched on her nose.

"Hello, Jim. My name's Kathleen, or Dr. Stone, whichever you feel more comfortable with," she said as she perused the clipboard. "Blair says you have a bit of an infection."

Jim nodded and kept his wary gaze on her as she unwrapped the wound and examined it carefully.

"How is it?" Blair asked anxiously.

"It's a good thing you brought him in," she said grimly. "I'm going to have a nurse clean it with a strong antiseptic, then give him a tetanus and a shot of antibiotics." She paused. "Are you allergic to any antibiotics, Jim?"

He shook his head. "No, but I do have some sensitivity to drugs."

"Which drugs?"

"Most."

"Can you give us a clue here, Jim?" Blair asked. "We don't want you to go into anaphylactic shock."

"Don't worry. I'm not allergic, just sensitive," Jim assured, recognizing a slur to his words.

Blair rubbed Jim's back and was surprised when the man's muscles untensed. He glanced up at Kathleen. "Give me an Epipen and if he does have a bad reaction, I'll administer it."

"Are you sure?" Kathleen asked, her dark brows knitted in concern.

"Remember Mark, my roommate during our sophomore year?" She nodded. "He had a lot of food allergies and always carried an Epipen. I had to use it on him once."

"All right," Kathleen said as she continued to examine Jim more thoroughly. She probed his chest carefully, her brow knitted. Finally, she eased his t-shirt back down over his torso. "He has a couple cracked ribs, but they feel like they're healing fine on their own. His arm is the most serious injury. I'm going to have to give him a heavy dose of a powerful antibiotic to nip this in the bud."

"That bad, huh?" Blair asked, his forearm nearly numb from Jim's grip.

"Definitely. If you had waited another day or two, his prognosis would've been iffy. As it is, he's going to run a high fever for the next day or two, until the antibiotics can get the infection under control." She straightened as a nurse entered, and gave the woman her instructions. As the nurse did as directed, Kathleen motioned for Blair to move out of the way.

After he convinced Jim to release him, Blair followed Kathleen to the door, but refused to leave the room. "How is he otherwise?" he asked quietly as he kept his gaze on Jim, his eyes trapped by the other man's pain-glazed ones.

"A bit undernourished, but I'd guess he hasn't been homeless very long. Maybe five or six months," Kathleen replied. She took a deep breath. "When you called this morning, you said he had two nieces. Are you sure the girls are actually related to him?"

Blair dragged his gaze away from Jim. "What do you mean?"

"You said they call him 'Uncle Jim'. That doesn't mean they're family." She crossed her arms and it was obvious she was hesitant to elaborate. "It's not unheard of for an older man like him to become, for want of a better word, 'attached' to young girls."

Shock and sickness made Blair's stomach pitch. "No!" he whispered in a hiss. "Jim's not like that."

"What do you know about him?" Kathleen pressed.

Blair's mind fumbled for an answer which would allay Kathleen's appalling speculation. "You haven't seen him with them. He acts like a father, not some--some pervert. He almost died protecting them when I first met him."

The doctor didn't appear convinced. "If he really wanted to protect them, he would allow them to be placed in a foster home."

"Jim can take care of them."

"He can't now."

Her directness startled Blair. He glanced at the pale features of Jim. She was right. "But I can," he stated firmly.

She shook her head in exasperation. "All through college, I saw you throw your heart and soul into good 'causes', Blair, and I've seen you miserable when things didn't work out. If you allow yourself to get wrapped up with this man and those two girls, you'll be devastated when they leave." Her eyes glimmered with compassion. "And they will leave."

Blair's chest constricted, but he managed a weak smile. "I think your warning's a little late."

Kathleen studied him a long moment, then wrapped her arms around him. "Take care of yourself. And if you need any more help, or just a shoulder to lean on, call me."

He hugged her back, taking comfort in the friendship they'd shared for nearly ten years. "Thank you." He drew away, far enough that he could look into her face. "Send me the bill."

Kathleen chuckled. "This one's on me." She sobered. "Be careful. Your heart's been broken too many times already."

Blair nodded.

"Your friend is ready to go," the nurse said as she joined them.

"Thanks, Sherry," Kathleen said and the nurse slipped out of the room.

Blair shook himself out of his reverie and noticed Jim was again wearing his sweater. His complexion was still far too pale. "Anything else I need to know?" he asked the doctor.

"You should change the dressing twice a day and if it looks like the infection is worsening, call me. I may have to admit him."

"No, no hospital," Jim called out in a weak voice.

Blair frowned. How had Jim heard her, just as he'd heard Debra last night? Could he be one of those people with an enhanced sense? He recalled Jim's complaint about his clothes hurting and the younger man's heart tripped, then double-timed. Maybe both hearing and touch? What about the other three senses?

"I don't think that'll happen," Kathleen reassured, bringing Blair out of his musings. "The shot the nurse gave you should start to work within twenty-four hours. By as early as tomorrow morning, there should be a lessening of the infection."

"What about fever?" Blair asked, locking his gaze with Jim's.

"It's at one hundred and two now. If it goes to a hundred and four and stays there for more than four hours, call me. Otherwise, just try to keep him comfortable. Between the actual wound itself and the fever, he's going to be in distress."

"I'll be fine," Jim growled. He pushed himself off the examination table and would've taken a header if Blair hadn't caught his uninjured arm.

"Damn it, Jim. Don't be so fucking hardheaded," Blair said angrily.

"Yeah, like you're not stubborn, Mister Detective," Jim shot back.

Kathleen held up her hands. "Enough. Blair, get Jim home and make sure he rests for at least forty-eight hours. Give him plenty of liquids and remember to pick up an Epipen and his prescription at the desk on your way out. I'll have Sherry give you some extra bandages and antibiotic ointment. And," she aimed a forefinger at them, "he will take all of the pills even if he's feeling better."

"Yes, ma'am," Blair said with a sheepish grin. He'd forgotten about Kathleen's steel backbone.

Jim remained silent, his thinned lips pressed together.

Blair had an idea he was going to learn just how stubborn his houseguest could be in the next forty-eight hours.

Blair settled himself on the couch and barely stifled a groan of relief, grateful that the trying day had finally come to an end. After he and Jim had arrived back at the loft, Blair had made him lie down on the sofa. Debra had left, saying Haley and Holly had been well-behaved. What she hadn't said, though Blair could see it in her eyes, was that she, too, was growing fond of the girls.

The remainder of the day passed with Jim testing Blair every couple hours. He would rise and restlessly pace the floor, his arm held tightly to his side and creases of pain etched in his face. His forehead would be damp with fever-sweat, but the mulish man would push himself until he nearly blacked out and Blair would end up pressing him back down into a chair or onto the couch.

Throughout the day, Haley and Holly were Blair's allies. For being only five years old, the girls were amazingly mature and helped Blair make supper, as well as do the dishes and care for Jim. What kind of life had the twins had? Blair wanted to question them about their mother and father, but a part of him wondered if asking would uncover demons which should remain buried.

He stacked his hands behind his head and stared at the shadowed high ceiling. Despite his exhaustion, his mind raced. The mystery of Jim's identity never strayed far from Blair's thoughts. He wanted to know where he came from and how he had ended up on the street ... and everything in between. Hell, the man intrigued him.

Blair twisted onto his side and smacked his pillow with a fist. He didn't need this complication in his life. But Kathleen had pretty well pegged it, although it had been a long time since he had thrown himself so deeply into a 'cause'. This 'cause', however, came with a much higher price tag than most: Blair had allowed the small family to slip into his usually well-protected heart.

A moan from upstairs caught his attention and he sat up to listen intently. The sound was repeated, followed by Jim's restless movements. Blair threw back his covers and, heedless of wearing only boxers and a t-shirt, raced upstairs to find Jim in the midst of a nightmare.

He sat on the edge of the mattress and leaned over the larger man to lay a hand on his shoulder. "C'mon, Jim. Wake up! You're having a nightmare."

Jim continued to toss and turn.

Blair gripped his arm and gave him a slight shake. "Jim! Wake up, man!"

Suddenly Blair found himself on the floor with pain exploding along his jaw. He sat for a moment, shaking his head like a kicked puppy. Jim had punched him!

"Blair?" Jim asked in a quavery voice.

The detective pushed himself upright, cradling his jaw in his hand. "You have a helluva right hook there, big guy."

"Oh, shit. I'm sorry, Chief. I-I don't like people touching me when I'm asleep. Too many years in the arm -- " Jim broke off abruptly. "Don't do it again, Sandburg."

Blair's agile mind latched onto his slip -- had Jim been in the Army? That would explain his bearing and well-muscled body, but why was he on the street now? Was he one of those soldiers experiencing post-traumatic stress syndrome? If so, he could be dangerous.

He gazed down at the guilt and misery in the man's face. No, Jim wasn't dangerous.

"Thanks for the warning, man," Blair said, injecting good-natured sarcasm. "Mind if I see how your fever is?"

"It's still there. Maybe another degree higher," Jim admitted reluctantly.

Blair cautiously lowered himself to the edge of the mattress. "I know you don't like hospitals, but maybe ... "

"No."

"If you're worried about the money -- "

"I'm not, but even if I was, I wouldn't let you pay. I'd find a way to take care of it."

Blair chuckled softly at the man's stubborn pride, then groaned as his hand flew to his bruised jaw. "Ow."

Jim sat up and though Blair couldn't see him clearly, he could feel Jim's intense study of him. The older man reached out and brushed Blair's jaw with his fingertips. "It's swelling."

The throbbing was forgotten with Jim's tantalizing touch and for an insane moment, Blair wanted to lean into the older man's hand. "It'll be all right," he managed to say above his heart's rapid beat.

Blair reached over and flicked on the small lamp.

Jim moaned and closed his eyes tightly. "Hurts," he whimpered.

Shocked, Blair quickly blanketed the room in darkness once more. "Jim, are you all right, buddy?" he asked, his voice made louder by his apprehension.

Jim clapped his hands over his ears and snarled in pain. "Loud. Too damned loud."

Blair's eyes widened. That made three senses now -- sight, hearing, and touch. Jesus, what if ...

Following instinct, Blair rested his palm on Jim's chest and lowered his voice as he spoke, "I want you to concentrate on my voice, Jim. Just my voice, nothing else. Can you hear me?" He could barely see Jim's slight nod in the darkness. "I want you to imagine a dimmer switch for a light. I want you to turn it down until your eyes don't hurt anymore. Can you find that switch?"

After a long painstaking moment, Jim's expression eased. "Yeah. Okay."

Astounded, Blair kept speaking in the same soothing, modulated tone. "Now I want you to do the same for your hearing. Think of a car radio and the volume dial. Bring it down, man. Bring it down until the sounds aren't so loud."

Blair's eyes adjusted to the dimness so he could watch as Jim concentrated on doing as he was directed. The lessening of the lines around the older man's mouth told the detective he had succeeded. Blair let out the breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "Better?"

Jim nodded and slowly opened his eyes, his long lashes flickering before he settled his gaze on Blair. "How did you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Make it better."

Blair smiled. "I don't have a clue. I just did what felt right and I guess it worked."

Jim leaned back against his pillow and rested his injured arm on his chest. The younger man could sense the struggle to conceal his pain behind an unyielding facade. Why did Jim look like he expected Blair to thrust a knife into his belly?

"Talk to me, Jim," Blair urged gently. "What's going on here?"

"You tell me, Chief." Jim's voice was husky, shaded with caution.

Though Blair wanted to ask him about his senses, he found himself holding back. Jim didn't need his badgering -- he had to use all his strength to fight the infection. Jim's sweat-coated face glistened from the scant light coming in the window. He still had a ways to go before he would be well.

Blair stood.

"Where are you going?" Jim asked with a note of panic.

"Downstairs to get a damp washcloth. It might help your fever."

Blair paused in the bathroom to examine his jaw and, just as Jim had said, it was already red and swollen. He shrugged to himself -- he'd had worse after subduing a suspect. He climbed the stairs and wasn't surprised to find Jim's silvery-blue eyes on him, reflecting the moonlight from the window above. Blair perched on the edge of the bed after setting the bowl of cool water on the nightstand. He wrung out the washcloth, folded it and laid it on Jim's hot forehead. "How does that feel?" he asked, keeping his voice pitched low.

"Better."

"Close your eyes and try to sleep. If you don't mind, I'll sit with you a little while."

Although Jim didn't answer, he seemed to relax minutely. After a few minutes, he slipped into restless slumber. Without thinking, Blair clasped Jim's hand that rested on his chest and rubbed his thumb across the scarred knuckles. The man's restive motions diminished and his breathing became deep and regular.

God, it would be so damned easy to fall for this man. He would have to guard his heart well or, as Kathleen had said, he would have it broken.

Some time later, Jim awakened to darkness. He lay still, trying to figure out where he was and why he felt so warm and relaxed. Silky-smooth tendrils tickled the curve of his neck and a comfortable weight rested on his shoulder. An arm was slung over his waist, almost possessive in its firm hold. A now-familiar scent surrounded him underscored by exotic muskiness. He breathed deeply of the faint male pheromones.

Blair.

He remembered waking to see Blair sitting on the floor after he had slugged him in his sleep. Jim's uninjured arm instinctively tightened around the younger man as remorse washed through him. He also recalled his sight and hearing spiking, and Blair's uncanny ability to bring the senses back down to a tolerable level. Nobody had ever been able to help him like Blair.

Afterward, Blair had laid a damp cloth on his forehead, then clasped Jim's hand. Even now, Jim could feel the residual traces of Blair's fingers lightly rubbing his knuckles. He hadn't felt that safe and cared for since ...

Jesus, he had never felt that cherished.

Jim closed his eyes and attempted to regain some emotional distance from Detective Blair Sandburg. Jim had no future to give to himself, much less a seductively compassionate, caring man. Blair deserved so much more than a deserter and a freak.

Moisture burned behind Jim's eyelids but he savagely refused to let the tears escape.

Get over it, Ellison. An hour after we're gone, Blair will forget us and find another cause.

But for now, Jim would pretend Blair was his and hold him close. Tomorrow was soon enough to return to grim reality.

It was the smell of blueberry pancakes that brought Jim out of uncharacteristically pleasant dreams. Nearly identical giggles reached his ears and he smiled at the precious sound. He pushed himself up, surprised but pleased the pain had faded somewhat and his temperature though not normal, had fallen overnight.

Rolling onto his side, he peered over the railing to see Blair making a show of pouring pancake batter onto a hot griddle. Haley and Holly were sitting on stools back far enough that they wouldn't be burned, but close enough that Blair could entertain them. Who would've thought a policeman could gain their trust so quickly? But, then, Blair had that quality about him -- an almost child-like innocence at odds with the tough career he'd chosen. What had made someone like Blair become a cop?

The detective's mussed curly hair captured Jim's attention and his fingers ached to bury themselves within the silken mass. Just the thought of the satiny strands slipping through his fingers made his belly grow heavy with desire. For over a year, Jim had lived without sex. Because of his senses it was difficult to get turned on by a man or woman when Jim could smell every little scent about them, including what they had for dinner, what kind of deodorant they did or didn't use, and what type of soap they'd used if they had showered that morning. But Blair was different ....

He shook aside his musings as well as the sweet memory of Blair sleeping with him, his firm body pressed against Jim's and his breath warm across Jim's chest. He got out of bed and slipped on a robe which hung from a hook by the bed. Blair's scent from the bathrobe wafted around him and Jim forced himself to ignore its allure. He padded down the steps on bare feet and was met by Blair's surprisingly shy smile. Maybe he was remembering how they'd slept entangled with each other, too.

"Good morning," Blair said.

Haley and Holly twisted around on their stools and when they saw Jim, hopped down and ran over to him. Jim squatted down and drew them into his arms, reveling in the baby powder scent of their skin. "How are my angels?"

"We're being good, just like you said," Holly replied.

Jim raised his eyes to catch Blair's affectionate gaze on them, and frowned when he spotted his slightly swollen jaw. He hated that he'd hurt the younger man after all Blair had done for them.

"You're looking better," Blair said.

"I'm feeling better," Jim replied tersely. He released the girls and rose, but kept a hand on their shoulders. "Thanks for watching them."

"Believe me, it's my pleasure. Besides, it's a two-way street -- your nieces watch over me, too."

"You're a grown-up, Mr. Blair. You don't need us to watch you," Holly argued.

"Sometimes grown-ups like to be taken care of, too, even if they don't want to admit it," Blair said to the girl, but Jim knew the words were meant for him. The younger man returned to the griddle and lifted four pancakes off. "Breakfast will be ready in ten minutes."

Jim used the bathroom while the twins helped Blair set the table. When Jim returned, everything was ready, including the pancakes and sausage links. The older man's stomach growled, reminding him he had eaten little yesterday.

Blair handed Jim his antibiotic, which he reluctantly swallowed with a glass of juice. Everyone sat down and Blair poured syrup over two pancakes on Holly's plate while Jim did the same for Haley. Once the girls were busy eating, Jim and Blair forked pancakes onto their own plates.

Jim glanced up to catch Blair studying him, but the younger man quickly averted his attention to Holly. Jim refilled his plate for the third time and cleaned it off, then pushed it away. It had been a long time since he had eaten so well and so much. He leaned back and opened his senses to Blair's home. There was a lived-in comfort to it which Jim appreciated. There had been little in Jim's life that spoke of belonging and family. In the beginning, the military had felt like family, but though there was camaraderie, there was nothing close to familial love and acceptance. As Jim looked at the twins, he realized he had never felt a sense of family before them. His gaze wandered over to Blair and he found himself suspecting that the young man could deepen that feeling of belonging in ways Jim hadn't even known existed.

"My mother died a few years ago," Blair was saying to Holly and Haley.

"Our mommy's in heaven, right, Uncle Jim?" Holly asked.

Jim stiffened and nodded. "That's right, sweetheart."

"What about your daddy?" Blair asked the girls.

"They never knew him," Jim replied, suddenly wary.

"Was he your brother?" Blair pressed.

"No."

"Then their mother was your sister?"

Anxiety knitted Jim's brow and he forced his expression into a neutral mask. He could lie, but he had never liked lying, although he had done more in the past year than he had in his entire life. He didn't want to add another falsehood, especially to this generous man who had opened his home to them. "No. I met Dee and her daughters on the street about six months ago."

"So you're not really related to them." For the first time since Jim had met the younger man, Blair's expressive eyes were curtained.

"Not by blood, but I love them like my own, Sandburg." A subtle threat imbued his tone.

Blair smiled, but the warmth didn't quite touch his eyes. "Anybody who's seen you with them knows that."

"I won't let anyone take them."

"May I have some more pancakes, Mr. Blair?" Holly asked, unknowingly defusing the tension.

"As many as you want, sweetie." The detective smiled as he piled two more pancakes on the girl's plate.

Jim glanced away, knowing he had given Blair -- the cop -- a reason to take the girls away from him. Would he? Or did he mean everything he had said when they first met -- things like caring?

After everyone had eaten their fill, Haley and Holly helped Blair with the dishes, shooing Jim into the living room. The older man found himself beside one of the large bookshelves, scanning titles. He breathed deeply of the familiar mustiness all books exuded. He loved to read, had often spent his free weekends doing that rather than going out on a date or with the guys to get drunk and chase women. Books had been his friends growing up and he'd never lost his love for them.

He noticed a Jack Kerouac title he had never read. He reached for it, but his hand froze two inches from the spine, uncertain.

"Go ahead, Jim," Blair's voice came from the kitchen. "Help yourself. Books were made to be shared."

Jim stared at Blair for a long moment, wondering if the younger man knew how deeply his offer touched him. He swallowed the lump gathering in his throat and gave Blair a tight nod, hoping he understood. Blair's smile told him he did.

Jim carried the book to the couch and sat down, then opened it almost reverently. Just as he finished the first chapter, he heard Blair tell the girls to get dressed. He turned to see Haley and Holly disappear into their room. Blair smiled after them, then came into the living room. He settled on the coffee table in front of Jim.

"Why haven't you allowed Child Protective Services to find out if they have any other family?" Blair asked without preamble.

Unprepared for Blair's question, Jim reacted instinctively. He stood. "As soon as the girls are ready, we'll be leaving."

Blair grabbed his wrist with a surprisingly strong hold. "Damn it, Jim, help me out here. You said yourself you're not related." His grip sla