Author's disclaimer: Sentinel and Guide are not mine. The whole concept belongs to Pet Fly Productins and Paramount. No copyright infringement is intended, even though technically it is. This is just for fun, not for profit.

SENTINEL IN LOVE
UNEXPECTED LOVE
by: ET

The click of the alarm preparing to go off woke Jim Ellison from an uneasy sleep. He hit the off button before the alarm sounded and slowly rolled over onto his back. Sitting up, he threw back the sheets, revealing his sculpted near nudity. At more than six feet tall, one hundred eighty pounds, broad shouldered and well-muscled, Detective Jim Ellison was often a bit bemused to find himself considered handsome by much of Cascade, Washington's population. Not that it stopped him from enjoying the attention, mind you.

After stretching, he looked at the clock, blinking as his mind registered the time. Still an hour before he had to get up. Why had he set it so early? Then his sensitive hearing homed in on the sound had been bothering him for a week now -- a wheezy rasp of breath and a cough that hurt Jim's chest just to listen to it. Oh, that was why. Jim pulled on a robe with a determined expression. This has gone on long enough.

Downstairs, he stood at the door to his house mate's room, mustering his arguments before he tapped slightly while opening the door. "How you doing, Chief?"

Blair looked awful as he lay on the mussed bed. His wavy brown hair was tangled and oily from not having been washed in a couple of days, his dark blue eyes were bloodshot, his face pale but his cheeks flushed from the fever he was carrying. The young grad student had been sick now for a week. And, to Jim, he seemed to be getting worse, not better. Jim was determined that Blair Sandburg was going to see a doctor even if Jim had to drag him there, kicking and screaming.

"So-so, Jim," Blair rasped out, his voice cracking. "I'm sure I'm getting better, though, man."

"Chief -- Blair, you need to see a doctor," Jim said, miserable just listening to him.

Blair stubbornly protested, "I'm fine, Jim. It's just a cold."

Jim just shook his head, saying, "No, Chief, you're not fine. I can hear the fluid in your lungs. If you don't go, I'm taking you to the hospital." At the younger man's stubborn look he mustered his most persuasive argument, "You know, Chief, you might have pneumonia."

He could see that get the anthropologist's attention. Reluctantly, Blair agreed. Jim called his Captain at home and told him what he was doing. Since he was up already, he took a shower, got dressed and made breakfast. At nine o'clock, he called his doctor and found they'd had a cancellation for that morning.

Jim saw his captain as soon as he walked into the bullpen. It wasn't difficult; he nearly ran into the taller man. Simon Banks was standing just inside the bullpen deeply engrossed in a report.

"How's Sandburg?" he asked when he saw his best detective. His normally gruff voice held a touch of concern for the ill man.

"He's got bronchitis. He's supposed to stay in bed for at least a week. Possibly longer. The doctor gave him some stuff and I'm making sure he takes it."

"Great," Simon groused, with a sigh. "The Mayor wants action on this string of hit and run robberies on restaurants and bars along Burgeon Road. We've been authorized to station a cop in each of the places that haven't been hit yet."

"Sounds like someone's got clout," Jim mused. "So, where are you placing me?"

"Where am... " Simon took a look around and motioned for Jim to follow him. Inside his office, he shut the door and faced Jim. "Look, Jim, I know you're a good cop. But those senses of yours could cause a problem. What if you zone out when these guys hit? You could get killed. How would I explain that to Sandburg?"

"So far they haven't hurt anyone, sir," Jim pointed out. He realized it was a vital point but it still made him angry to hear it. He'd been a cop for years before his senses returned to the heightened state they'd been in during his time in Peru. "I'll be fine, Simon. I've worked without Blair before. I can do it now."

Detective James Ellison was a Sentinel. A genetic throwback to a special breed of man. The tribal guardians of ancient days. Hearing, sight, taste, touch and smell were all heightened to well beyond normal levels to help the Sentinel work for his tribe. But such gifts came with a price.

If Jim Ellison focused too intently on any one sense, he could lose touch with the world around him. Blair Sandburg called this phenomenon a zone-out. Because of this, Jim had to have someone with him when he worked. Someone to help keep him in touch with the world around himself even as he focused whatever sense was needed on the job. Because Sandburg was the only real expert on Sentinels, he had become, by default, Jim's partner. Over the years, the partnership had gradually expanded to full friendship.

Simon walked over to his desk and picked up some papers sitting there. Looking at them, he gave in. Jim would probably work on this alone, if he didn't. "I was planning on sending you and Sandburg to a nightclub called The KNIGHT RAMPANT. It's near the old warehouse district. You'll need to coordinate with the manager, Jerry Cartwright. The owner has been out of the country for a while."

Aside from the street number painted on the lintel, the only hint Jim had that he was at the right place was the door. In the middle of the door was a black silhouette of a knight on a rearing stallion set on a red oval. In other words, a knight rampant in heraldry. A simple, but effective sign.

Jim pushed open the door, stepped inside and stopped, feeling impressed. Despite the location, this was no run of the mill bar. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble setting this place up. The KNIGHT RAMPANT must've been a small warehouse originally. The highly polished oak bar was set up along one side of the huge open space with a stage opposite the door. Heavy, wooden tables had black cast iron lamps in the shape of chess knights on them. The area in front of the stage was bare of tables, perfect for dancing.

"Can I help you?" The asker of that question was female, blonde, about 26 years of age, five foot three, one hundred twenty pounds. She was wearing a beige blouse with a floral design, green dress-shorts and dark green flats. "If you're looking for a job, I'm afraid you're out of luck. We get most of our employees from Ranier. We won't be looking for anyone until the semester starts."

Her words made Jim realize he was in what Blair called his "cop mode." "I'm not looking for a job. I'm Detective James Ellison, Cascade P.D. and I was told to see Jerry Cartwright."

Her eyes widened. "Oh, I'm sorry. I was told someone would be by about the robberies in the area but it's been so long I thought they'd forgotten. I'm Jeri Cartwright. That's Jeri with an 'I' by the way."

"This is quite a place." Jim said with a nod after shaking her hand.

Obviously proud, she thanked him warmly before getting down to business. "What exactly do you need, Detective?"

"The department has been authorized to place undercover officers at various locations in the area in case the robbers hit again. I've been assigned here."

"I'm very glad to hear that. Do you think they will? Hit again, I mean?" Jim was interested to notice that, while the idea of being robbed frightened her, she wasn't letting it control her.

"I hope not, but they haven't been caught, yet."

"I suppose you'll need a position to justify your being here," Jeri said, thoughtfully, looking at him with an expression reminiscent of Blair's when he was on track of an idea regarding Jim's senses. "You're a husky man. As a police officer, you've had training in dealing with drunks and belligerent people. Maybe a bouncer, that way you could be useful while you waited for -- whatever to happen."

For two days, things were quiet. Jim had very little work to do. The regular bouncers, two men named Roe and Cary, who sometimes doubled as bartender, handled most of the disturbances since Jim was "new" to the job. That was all right with Jim since he was really only here looking for robbers.

The KNIGHT RAMPANT was a popular club. The room was nearly always crowded. Between the people talking and the band on stage, the noise level was loud, the air thick with the smell of food, sweat, perfume, tobacco and alcohol. Jim was standing with his back against the bar enjoying a cup of coffee when someone came up beside him. He turned his head slightly and felt his knees go weak at the vision standing there.

The man could have been sculpted of solid gold. He was just a little taller that the detective and must have weighed around one sixty. His hair fell in a golden waterfall to the shoulders of his dress shirt. His long legs and slender hips were encased in jeans tucked into low heeled, well-worn boots. Jim hadn't been hit so hard so fast in years -- at least, not by another man.

"Like what you see?" His voice was smooth as honey and gently amused.

Jim felt embarrassed to be caught staring. "Sorry. I bet you get a lot of stares."

"More than I like. Although, sometimes, it's not so bad." Jim noticed that his even his eyes were gold as they met his with open interest. "My name is Morgan. Morgan Chandler."

Jim introduced himself. As they stood talking, the frank interest in those oddly colored eyes was making him want to squirm. Jim had never met a man quite so bold about what he wanted outside of a gay bar before. And The KNIGHT RAMPANT, despite the name, was not a gay bar. It was almost as if Morgan Chandler didn't care if anyone knew he was interested in other men. An attitude Jim had never encountered before. But one that intrigued him, nonetheless.

Jim lost the thread of the conversation, when a frightened female voice suddenly cut through the noise to reach only Jim's sensitive hearing.

//Let me go.//

Jim recognized the voice as belonging to one of the waitresses, a young woman working her way through school. It sounded like someone might think she was doing another type of working, entirely. A touch on the arm made Jim realize he had been close to zoning in his efforts to filter out the background noise.

"Something wrong?" Morgan asked, concerned.

"I'm not sure. Excuse me a minute."

Jim wended his way through the crowd, moving quickly, but without attracting undue attention. He reached the table where the waitress was, her wrist caught in the grip of one of the men sitting there. She was a frightened young girl, barely legal to work at a place that sold alcohol. On his first night there, she had shyly confided to Jim that she was only just 21 and this was her first time away from a very strict home. It didn't take a Sentinel to tell that all three men at the table were drunk and that this could get very ugly very fast if he didn't move carefully.

"Everything all right, Cait?" he asked the scared girl.

"Everythin's fine," one of the men slurred. "We're jus' havin' a celbra -- a celaba. . . We're havin' a party."

"'n you ain't invited," the man in the grey and black shirt informed the detective with a glare. Jim resolved to keep an eye on him. This one was a belligerent drunk.

"We're just talkin' to the pretty lady, Mister," the man holding Cait's wrist said, leering at her.

"Please," Cait begged, terrified eyes glued on Jim as she tried to pull free of the third man's grip.

"I think Cait's got work to do, boys. Why don't you let her go do it, okay?" Jim suggested, quietly.

"She can work here," the third man insisted, drunkenly stubborn. Cait squealed as he tried to pull her down onto his lap.

"Let her go," Jim insisted, more forcibly. "You've had enough fun for one night."

"Go piss yourself," the first man snarled as he shot to his feet.

Jim was prepared to handle the situation, but it was taken out of his hands. He blinked as a golden hand landed on the belligerent drunk's shoulder and shoved him back into his seat. Now how, Jim wondered with a part of his mind, had Morgan followed without Jim hearing him?

"That's not very nice." Morgan sounded like a parent chastising a wayward child. "Now, do as the man said and release Caitlin."

Without another word, the girl was released.

"Thank you, Mr. Chandler. Thank you, Jim." Cait was nearly sobbing with relief.

"Caitlin, sweetheart, please go find Jeri and tell her what happened," Morgan asked the still frightened girl.

"And send Roe and Cary over here," Jim requested, not taking his steely blue eyes off the three suddenly quiescent drunks. At least not until Morgan's next words registered in his mind.

"I don't think that's entirely necessary, Jim," Morgan said, before Cait had a chance to move. Jim was surprised to see the glint of true anger in those golden eyes. "We can handle this. These -- gentlemen -- aren't going to give us any trouble. Are you?"

"No, sir," the man in Morgan's grasp replied, meekly.

They had just returned from escorting the troublemakers outside when Jeri reached them.

"I didn't know you were back," she said, frowning slightly at the Sentinel's companion.

"I just got back," Morgan told her, with a smile of genuine warmth. Jim got a sinking feeling. Maybe this guy was Jeri's boyfriend. It wouldn't be the first time he'd run across a man cheating on a girlfriend with another guy. Some guys didn't think it was cheating unless it was with another woman. Still, Morgan's next words took his breath away. "I was about to head for the office when I saw the most incredible sight at the bar."

"I can guess," Jeri teased him. Turning to Jim, she flashed him a smile. "Thanks for helping with that mess, Jim."

"No problem, Jeri," Jim told her. "It IS my job."

"Is it?" Morgan's eyes seemed to go right through Jim. As though he could see into Jim's soul. Oddly enough, Jim didn't feel that he came up short in any way.

"Well, I'll talk to you later, Morgan," Jeri said with finality. "Now, go home. I can see how tired you are."

"Jeri . . ." Morgan said, in a warning tone.

His warning was unheeded as Jeri turned to the Sentinel. "Jim, since we're closing up now. Would you be a dear and take Morgan home? I'm afraid he's much too tired to drive."

"Not that I can drive, anyway," Morgan said, giving in with a wry smile. "I took a cab here from the airport. I was hoping to get a ride with Cary."

Except for directions, the ride went quietly. A surprisingly comfortable silence reigned. Jim pulled the car up before a modest sized, single-story house. Parked out front was a mint condition, late model, candy apple red Ferrari Testarossa.

"Your car?" Jim was impressed. The man must have money. That was an expensive automobile.

"Actually, yes. It was a gift from my cousin when I got The KNIGHT RAMPANT." Morgan sounded almost embarrassed. Jim wasn't quite surprised to hear that Morgan owned the nightclub. He had seemed a bit familiar with the place. "You want to come in?"

Temptation warred with common sense. It had been a long time since Jim had been with a man. Then golden eyes met ice blue eyes and temptation won.

Jim found himself standing in the middle of the living room. A rich, masculine scent hit his nose as a hand trailed across his shoulders, down his arm to take his hand. He was led to the couch.

"I thought... ?"

"We'll get there," Morgan soothed him. "First, I need to tell you something. Because of certain -- incidents in my past, I'm not looking for a commitment. I can't do this more than once with anyone."

"Can't or won't?" Jim wondered, fleetingly. This was beginning to take on a surreal quality that Jim recognized. He was getting hooked by Morgan's pheromones.

"A little of both, Jim." Jim wondered if he'd spoken aloud. He hadn't thought so, but it really didn't matter. Jim was now beyond speaking. Morgan seemed to realize it as he leaned forward and placed his lips on Jim's. Morgan's mouth tasted of coffee and milk and something that had to be uniquely his.

He woke to find himself sprawled, bonelessly, on the bed, devoid of clothes. A lazy smile bloomed on his face as he remembered how, as well as what he'd done when, he'd gotten there. He opened his eyes to find eyes of gold looking down at him in some concern.

"You okay?"

Jim smiled widely and pulled the other man down on top of him. He kissed him soundly. "Never better. That was wonderful."

Relieved, Morgan flung his hair out of his face with a practiced move "You were a little intense there for a bit."

"Sorry. It's been awhile since I've been with a man," Jim confessed, tracing a knuckle along Morgan's cheek and lips in a gentle caress. Morgan caught that knuckle in strong teeth and bit lightly before letting it go.

"Did you hear what I said in the living room?"

Jim had to think about that. Oh, yeah. Now he remembered. A bit sadly, he said, "That's okay."

"I'm tempted to change my mind," Morgan whispered, eyes going dark with desire as Jim's teasing hands roamed over his body. "You are more than I've encountered in centuries, Jim Ellison."

"Centuries, huh?" Jim smiled at the exaggeration. He flipped over so that Morgan was beneath him and laid a kiss on that luscious mouth as he kneed the strong thighs apart.

Morgan moaned in protest when his mouth was released. "We'll talk about it," he gasped as Jim began to move on top of him. "Later. Oh, Gods! Jiimmm!"

Jim was in a good mood when he woke up in his own bed the next morning. As he shaved, he touched the bruise at the juncture of his neck and shoulder and smiled, softly. Morgan was one hell of a lover. The man had pushed every one of his buttons. Of course, Jim had pushed a few of Morgan's buttons as well. He couldn't remember ever being with a more responsive lover - male or female.

Jim remembered, with pleasure, Morgan telling him that Jeri was just a friend. That he had known her for years and that when she'd graduated from business school, he'd hired her as manager of The KNIGHT RAMPANT. Morgan had been pleased that Jim was so concerned for her feelings. Jim was buttoning his shirt when he heard Blair moving about downstairs.

"What are you doing, Chief?" he asked, upon reaching the kitchen.

"Fixing tea, man," Blair said, watching as Jim poured himself a glass of juice. He did a classic double take.

Nervously, Jim looked at him. "What?"

"You've got one large hickey, there, Jim," Blair told him, delightedly. "Better button that shirt all the way if you don't want to hear about it, man."

Jim's hand went to the bruise on his neck. He'd thought he'd covered that up. Buttoning the shirt, Jim said, "Thanks, pal. You're looking better. How are you feeling?"

"Better. But don't change the subject, Jim," Blair grinned widely. "Who is she? Anyone I know?'"

"No one you know, Chief. You must be bored if you're that interested in my love life," Jim teased.

"Gotta be better than soap operas and talk shows, man," Blair laughed with him but didn't press him for the name.

Jim got to the nightclub a little early so he could talk with Morgan only to find the man hip deep in paperwork and the nightclub more crowded than usual. When Jim got his break, Jeri asked if she could talk to him. Agreeing, he followed her to a table in the back.

"I know this is a rather intrusive question, Jim, but -- how did last night go?" As he sat there with a stunned expression on his face, she quickly explained her reasons for asking. "I'm not asking out of prurient interest and I don't want details. I really like Morgan. He's been a great friend. But he won't let anyone get too close. I think something hurt him awhile back. Or maybe I mean someone?" Jim told her that last night Morgan had said he didn't want a long term commitment, but had sounded open to persuasion. "Please, work on him, Jim. I get the feeling that you've somehow reached him. Touched whatever it is he's trying to keep safe. I know as a cop it's not exactly safe... "

"I'll try, Jeri," Jim sighed, stopping the flow of words. "That's all I can promise."

After spending a month in Europe, Morgan had a great deal of work to catch up on. Jim didn't get much of a chance to talk to him. And when he did, they had other things to discuss more important than their growing attraction. It took a call from Simon Banks before Jim got to actually talk to Morgan for more than a minute at a time.

Morgan was still there at closing when Jim got the call. Simon told him that the robbers had been caught trying to hit a restaurant about a mile from The KNIGHT RAMPANT. That was good news, indeed. After making certain that the place was empty, Roe and Cary wanted to celebrate and invited Jeri along. That gave her a good excuse to order her boss home. She was backed up by Roe and Cary, much to Jim's amusement. It was obvious that these three cared about their boss.

"How do you like that?" Morgan playfully groused to Jim. "Like I was the employee."

"You do work too hard, boss," Cary grinned, unrepentant. Roe gleefully nodded his agreement.

"So, go, already," Jeri said, smugly. "Jim, make sure he gets home. Okay?"

"Be glad to, Jeri," Jim said, with a sly grin.

"I know when I've been set up," Morgan muttered, darkly. The light dancing in his eyes belied his tone.

Once again, the ride was quiet. Jim was trying, and failing, to find the words to tell Morgan how he... what? How he felt? How DID he feel? Jim wasn't sure he knew. He had only just met the man, after all. Jim was attracted to Morgan. That was a given. Morgan was beautiful. Probably the most beautiful man Jim had ever seen. He was warm, generous, kind, gentle... in short just perfect. Perfectly gorgeous. Jim sighed silently. This was certainly fun, but not very helpful. Besides, they were nearly at Morgan's house.

Jim pulled up in front of Morgan's house. Jim was surprised to see the Ferrari was still there. "You didn't drive to work?"

"Now's a fine time to ask me, Jim," Morgan laughed. Jim had the decency to look sheepish. "Never mind. Actually, Cary picked me up this morning. The Ferrari wouldn't start."

"What about tonight, Morgan?" Jim softly asked, turning to face him.

Morgan wouldn't look at him. "I told you... "

"I know. But sometimes rules are made to be broken." Taking a chance, Jim reached out and took Morgan's hand. "I just want to try. I know you won't believe me, but I won't hurt you."

"You will. You can't help it," Morgan whispered. Only Jim's acute hearing allowed him to hear it. He sighed deeply and finally looked at Jim. "Let's go inside. We need to talk and the car isn't a very good place for that."

Once inside, Morgan seemed at a loss. He asked if Jim would like something to drink. Jim gently refused. Jim suggested they sit down, then, when Morgan sat on the couch, very carefully sat in one of the chairs. Morgan looked both grateful and disappointed at that.

"Someone's obviously hurt you, Morgan, and I'm sorry." Morgan looked at him with wide golden eyes. No, make that topaz eyes. His eyes were lighter tonight; Jim was certain of it. But, then, he was wearing black. Black shirt, black pants, the same boots as the night before. On him, it looked incredible. Jim pulled his mind up from his crotch with a struggle. Now was not the time for this.

"Jim, how out are you?"

The question threw Jim for a second. "That's -- a good question. I'm out to a few -- very few -- friends. Nobody knows in my department. Call me a coward, but it's not exactly safe for a cop to have any gay leanings right now."

"Yet, some do," Morgan commented, idly.

Jim nodded. "Some do. But you have to be very careful and have a lot of support. I don't think I have that support. Not yet."

Morgan gave him a sweet smile as he rested his elbow onto the back of the couch. Jim thought he was ready for any question Morgan threw at him.

He was wrong.

"What do you know about ESP?"

Jim stared at him. "ESP? Extra sensory perception? Not much, I guess. I think it's supposed to be things like moving objects without touching them, seeing the future, reading minds; things like that."

Morgan nodded, as though satisfied with something. Jim was just confused. "Do you believe people can read minds?"

Jim thought about a few things that had happened between Blair and himself and reluctantly nodded. "I don't know. I can't say I understand it... "

Morgan gave him a genuine smile. The first since getting into Jim's truck. "Think of the cell phone, for a minute. The cell phone sends and receives conversations from the surrounding ether. A radio can pick up those conversations if it's on the proper wavelength. Well, thoughts are electrical impulses and a person's brain is like a radio."

"You're saying it's possible for a brain to pick up thoughts flung out into the air?" Jim asked, trying to see if he understood what Morgan was saying. There was a few minutes of silence while Jim absorbed that idea. "That sounds -- reasonable, I guess."

"I can do that, Jim. I can read minds. For my people, holding mental conversations was as natural as breathing. It was an effort for us to learn to speak aloud, actually."

"I don't understa... . " Suddenly, he did. He looked at Morgan, with wide blue eyes.

"Exactly, Jim. I knew you were a police officer the first time I saw you," Morgan told him, with a nod. "A police officer -- and a Sentinel. I know a little about Sentinels."

Of all the things running through Jim's mind, what he asked was, "Does Jeri know about this?"

"No, she doesn't. There was only one person in the world I'd told, before now." Morgan took a deep breath and slowly released it. Jim could tell how hard this was for him to talk about. "Jim, As a telepath, I need a mental connection. As an infant, it was with my parents. As an adult, it should be with my lover. The only way to do that, is through a link. A link that forms automatically, and will grow stronger, every time we make love."

"No wonder you limit yourself to only once with a person," Jim said, awestruck.

"If you can't accept it, I understand. It's rather discerning to know that your lover can read every thought you have. It makes privacy difficult."

Morgan's voice was steady, but Jim could sense the determination behind the words. It would hurt, but Morgan would try to understand. That made him determined to accept this, no matter how many walls he had built around his own feelings. Jim Ellison well knew what it meant to be hurt.

"I know how difficult privacy can be to come by," the Sentinel said, softly. "But what you've said sounds reassuring. If your lover is ever in trouble, you'd know it."

Morgan looked at him without speaking for eons. Just when Jim was about to concede defeat, Morgan spoke. "You really mean that, don't you?"

The need in that gently voiced question took Jim's breath away. All he could do was wordlessly shake his head before crossing over to sit beside Morgan on the couch. Reaching up, he cupped his hand on the back of Morgan's neck, underneath that surprisingly heavy gold mane and pulled his head over for a kiss. He deliberately kept it light. But Morgan, apparently, had other ideas.

Suddenly, Jim found a tongue inside his mouth. And it wasn't his. As a fire lit in his belly, Jim pushed Morgan back onto the couch. With a wicked grin Jim straddled him, tickling him lightly. Laughing, Morgan began to fend him off. Jim caught Morgan's slender wrists and pulled his arms up above his head, anchoring them there in a tight grip.

"Jim?" Morgan said, a little uneasily. "What are you doing?"

"You're mine, Morgan," Jim told him, leaning down to playfully bite the skin at the juncture of neck and shoulder. "No one else will have you."

"Don't, Jim," Morgan said, his eyes darkening as he tried to squirm away from that nearly bruising grip on his wrists. Jim was so aroused that he missed the clues that something was wrong. Clues, which would have normally made him stop at once.

Jim ran a possessive hand over Morgan's chest, slipping it underneath the shirt until his cupped hand rested over one of Morgan's nipples. "I want you, beautiful."

"Jim, stop it." Morgan protested, his voice quivering. He pushed up with his hips, trying to buck the heavier man off of him. That was when Jim began to realize that something was wrong. "Get off me."

As quickly as he could, Jim complied. Morgan rolled over onto his side, breathing hard, his eyes tightly closed. He was trembling as he hugged himself. Jim knelt on the floor beside the couch, one hand on the back of the couch, the other on the arm of it, watching Morgan struggle to regain control of his emotions.

"Morgan?" Concern both in his voice and etched on his face.

Instead of answering, Morgan reached out and grabbed a fistful of Jim's shirt. With a shuddering breath, he opened his eyes and gave Jim a tentative smile. "I'm okay. Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."

"I should be the one saying that." Jim tried to move away, having forgotten about Morgan's death grip on his shirt. When he couldn't, he settled back down on his heels. He reached out and stroked Morgan's forehead with a finger. This time, Morgan's smile was less forced.

"I'm okay, really. Don't go. Just -- don't ever grab me like that, again."

"My word on it," Jim solemnly swore.

"I suppose you're going to want an explanation?" Morgan asked, with a grimace.

"If you can't do it now, I can wait," Jim told him, concern heavy in his voice.

Morgan smiled sweetly up at him. "Thanks. I really don't want to go into that right now."

"Is there anything I should know? Anything I should or shouldn't do?"

Morgan shook his head. "Just don't get rough. I'm a lot stronger than I look and I might hurt you. Kiss me?"

"Gladly," Jim agreed, bending over to reclaim his mouth only to release it almost immediately. Much to Morgan's evident surprise.

"Wha... ?"

"I want to do this right, Morgan. I want to court you."

Morgan gave him a gentle smile. "I've not been courted in a long time so I'm not objecting when I ask, why?"

"I was married for awhile. We moved too fast and -- well, it got screwed up because we really didn't know each other. I want to do this right, beautiful. You are so important to me. And I don't want to hurt you." He ran his fingers through Morgan's hair, feeling the softness of gold silk.

Morgan looked at him then pulled his head down and kissed him fiercely. "You can court me, if you want. But that doesn't get you out of my bed, mister," he whispered without releasing Jim's mouth.

Jim deepened the kiss, tasting Morgan's mouth, savoring his unique flavor. He was nearly zoning, the moment was so intense.

:Make love to me, Jim.:

Jim gasped, hearing the words without the benefit of his ears. Once more, the intimate moment came to a crashing halt. Jim pulled back, staring at Morgan with wide, surprised filled, blue eyes. "What?"

Morgan gave him a sultry, yet knowing, look. "Get used to it, Pet. I'll be doing it a lot."

Jim's expression turned thoughtful. "So that's what telepathy sounds like."

As the seconds passed Morgan licked his lips, nervously. "You okay with it?"

"I think so," Jim said, slowly, trying for serious. He failed as his mouth twitched off a smile. "It's going to take some getting used to. Shall we practice it some more."

Morgan gave him a wide grin. "Let's. We really need to get it right."

"Oh, you don't seem to have a problem with that," Jim gasped as he was expertly groped. He decided to fight fire with fire and placed his own hands where they would do the most good.

It was very late by the time Detective James Ellison finally got home that night. At work, the next day, Jim was somewhat grateful when Simon ordered him to catch up on his paperwork. He was tired and this was Blair's first day back at his side after being sick. With a knowing grin, Blair agreed to help. Blair deciphered his notes while Jim worked at the computer.

"Whoa," Blair said after a few hours work. There was a grin in his voice. "Wonder who that's for?"

Jim looked up to see a delivery boy carrying a vase of roses talking to one of the other officers in the squad. Jim turned up his hearing just in time to hear her say, "... that way."

Blair was looking at Jim with a question in his blue eyes. Jim shrugged. "Sorry, Chief. I missed it."

Several people watched the boy cross the room but none were more surprised that Jim when the boy spoke. "Detective Ellison?"

"Right there." Blair pointed to Jim just as an officer sauntered over to see what was up.

"Who sent you flowers, Jim?"

Jim had his suspicions, but all he said was, "I don't know, Franks. I haven't opened the card yet."

By this time several more officers had wondered over, attracting Simon's attention. "What's going on?" he asked, noticing the vase of flowers on Jim's desk.

"Someone sent Jim flowers."

"Not just flowers , man," Blair corrected with a wide grin. The grad student was nearly bouncing in his chair. "Roses. RED roses. You know what red roses mean."

"It's no big deal," Jim said, a little embarrassed at all the attention.

"I've never had a woman send ME flowers, Jim," Simon cheerfully pointed out.

"Neither have I," Jim muttered, distractedly as he read the card. Inside his heart was singing.

"Who's it from, man?" Blair asked. The suspense was killing him.

Jim fought back a grin as he handed small white square to his eager partner.

The card read:

"Jim, Just a reminder. This courting thing does go two ways."

It was signed with a flourishing "M"

Simon read the card over Blair's shoulder. "Who are you dating with the initial 'M', Jim?"

"That's for me to know, Sir," Jim said, grabbing the card back. Leaning back in his chair, he smugly tapped the card on his hand. "And you to guess."

They couldn't get another word out of him about it.