Author's webpage: http://www.geocities.com/SoHo/Cafe/3281

Author's disclaimer: This is a work of fiction produced solely for the entertainment of fans. All characters having appeared in the UPN Series, "The Sentinel", belong to UPN and/or Pet Fly productions. The original characters belong to the author.

Author's notes: For those who are not familiar with "Starsky & Hutch", it is best described by actor David Soul, who portrayed Hutch in the original series: "It's a love story between two men who happen to be cops." The series ran from 1975-1979 on ABC-TV. It is currently being re-run (on a somewhat irregular schedule) on TNT. David Starsky and Kenneth Hutchinson were two city detectives who worked as partners for the fictitious Bay City PD, spending their days on the streets of what looked suspiciously like L.A. and various other southern California locales. :-) The highlight of the show was the unwavering loyality and devotion between the two partners, which can be interpreted as a magnificent friendship--or one of the great love stories in TV history. I prefer the latter interpretation, myself. ;-)

The following story places Starsky and Hutch at the ages they would be today, as it takes place in the present time. I am ignoring the "Night Shift" - "Sentinel Too" storyline for this, and assuming things were left intact as they were at the end of "Neighborhood Watch".

The song Hutch sings in this story is "After All These Years". It was written by David Grow, performed by Anne Cochran, and appears on Jim Brickman's "Visions of Love" CD.

Acknowledgement: Thank you to Virginia Call, my best buddy and beta reader. :-)

OUTSIDE INFLUENCES - part one
by Candy Apple

Two weeks. Two weeks since he'd heard Blair's voice, his laugh...seen his face light up with that endearing enthusiasm. Jim walked into the small bedroom off the kitchen and let the sights and scents of Blair surround him. Blair's books piled up on the foot of his very lived-in futon bed, the varied array of souvenirs from the anthropologist's journeys, the plaid shirt tossed over the back of the chair... How could anyone vanish so completely and suddenly from a place? //And here I am, Jim Ellison, hot shot cop, and I can't find him. Two weeks he's been gone...I swore I could track his heartbeat for miles, that I'd pick up his scent...that I would somehow know where he was and that I'd rescue him. So where is he now?//

Jim picked up the book that lay open on the bed. He smiled when he saw that it was written in a language he didn't even recognize. Tucked inside of it, a bit closer to the front, was a page of hastily scribbled notes, obviously Blair's attempt to translate part of it.

//Oh, God, Chief, I let you down so badly. It was my responsibility to keep you safe. I should have known better than to bring a peace-loving grad student anthropologist into a world of guns and criminals and violence. I was just using you when all this started. When I first started experiencing everything with enhanced senses, I was desperate. It was like my own body and mind were turning on me, and you understood what was happening and knew how to deal with it. So I brought you into my life and dragged you out into the field among flying bullets and violence and ugliness... You gave me my life back, and what have I given you now? Beyond that, not having you here has left a...a cavern in my chest where my heart used to be. You filled this place with life...with warmth... I keep telling myself I'd know if you were dead, but how? How would I know? Maybe the best I can hope for now is to find you and give you the burial you deserve...//

Jim dropped onto the bed, and sat there with the little sheet of paper in his hands. Blair's writing...the same writing that had been on the note Blair left on the table the day he disappeared. He was supposed to be home by eleven that night. Only he never came home, and two days later, his car had been found abandoned on a country road leading out of Cascade.

Every day since then, Jim had followed every lead personally, had scoured the area near the spot where the car was abandoned...he'd been so completely obsessed with the case that he had to be shoved out the door of the PD to go home and shower and change before he "turned rancid" as Simon had so gently pointed out.

Jim tucked the little slip of paper back in place and set the book aside. He walked over to the dresser, and a note there caught his eye. It was a reminder note Blair had written to himself: "Pick up suit". He ran his fingers lightly over the note. It was Jim's suit Blair was going to pick up at the cleaners. Just one of dozens of thoughtful little things Blair did for him as a matter of routine. Even though the fall semester was starting up, Blair's schedule was a bit more flexible than Jim's, so the younger man had offered to swing by the cleaners and pick up the suit. Just like he often did the grocery shopping or the laundry or cooked many nights when it wasn't really his turn, or sat with that intense look on his face and hung on Jim's every word--whether it was to help him with his senses or just listen to him bitch about something at work that was driving him nuts. Sharing his loft apartment with Blair had made his life richer than he could ever have hoped. And now, in a heartbeat, it had all been ripped away.

Looking up to catch sight of his own reflection in the mirror, Jim was a little startled himself. He looked haggard and scruffy. His blue irises were floating in a sea of sickly pink. No wonder Simon had sent him home. //Home? It was home when Blair was here...now it's just a damned empty shell full of memories that I can't stand to face...even his scent is fading from his clothes, from the bed, from the things he touched and used. The bathroom never smells like his shampoo or his faint aftershave or...or just him. I have all the fucking hot water I could ever hope for now...//

He leaned on the desk with both hands and let the tears flow. They had gnawed at him since the night after Blair disappeared, and now they couldn't be denied, because he felt so damned hopeless. Two weeks ago, he'd had hope. He'd been confident he could find his guide. What good were these wretched sentinel abilities if he couldn't save the one person who meant the most? He'd been determined to move heaven and earth, but he'd find Sandburg. Now the prospects of finding anything but his body were looking slim. //What would anyone do with him for two whole weeks and keep him alive?// The images brought to life by that mental question were almost worse than the images of finding his battered body in a ditch somewhere.

"I'm so sorry, Blair. I'd give anything I had to find you. I just don't know where to look anymore," Jim said to the empty room. His eyes fell on a picture, and his heart twisted in a tighter knot. The night of the Officer of the Year dinner and award presentation, he and Blair had posed with the plaque. Blair had been much more excited about Jim's honor than Jim had been himself. He let his memory drift back to that night...

"This is a major honor, man. Aren't you a little excited?" Blair had enthused as soon as Jim returned from shaking hands with the mayor and making a very characteristically short speech. Big blue eyes wide with excitement of the moment, Blair had been all smiles.

A photographer from the local newspaper had come over to get a picture of Jim with his award, having gotten a shot of him with the mayor during the presentation. When Blair obligingly stepped out of the way, Jim glanced over at that excited expression and the virtual bounce in Blair's stance. He reached over and pulled Blair by the arm back into the shot, and left his arm around the younger man, instructing him to hold one side of the plaque while Jim held the other.

"He helped me earn this, so I want him in the shot," Jim had explained abruptly. When the guy had aimed his camera, Jim was stealing a look at Blair, and smiling affectionately at the happy, but visibly moved, expression on the younger man's face. It was that "throwaway" shot that was in the frame here. That wonderful moment that had passed between them, the moment that said all the words Blair would finally ask Simon to hear many months later. The reassurance that he was needed and appreciated and wanted.

The photographer had captured a more appropriate shot right after that one, but this was the photo that Blair wanted, and that was framed in a little gold frame on his dresser.

"I never said anything to you, Chief. I never said thank you...I never said...I never said I love you, but I do. God, I do, so much that it's tearing my guts out. I don't know when my whole world started revolving around you, but maybe when I realized that yours always has revolved around me. First because I was your thesis on feet...but then, it was more. You weren't obligated to always put me first, but you always did. No one..." Jim trailed off, his voice breaking. He looked at the wide blue eyes lit up with happiness in the photo, the long chestnut curls restrained in an appropriately neat pony tail for the formal occasion. Where Blair was small but sturdy, with that mass of long hair and that ready smile, Jim was the typical ex-military type--tall, muscular, reserved. He'd worn his hair in a brush cut for a long time, but now it had grown out a bit longer, and he wondered how much of that was Blair's influence. So much of what he did and felt and thought now were tinged by Blair's influence. "In my whole life, no one ever put me first. How do I do this without you? How do I pack up your things and re-do your room and forget you ever came into my life? Dear God, Blair, how am I gonna make it here without you?" Jim shouted at the smiling Blair that was frozen in time in the photo. "Shit, you're not even 30 years old, Chief," he choked out to the picture. "Your whole life is yet to be lived. This can't be happening. Not like this. God, you deserve so much more."

He took the plaid shirt off the chair and took it upstairs with him. The fatigue of the last two weeks was catching up to him, and in a spirit of complete hopelessness, he pulled his two-days' stale clothes off and crawled into bed with Blair's shirt. He lay there and let his eyes drift shut, taking in the last traces of Blair's scent. Exhaustion finally overcame him, and he slept.

The jangling ring of the phone made Jim jerk bolt upright in bed. Blair's shirt was still bunched up next to him in the sheets, the warmth of his own body having brought his partner's fading scent into sharper focus. He reached for the cell phone on the night stand and answered it.

"Jim, Simon. We might have something." Jim's captain's deep voice was somber.

"What?" Jim demanded, dread seeping into every cell of his body. //Dear God, not a body...//

"We just raided a crack house on Jackson Avenue, and we found a necklace. It's a leather cord with a couple beads on it--it looks like the one Sandburg was wearing when he disappeared."

"I'm on my way. What's the address?" Jim was on his feet and digging for clothes in the drawer as Simon spoke.

"1478 Jackson. The lab boys have been over everything, but I thought--"

"I'll meet you there." Jim hung up the phone and finished dressing hastily in jeans, a t-shirt and a sweater. As he raced downstairs, Blair's shirt stayed nestled in the bedclothes.

The raided crack house was nothing remarkable. It was an old white frame two-story with a couple of boarded up windows and some graffiti on the side of it. Most of the police vehicles had left the scene already, and the suspects who had been found there were probably cooling their heels downtown. They would be Jim's next stop. And he wouldn't relent until he'd gotten some answers out of them. No matter what he had to do to get them.

As soon as Jim walked through the front door of the house, through the noises of final evidence gathering and the voices of the forensics team, Jim froze, transfixed at the sound of a heartbeat he knew better than his own.

"Jim!" Captain Simon Banks was descending the stairs, carrying the small plastic bag with the necklace in it. The little parcel seemed positively tiny compared to the 6'4", impressive African-American man who carried it in one large, long-fingered hand.

"He's here!" Jim exclaimed, moving farther into the house, trying to filter out anything and everything but the sound of Blair's heartbeat. It was a bit rapid, but it sounded strong.

"What?" Simon grimaced in confusion. "Jim, we've been through every part of this house--"

"Then we're going to have to go through it again. He's here. I hear him."

"You hear him?" Even though Simon knew Jim was operating with heightened senses, this was a bit much for him to believe. The house had already been searched from top to bottom.

"I hear his heartbeat."

"Jim, there are several guys still here from the lab, and Megan is upstairs--"

"I'd know Blair's heartbeat anywhere, sir. That's him." Jim concentrated on the sound a moment, then moved past the staircase, down a hall and into a cramped, stuffy kitchen which reeked of the odors of drug preparation. "This way," Jim directed Simon, who followed him as he started down a narrow staircase to the basement.

"We've been over every inch--"

"I haven't," Jim stated simply.

And he proceeded to do precisely that. After walking through the entire basement, he finally isolated the area where the sound was strongest and Blair's scent joined it. Standing in the middle of a storage area which held only mounds of rifled boxes the cops on the scene had already searched, Jim honestly wasn't sure how to proceed. For a fleeting moment, he wondered if his own sanity had given way, and he was hearing Blair's heartbeat where it simply couldn't be...maybe he'd always hear it as a haunting reminder of his failure...

"There's got to be a room or some kind of enclosure hidden here somewhere."

"Jim, he's not down here. We've been over every inch and--"

"Then we're going to have to get pick axes and start chopping through the walls because I know he's here!" Jim shouted back angrily. He began flinging the cartons in all directions, following the sound single-mindedly. If Simon said or did anything else, Jim didn't notice. He didn't slow down until the storage room was cleared. He found himself faced with a bare cement floor and painted brick walls.

Ignoring Simon's negative assessments of the situation, he began running his hand along the wall, searching for any microscopic irregularity.

"Sandburg!" he shouted at the wall, slapping against the painted surface with the palm of his hand. "Shit. There's gotta be a way in here."

"Into what? The wall?"

"I hear him, Simon. I know he's in there." Jim stood back from the wall a moment, frustrated. Then he strode out of the storage room and stood in front of the doorway to it. He scanned the wall near the door, then began running his hand along the painted bricks there. He found himself face to face with the furnace soon. He frowned at the device, then turned back to Simon. "There's no heat in this place."

"I noticed that. Maybe that thing doesn't work."

"Of course it doesn't. Take a look at this." Jim pointed to the pipe that led out of the top of the furnace into the ceiling. "For God's sake, Simon, it isn't even connected." He started scanning the room. "Over there. See that pipe that comes down from the ceiling?"

"Looks like part two of this one," Simon commented, glancing from the pipe at the top of the furnace to the pipe coming down from the basement ceiling where Jim stood.

"The furnace should be right over there." Jim moved over to the area under the pipe. "Didn't anyone find it a little odd that there was all this dirt and these markings on the floor? This is where the furnace is supposed to be sitting."

"They probably figured the one over here was a new one and that's where the old one was."

"Give me a hand here." Jim moved over to start pulling on the furnace unit. It was obviously newer than the house, being small enough that two men could pull it away from the wall, but large enough to make them work hard to do it.

When the machine was out of the way, Jim lurched forward toward the door that had been concealed by the phony furnace set up. The wood door gave way easily on the second slam of Jim's considerable force against it.

"Kill that light!" Jim ordered, and Simon moved quickly to pull the cord on the bulb in the ceiling, obviously willing to follow the directive, even if he didn't understand why Jim had demanded darkness.

The huddled figure in the corner of the small, windowless room didn't move except to lurch at the sudden explosion of noise and to hide his head in the corner where the walls met to avoid the flood of yellow light from the bulb in the adjacent room.

"Blair, it's Jim. It's okay, Chief." Jim crouched by his huddled friend, unnerved by Blair's unwillingness to move. "The light's turned off, buddy. Come on, you can look at me. It's okay." He laid a hand on Blair's shoulder, but the younger man jerked at the touch. "Shhh. It's okay. Come on, Chief. Relax. I'm not going to hurt you."

"Is he all right?" Simon asked, moving into the doorway of the room. "I can't see a damn thing."

"I can," Jim stated simply. "His vitals sound okay. He's probably a little disoriented." Jim found that Blair's wrists were handcuffed behind his back, his ankles bound, though fairly loosely, with rope. He was dressed the blue plaid shirt Jim recalled him wearing the day he disappeared, which hung loose over what were probably the same jeans.

"He's probably been in here a while," Simon commented, and Jim glanced back to notice a brief look of revulsion pass over the captain's features. Jim hadn't even noticed the unpleasant odor of Blair's prolonged confinement. Even now that he had, it didn't seem to matter.

Jim tried his key, and to his disappointment, it didn't fit the cuffs.

"Don't be afraid of us, Chief. We're the good guys, remember?" Jim said softly to his partner, whose entire body was shaking as he pressed as far into the corner as he could. "I need something to pick this lock--anything long and thin."

"I'll see what I can find. Hang on." Simon fumbled his way through the darkened part of the basement until he reached light, and then discovered an old workbench in the corner of the room closest to the steps. Rifling through the web-covered jars and containers, he finally located a couple different nails.

"Blair, it's okay. It's me," Jim said, keeping up his litany of reassurances. He untied Blair's ankles and focused his eyesight on the wrists that were stuck to the cuffs with dried blood. "Listen, Chief, I want to get those cuffs off you without tearing your skin anymore. Be patient, buddy. I know they hurt." Jim reached up and stroked the matted hair gently. "It's all over now. I'm right here."

"Jim?" The voice was little more than a croak from a parched throat.

"That's me, partner. How about taking a look for yourself, huh?" Jim smiled a little. "Bet you can see almost as well in here as I can right now," he commented, still stroking Blair's hair, since it seemed to be the thing that was calming him.

"Hurts."

"What does? Your wrists?"

"Everything's...all cramped up."

"Don't worry, Chief. We'll get you out of here. I can carry you out if your legs can't make it."

"Jim?" Simon's voice came from behind him. "I found a few nails on a workbench."

"Great. Does that sink work?"

"The one in the other room? I don't know."

"Would you get me a couple cloths soaked with warm water? His wrists bled and the cuffs are stuck."

"Shit." Simon left the room without any more eloquent comment.

"Please...I wanna go home," Blair managed.

"Soon, buddy. We need to get you to the hospital--"

"Please...home," Blair repeated, trying vainly to swallow non-existent moisture. "I...I smell bad."

"Don't worry about it, Chief. It's dialed down." Jim started working on the lock to the cuffs with one of the nails, and before long, the lock popped. Jim avoided moving the metal away from Blair's skin until Simon returned with a bowl of warm water, a couple of washcloths and a flashlight, the beam of which he dimmed with the coverage of one large hand as he got near the spot where Jim was crouched on the floor with Blair.

"How's he doing?"

"Better now," Blair croaked out himself.

"Welcome back to the land of the living, kid," Simon responded, laughing a little, but wincing as he watched Jim gently soaking the dried blood until it was safe to remove one, then the other of the handcuffs. It wasn't until he tried moving his arms that Blair let out a whimper of pain.

"It's okay, Chief. Don't try to move everything at once."

"I...can't," Blair groaned.

"Okay. Let's see if we can make the move upstairs. I'm going to do all the work, Blair. All you have to do is turn your face in toward me and close your eyes tight. The light's going to hurt your eyes at first, so let's just keep 'em protected until we can get you used to it gradually, okay?"

"I can't move too well."

"I know. It'll get better, buddy." Jim pulled out his handkerchief and gently wrapped one of the still damp wrists. Simon wordlessly offered his own for the second one. Jim turned Blair slowly so he was sitting with his legs straight out in front of him and then carefully moved the stiff arms until they were also in front of Blair, resting in his lap. With one fluid hoist, Jim lifted his partner into his arms and shifted the Blair's position until he could hide his face against Jim's coat. "Okay, keep your eyes covered, Chief. I'll give you a yell when it's safe, okay?"

"Okay."

"Simon, are we clear to have a few minutes in the kitchen upstairs?"

"The lab's pretty much finished."

"I don't think we need an audience right now," Jim stated, thinking of how he would feel to be pulled out in Blair's condition and then gawked at by several strangers.

"I'll go on up ahead."

Jim spent the next several minutes gradually reintroducing Blair to a little bit of dim light in the kitchen, and pacing him through drinking some water slowly enough to avoid getting nauseous. While Simon directed a few of the remaining forensics people to go downstairs to the room where Blair had been found, Jim sat in a chair next to the one his ragged partner occupied and reached over to rub the other man's back gently. He froze when Blair flinched.

"What is it, Blair?"

"I...I've got a few...bruises." His voice sounded more normal now that a little water was soaking into the parched dryness. It still seemed odd to see Blair with the beginnings of a mustache and beard. "Please can we go home?"

"You're dehydrated, partner. You should be--"

"You'd know if something was wrong. Please...I want to go home."

"How long were you in there?"

"What day is it?" Blair responded, pausing to take another drink of water as his own hand was closed around the glass, and his arm moved slowly, with Jim's help, up to his mouth.

"Getting a little movement back there, Chief?" Blair nodded after finishing the drink, and with Jim cautiously loosening his hold, Blair could manage most of the downward motion on his own. "It's Thursday." That seemed to make Blair really concentrate a moment.

"Just two days," he responded, a little stunned.

"Just two days?" Jim worked hard to swallow his rage. If it had only been two days, Blair was probably somewhat dehydrated, hungry as hell, stiff and weak, but it was doubtful his condition was dangerous. "Probably felt like forever, huh?"

"Please can we go home?"

"Blair, you have to level with me. I'd spend more time asking this gently if I could, but if you want to go home tonight and put off seeing a doctor until morning, I have to be sure we aren't going to be losing vital evidence." Jim paused. "Chief...was there any...other kind of assault I need to know about?"

"I wasn't raped or anything. Just slapped around a little, and...I got a pretty good beating for almost getting away when we first got here."

"When did the beating happen?"

"The day I got put in the room."

"What can you tell me about the kidnappers?"

"Not much. There were three guys, all pretty built, and they wore ski masks the whole time they were around me. I mean the whole time. When they moved me from the house we were in first, they put me in the trunk. If I had to guess, I'd say they were white males, like, my age or older. I can't be sure on the ages though."

"What kind of car was it?"

"A big blue one...probably about 20 years old. I think it was a Buick...maybe an Electra or something."

"Okay, pal. That's enough Q&A for tonight." Jim supported Blair's increasingly mobile arm for another drink of water. "Wait here a second, huh?" Blair nodded, but Jim detected the spike in his pulse and heart rate as he rose to leave Blair alone. "The place is crawling with cops outside, and I'll be right in the next room. If you so much as burp, I'll hear you."

"I'll be okay," Blair responded, managing a little smile.

Jim made his way to the living room, where Simon was concluding the night's business with the lab team.

"I'm going to take Blair home. I've got a preliminary story on the suspects and the car--"

"What about having him examined at the hospital?"

"He's assured me that there wasn't any sexual assault, and I can bag his clothes myself in case Forensics wants to have a look at them. I think he needs a hot bath and some food and liquids and a little peace for a few hours."

"What've you got on the kidnappers?" Simon took out his notepad. "I'll type up a preliminary report tonight while you take care of the kid."

"Thanks, Simon." Jim repeated what Blair had told him, and after Simon had taken it down, he thanked the captain again and returned to the kitchen to collect his partner.

"Jim...I--I could probably clean up here if there's a bathroom or something. I-I'm sorry... Your sense of smell must be driving you crazy."

"You haven't got anything on you I haven't smelled before, Chief. Don't worry about it." Jim squatted in front of the chair and started massaging one of Blair's legs. "How're they doing?"

"Needles and pins like crazy, but it's getting better."

"Want to try standing? It'll get the circulation going a little faster." Jim worked on the second leg a few moments.

"I guess." Blair slid his arm around Jim's neck as a strong arm came around his waist and hoisted him onto his feet. "Geez."

"Just stand there a minute."

"I can't make them move!"

"It's okay pal. You can feel them, right?"

"Yeah, but still--"

"Your legs can fall asleep when you sit in a certain spot too long. Yours are sleeping real deeply, that's all. I'll give you a lift to the truck, huh?"

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. And please stop apologizing, Chief. None of this is your fault." After taking off his coat and insisting that Blair put it on, Jim hoisted the other man into his arms again and made his way a bit awkwardly out the side door, which opened onto the driveway. He moved as swiftly as his armload allowed, relieved beyond words when he finally had Blair loaded into the truck.

The drive home was mostly made in silence, with Blair dozing in the passenger seat, clutching Jim's coat tightly around himself.

By the time they arrived home, Blair wanted to try his own legs as transportation indoors, and was pleasantly surprised to feel that, with a steadying arm from Jim, he could walk mostly on his own. As soon as they were inside the door of the loft, Blair froze in his tracks.

"You okay, Chief?" Jim was locking the door behind them and tossing his keys in the basket.

"I never thought I'd ever see this place again," Blair responded in a strained whisper. "I thought I was gonna die in there."

Jim could see Blair working to hold back tears. He closed the distance between them with a couple of long strides and pulled Blair gently into his arms, still mindful of the bruises he hadn't yet seen. Blair's arms came around his middle gratefully, and Jim felt the shaky intake of breath.

"Let it out, buddy. I've got you now. You're home." Jim stroked the tangled curls gently as the tears began to flow. "I missed you so much," Jim murmured as he held Blair close.

"You too," Blair replied, still crying. "I wanted you to come and get me, but I didn't...I didn't know how you could ever...find me."

"Thank God I did. Simon found your necklace upstairs and called me--that's how I got called to the scene. But as soon as I walked in the front door, I heard your heartbeat."

"From all the way upstairs?"

"Yup," Jim responded, smiling at the little flicker of intrigue in Blair's voice at having found yet another dimension to Jim's sentinel abilities and their application to police work. "I think I'd hear it across town if I had to." Jim closed his eyes and concentrated on the feeling of Blair in his arms. Safe, alive and home again. "I love you, Chief," he said softly, and to his surprise, effortlessly. It flowed off his tongue easily. The arms around him tightened almost painfully.

"Love you too."

"Come on. Let's get you washed up, huh?"

"Yeah...good idea." Blair sniffled a little and pulled back.

"A shave might be a good idea too, huh?" He smiled down at Blair and led him to the bathroom with an arm still around the younger man's back.

"I must look really weird."

"You want to see for yourself?" Jim asked, smiling as he turned on the light in the bathroom. Surprisingly, Blair turned away from the mirror.

"No. Please, just...help me look like I'm s'posed to?"

"You got it, Chief." Jim guided him to sit on the closed toilet seat and gathered the shaving supplies. Dispensing with the unwanted facial hair didn't take very long, as Jim carefully ran the razor through the shaving cream and removed all traces of it.

"No cuts," Blair said, smiling a little as Jim dispensed with the towel and the shaver, and proceeded to gently wash off Blair's face before adding a little of the lightly scented after shave balm Blair usually used. "At least part of me smells decent."

"The rest of you's going to smell a whole lot better in a few minutes," Jim responded, starting the water in the tub, gauging the temperature until it suited him. He plugged the drain and let the water level start rising. "Is this the stuff that's supposed to get rid of the aches and pains?" Jim asked, finding a bottle of bath oil on the shelf.

"Yeah."

"Okay." He shot a little into the water and then turned back to Blair. "Time to lose the clothes, partner." Jim offered Blair a hand to help him stand, but left the younger man to peeling off his own clothes. He seemed to prefer doing it himself, and since he'd been moving around, the discomfort in his limbs was reduced to stiffness and some mild pain. His mobility was essentially back, even if he wasn't moving fast.

"I can take it from here," Blair said, his tone completely unconvincing.

"You're a little stiff in the legs yet, Chief. I don't want you to slip in the tub." Jim turned off the water and turned back to face the naked man next to him. His breath caught in his throat at the ugly purple splotches on Blair's stomach and sides. "Let..." Jim swallowed to get the words out. "Let me see your back, buddy." Blair looked at him a moment, as if contemplating not complying, then turned around. "What was it? A belt?" Jim asked softly, feeling tears burning his eyes at the angry red marks and the discoloration of bruising that lay beneath them. In two days, it hadn't faded anymore than this.

"Yeah," Blair answered quietly. Jim let his hands rest on the smaller man's shoulders.

"We're going to nail those bastards, Blair. And when we do, I swear to God, they're going to get a taste of their own medicine."

"They beat me up for trying to get away--they didn't even bother with my face--just my body. I guess they wanted to do maximum damage for their efforts. Then...one of the guys got the idea to use his belt."

"Come on, pal. Into the tub." Jim gently guided Blair down into the warm water that was scented with the herbal bath oil.

"I can--"

"Just relax, Chief. Let me do the work, huh?" Jim smiled a little as he lathered up a large bath sponge and started on Blair's arm.

"Jim?"

"What?" He worked on the other arm now, then re-soaped the sponge to clean under Blair's arms and across the soft mat of hair on his chest.

"Thanks for finding me."

"No--thank you for finding me." Jim kept washing, and Blair looked puzzled. "Three years ago when you decided to steal Dr. McCay's lab coat, remember?" Jim smiled as Blair's face split into one of its trademark brilliant smiles, all gums and teeth. Unable to resist the impulse, Jim leaned forward and kissed Blair's forehead.

"It's really good to be home," Blair said in a slightly strained voice, still smiling. "It's kinda funny but...I don't think anyone ever missed me before."

"Oh, come on, Chief," Jim replied, laughing a little as he soaped up and washed Blair's body with all the gentleness he would use to wash a baby. "Naomi misses you all the time, I'm sure."

"Then why don't I see her more than once or twice a year, if that? Jim, nobody ever...missed me before. Loved me, sure, but everyone else--my mom included--have no problems with living without me."

"I have major problems with it, so keep that in mind." Jim swallowed hard as he looked at the abused back again. "I'll try not to hurt you, buddy."

"You never do." Blair caught Jim's hand and held onto it.

"I wish that were true," Jim responded, squeezing the hand a little and then moving on to wash Blair's back.

"Not on purpose."

"No, not on purpose, Chief."

"That's what counts."

"Did these jerks ever tell you why they grabbed you?"

"No. I asked. All the time. They just kept waving a gun in my face and telling me to shut up. The one guy..." Blair shivered. "The one guy had a...a knife, and he...he told me not to open my mouth again or he...was going to cut my tongue out. I never said anything after that. I know he would've done it. He was so crazy, Jim."

"When did he threaten you with that?" Jim asked gently.

"The second day. We started out being in this one house, but I don't know where it was, because I was taken there in the trunk. It was out in the country somewhere--a ranch style house that was in really bad shape--it had white siding, but there were places where the siding had come off, and it was really old aluminum siding. And weeds everywhere. Inside, there was nothing much but basic stuff. A couple old beds and a table and chairs."

"So at least you had a place to sleep."

"I slept on the floor...when I slept, which wasn't very often. Especially...not after what the guy with the knife said. I spent most of the time on the floor, usually tied up. Sometimes they let me go to the bathroom because they didn't want me stinking in the corner."

Jim had finished the bathing project by now, and picked up the hand held shower massager to start on Blair's hair. Cradling the younger man's head with his free hand, he encouraged him to tilt it back as he turned on the spray and soaked the matted curls.

"I can do that. It's gonna be really gross. I never got a chance to wash my hair."

"Shh. Just relax. I'll take care of it, Chief." Jim finished soaking the hair and grabbed a towel to soak up some of the water from running down Blair's forehead into his eyes. Then he started shampooing. "Did they ever talk in front of you--about anything worthwhile?"

"They mumbled a lot. Mostly they talked in the eating area, which was right off the kitchen. I could see them, but I was far enough away that when they kept their voices down, I couldn't hear them. Oh, God, that feels good," Blair sighed, seeming to revel in the feeling of having his scalp washed thoroughly.

"What made them move?"

"One guy got a call on his cell phone, and after that, they dragged me outside and shoved me in the trunk again and we left. It was like for those first eleven days--I counted--we were just hanging out there. Waiting for something. They didn't really abuse me at all during that time--just the threats. They always got enough take out food for me to eat when they did. I mean, I had a gun on me the whole time I ate, but when you get hungry enough, you'll eat under any conditions I guess. But they didn't drug me or beat me up or even pay a hell of a lot of attention to me most of the time. It wasn't until I got away from them at the second house and got about two houses down the street that they beat me up. I knew there were a lot of abandoned houses on Jackson, but I recognized it because one of my students lives on the corner of Jackson and Warren, and I knew there were inhabited houses and apartments not far from there. They had handcuffed my wrists but not tied my ankles yet."

"You're going to have to teach me how to do all that detangling stuff," Jim said, wrapping the freshly washed hair in a big, fluffy towel.

"I can--"

"You can't hold your arms up that long just yet, Chief."

"Thanks."

"Ready to get dried off?"

"Yeah. I think I'm turning into a prune in here."

After getting Blair out of the tub and helping him dry off, Jim retrieved clean sweats and socks from Blair's room and returned to the bathroom with them so Blair could get dressed in the warm room instead of getting chilled.

"I turned the heat up, so it should be pretty warm in the kitchen by now. Why don't you sit at the table and I'll bring the hair concoctions out there?"

"Okay." Blair started for the door and swayed a little, but was caught before he could flounder very long. "I feel light-headed."

"No food does that to a person. You want to eat before we fix your hair?"

"No. I'll never get a comb through it later."

Jim worked diligently on the hair project, much slower at it than Blair would have been. He used his heightened sense of touch to find any of the knots or tangles, and disengaged them carefully. Within a relatively brief time, Blair had a head of clean, dry hair that looked and felt like it usually did.

Taking on the ugly task of disinfecting and wrapping Blair's wrists wasn't Jim's favorite thing in the world, but it had to happen sooner or later. The last thing he wanted to do was cause Blair pain, which cleaning the damage left by the handcuffs would definitely do, but there was no way he wanted to risk infection either. He did the task as quickly and gently as possible, and bandaged the wrists with gauze--a bit more sterile than his and Simon's handkerchiefs.

With his partner clean, warm and comfortable, Jim prepared them a shared meal of canned clam chowder and sandwiches made from the chicken dinner he hadn't even touched the night before. Bringing home take-outs had been a useless idea at the time, since he'd had little appetite, but they were serving their purpose now. He set the food, along with more water, on the table and joined Blair.

"Eat slowly. Don't make yourself sick."

"Slowly?" Blair said, incredulous, as he grabbed a sandwich and bit into it as if he'd never eaten in his life before. Through a mouthful, he responded, "You gotta be kidding me."

"It was worth mentioning, anyway," Jim replied, laughing a little.

Blair devoured dinner, and Jim didn't ask him any more questions while he did. After their meal, Blair curled up on the couch under the throw while Jim found an old movie on the late show. It was near midnight, but Jim wasn't concerned because he felt confident that Simon would grant him some time off to take care of his partner. And whether Blair knew it or not, Jim already had a large part of his statement, which he could type up and print off for Blair's signature. He figured the more traumatic portion of the ordeal would trickle out as Blair felt ready to tell it.

"Jim?" Blair's voice stopped him as he headed for the other couch to sit down.

"Yeah, Chief?"

"Uh, would you sit here? By me?" The question came out in a voice barely above a whisper, and Blair looked mortified the moment he'd finished asking.

"Sure. Better view of the TV from here anyway," Jim replied easily, plunking down in the middle cushion next to Blair.

The two men sat in silence for a few minutes, watching the movie. It was a fairly watchable story with Humphrey Bogart and George Raft as two struggling truckers. Before long, Jim felt a warm pressure on his shoulder. When he looked down, he saw that Blair had dozed off and his head had slumped on Jim's shoulder, either by accident or design. Jim didn't move the sleeping man for several more minutes, hoping he would be sleeping deeply enough to be moved to his bed without waking totally.

On the next commercial break, Jim carefully slid his arms under the sleeping man and lifted him. Blair groaned and shifted a little, almost throwing Jim off balance. The position, unfortunately, was putting some pressure on Blair's sore back, and Jim figured that was more a reason for him to be disturbed than just the movement. He made the move to Blair's bed as swiftly and gently as he could, relieved he'd had the foresight to turn back the bed earlier. Laying Blair carefully in it was much less of a chore with the bedding in the right position. As soon as he was in bed, Blair groaned and shifted onto his side, but he still slept.

"Jim." More a sigh than a word, it was the last movement out of the exhausted man as he settled for the night.

Jim brought the blankets up and tucked them protectively around the body curled up in the bed. He caressed a couple of curls that rested on the pillow behind Blair's head.

"Sleep well, Chief," he whispered, more to himself than Blair. He found himself at a loss to describe the feelings that had invaded his heart over the last two weeks, and that seemed to be running rampant now that Blair was safe and sound where he belonged.

The long-haired, neo-hippie witch doctor punk had somehow become the other half of his soul.

Sleep was reluctant to give up its hold on Jim as he was reveling in the first peaceful slumber of the last two weeks. Still, he forced his eyes open and immediately realized that it was Blair's voice that had wakened him. Jumping out of bed and rushing downstairs, he raced to Blair's room. The younger man was sitting up in bed, his heart thundering and his breath coming out in ragged gasps.

"No, please! I'm sorry! I won't make anymore noise! Please don't!"

"Blair, it's me, it's Jim. Come on, Chief. Everything's okay now." Jim turned on the lamp near the bed and waited until Blair's glassy eyes finally focused on him.

"It was dark... I thought... I can't stand it dark!" Blair shouted, a couple of tears sliding down his cheeks.

"You've had enough dark for quite a while, haven't you, buddy?" Jim sat on the edge of Blair's bed. "I'm sorry. I didn't even think about the dark when I went upstairs." He reached over and caressed a damp cheek, brushing the tears there away with his thumb. "Come here." Jim opened his arms and encouraged Blair over to him. He held the smaller body close, sliding a hand into Blair's hair to press his partner's head firmly against Jim's shoulder. "Bad dream?"

"I was afraid to go to sleep...when I was there...because...that guy told me...if I made another sound..."

"And you thought you might make some noise in your sleep, huh?" Blair nodded against Jim's shoulder. "Is that who you thought I was when I came in?"

"I knew I yelled...I wasn't sure where I was."

"The dream was about the guy with the knife, huh?" Jim felt Blair's arms tighten around him. "He gave you a pretty bad time, didn't he? More than once."

"Quite a lot," Blair responded, his heartbeat slowing a little now as his breathing became less ragged. "When he got bored...he'd...bug me. He kept talking about other people he had...cut up, and how would I like to end up like them."

"He can't get at you, Blair. Not ever again. You know that, right?"

"Yeah...but he's still out there. Nobody's caught him yet. I don't want to be this...scared. But I...I can't help it."

"I know, Chief. It's okay to be scared." Jim sat there quietly, holding Blair close, just letting him calm down and relax. "I'm going to turn on the light in the kitchen--this one is kind of bright. But that'll keep the room--"

"Please...don't...leave me alone."

"I wasn't going to, pal. I just want to change the lighting arrangement. Sit tight for a minute, okay?"

"Okay," Blair responded, reluctantly letting go of Jim while he went out to the kitchen, turned on the light and poured a glass of water for Blair. He returned to the bedroom and handed Blair the water. Then he flipped off the bedside lamp. The kitchen light still spilled a friendly yellow glow through the open French doors.

"Better?"

"Yeah. Look, Jim, I'm really sorry about making a scene before. I'll be okay with the light."

"Scoot over."

"What?"

"Scoot over," Jim repeated patiently. Blair did so, totally puzzled and more than a little surprised when Jim fit himself into the vacated space. "Are you comfortable on your side?"

"Yeah." Blair turned on his side, and Jim spooned up behind him, bringing the blankets up high around both of them.

"Try to get some sleep, Chief. Remember you're safe."

"Jim, you don't have to--"

"Shhh. Go to sleep, guppy. You're home now. Everything's okay."

Jim's words and the gentle tone behind them seemed to drain the last of the tension out of Blair as he melted against the bed and into the safe haven of Jim's embrace. Before long, both men were sleeping peacefully.

Blair stirred, momentarily startled to hear a grumble of protest from behind him as the warm body against his back moved a bit, then re-settled for more sleep. It was daylight, but he had no idea what time. He took a moment to assess that he was clean, dry, fed and safe before closing his eyes again and relaxing.

He felt a rush of love in his heart for the loving care he'd gotten from Jim the night before. Not just because it was such a drastic contrast from the abuse and deprivation of the last two weeks, but because of how truly loved and protected and cared for he'd felt when he needed that feeling so badly. He cringed a little at the thought of the smells that Jim had put up with in caring for him. He hadn't been allowed to bathe or wash his hair the entire time he was gone, and in the final day of his captivity in the horrible cave in which he was meant to die, his body had finally relieved itself against his wishes in the absence of any facilities.

Jim hadn't flinched away from any of that. If his sense of smell was on overload, he didn't show it in his face nor did he hand Blair off to some long-suffering nurse to hose him down. He probably could have been dumped in the hospital for observation overnight, but Jim had collected him like he was a rare, long-lost treasure, and brought him home.

The pain of the beating had faded a lot, and it seemed much more bearable now that he was clean and warm and comfortable. The memory of the utter darkness of his last two days of confinement still raised goose bumps on his flesh. He wondered when he could ever endure the dark again without panicking. //If I were in Jim's arms, I wouldn't panic.// Blair pushed the thought away. //This is a one-time thing, Sandburg. He felt sorry for you. Tomorrow night, you'll be on your own.//

"Blair." Jim mumbled the name, and it took Blair a minute to realize that Jim was still sleeping. He felt the larger man's face nuzzling against his hair, the arm around his waist pulling him a bit closer.

"I'm here, Jim," Blair barely breathed, knowing the sentinel ears would pick it up. The larger man settled again, his breathing still even and deep.

//Could he love me as much a I love him? He said he loved me. And it was a really serious, special 'I love you'. Not a punch on the arm and an 'I love you, man', or some equally hideous mutation of what I want to hear. It was the real thing. And he kissed my forehead...and held me, and comforted me. And missed me. When I was gone, he wanted me here.// Blair thought back over his life, the people he'd loved or just the people he'd stayed with in various places. A few people had loved him, most notably his mother, many had liked him, but when he finally packed off and went on his way, he knew in his heart that damn few of them missed him. In fact, he was trying to think of even one person who fell into that category.

People he'd stayed with while on expeditions viewed the whole thing as temporary. Even the one or two indigenous young women he'd fallen for along the way. If they'd missed him at all, it had been briefly, because it was all only temporary from the start. His relatives were a mixed bag. Those he'd visited who were glad to see him enjoyed the visit but went back to their normal lives as soon as he was gone. Relatives who owed Naomi a favor were more than delighted to pack him off back home when their babysitting task was ended.

Naomi herself had the best times of her life without her son. When she traveled and went to exotic places or experienced some spiritual awakening, it was on her own. Could he seriously convince himself that she was spending much of that time missing him? She loved him and was happy to see him when they had a visit, but she didn't make a lot of time for that either.

"I can almost hear the gears grinding from here," a sleepy voice said from behind.

"What?"

"I know you're awake, Chief. I can almost hear your brain working. Anything you want to talk about?" Surprisingly, Jim was still holding him while they talked.

"I was thinking about my mom."

"You want to call her today?"

"No."

"Not near a phone, huh?"

"Yeah, she is. I'll probably get a hold of her in a few days. I was just thinking about...a bunch of stuff."

"How're you feeling this morning?"

"A little sore yet. Real tired." Blair smiled. "Extremely hungry."

"I'll fix us a big breakfast while you rest a while, huh?"

"Jim...thanks for everything...last night."

"No thanks necessary, Chief."

"You could have shoved me into the emergency room and been done with me for the night. And Simon had to be pissed that I wasn't giving a statement."

"You weren't in any shape to make statements last night. Besides, I can type most of what you've told me into the computer, then we can fill in the gaps together and you can sign it. We'll head downtown after we eat. Plus, I have to take you to the doctor--for the record." Jim paused a few beats. "Why would you think I'd shove you into the emergency room to be done with you?"

"I was half in the bag and I stunk, and that's what procedure dictated."

"Yeah, well, procedure isn't everything." Jim started to shift to get out of bed, but stopped when Blair grabbed his arm.

"Thanks for staying with me last night."

"No problem, Chief. I was so wiped out I could have crashed anywhere and passed out." Jim finished getting up and tucked the blankets back around Blair. "Rest while I make breakfast. I'll bring it in to you."

"You don't have--"

"I know I don't have to do anything. Just relax." Jim patted a blanketed shoulder and made his way first to the bathroom, then, grabbing his robe off the back of the door, went to the kitchen to make breakfast.

Continued in part two.