Author's webpage: http://www.squidge.org/~theforest/legion/legion.html

Author's disclaimer: Go away if under 18; not my toys much as I wish. No money, which is a pity cause I really need some

NOTES:

One of the dangers a fanfic author runs into writing for a show still filming episodes, is, that any given week, any story she's working on or those written to that point, can be blown out of the water by series canon. <G> In fact, we're all pretty much doomed to have anything written those first years become AU, as the characters grow and the plots, so to speak, thicken.

For that reason, I pretty much abandoned my Final Exam series at the start of third season, though I still had several plot bunnies bouncing around. But with no way to reconcile the Jim and Blair of my universe with the ones on the screen, and with so many other, younger, equally attractive fits-the-canon bunnies vying for my attention, I let older ones retire gracefully to the back of my head.

Then I recently met Maig in person for the first time, and she persuaded? nagged? coaxed? me into finding them where they were lost in the morass of my mind, telling me that there were just so many more lessons left to be taught. I have to thank her for that; working on this new chapter has been a satisfying return to a wonderful place where Alex Barnes never got anywhere close to the guppy because he was already well and truly taken. <g> I hereby cheerfully dedicate Advanced Studies to her, and hope she finds it as satisfying. Especially since I con...er, persuaded her to beta for me!

Hopefully, though this is part of a series, all you need to know to enjoy this story is that J/B share a low-level psychic bond, enough to let them be hyper aware of each other. It intensifies with proximity, to the point where if one is injured, the strength of both is used for healing, as long as they can touch. Oh, and it's Dr. Sandburg; Blair wrote a watered-down dissertation, hardly touching on Jim-as-a-sentinel at all, using him instead more as arch-type than as an example.

Addendum: For those of you who are interested in such things, Advanced Studies was inspired by the theme to an long defunct TV program called Twin Peaks, "Fire Walk With Me." It's an instrumental piece, but when I heard it again for the first time in some years, I could just see J/B making love with that music in the background. Don't ask me why; the muse didn't tell me!

ADVANCED STUDIES - part one

There are parties and there are parties, and the one shaking down the house on a normally quiet suburban street was one that would go down in history as the party for that year's graduating high school seniors. In the lowest level of the split ranch where there was a rec room with a state-of-the-art sound system, teens gyrated and pulsed in time to music, taking an occasional detour to lighten the terrible burden of the snack tables at one side. Special strobe and black lighting had been provided for the occasion, giving the room a club feel that made walking up the stairs into the kitchen startling to anyone immersed in the jubilant mood of the party.

It was loud, happy, crowded, and the neighbors would have been calling the police to complain if it weren't for two simple things. First, the homeowner had foreseen something of the kind, and had invited everyone within potential earshot to the party. Second, most of the PD was already at the house in its upper level, celebrating the graduation of an honorary member of their own. The off-duty police officers put up with the racket below because they weren't being that quiet themselves. The main difference was the type of music, and the lighting. Cops, as a whole, prefer to be able to see well and made do with ordinary track lights. But they were making their own serious inroads to the huge amounts of food available and adding to the general noise level with conversation well mixed with laughter.

Jim watched Daryl Banks bounce back and forth between the two parts of the house dragging people from one to the other in gleeful disregard of whether the disparate groups wanted to mix. Snorting into his beer as Joel became his latest target, Jim drifted along the back wall of the living room, thinking that it was a tribute to how well-liked Simon's son was that he was getting away with it. And to Blair for how subtly he was making sure Daryl did.

Spotting his lover talking to a young officer who recently took the detective's test, Jim unabashedly eavesdropped, picking up, "...course Daryl wants to do the Academy now, but his dad wants him to do the college thing first. Which way is better do you think?"

Leaving Blair to his victim, Jim continued his circuit, his goal being the love chair tucked into the corner nearest the open patio doors. While the teens were being treated to frozen non-alcoholic acquires and margaritas, the adults were indulging in beer or wine, and he had had enough to be pleasantly buzzed. Not drunk, but not completely sober either, he wanted to slump someplace and enjoy not having tight shoulder and neck muscles. It was rare for him to be in that state and there was no reason not to enjoy it while he could.

Eventually, after stopping several times to exchange a word or two with various people, including a Simon who was positively glowing with pride for his offspring, he made it and plopped down sideways on one end as Blair plopped on the other. Grinning, Jim leaned his head on his hand, propping his arm on the back of the chair, and admired his mate.

Lit up by the party, Blair was dancing in his seat to some internal rhythm that just happened to match the beat of the music around him, making his curls fly around in a way that begged for Jim to catch and tame a few. Flushed a bit by the beer he'd been drinking and by the accumulated heat of the crowd, he looked wanton and willing, sapphire eyes bright with that very promise. The warmth of the room had coaxed him into taking off the majority of his layers, leaving only a blue T-shirt covering a well-made body, accenting the wide shoulders and sturdy chest.

Looking at him made Jim want to pull him close and kiss him until he was desperate to be loved.

But they had tacitly agreed on a 'don't tell unless asked nicely' policy at the department, so all Jim did was stare at his lover, knowing he was wearing a goofy-in-love expression and not giving a damn despite being more or less in the closet. Let them wonder. Daringly he did play with the gold bracelet on Blair's left arm where it stretched along the back of the couch, sensitive fingers finding the hidden catch that he had locked with a kiss the day he placed it. The cuff of his shirt hid his matching chain, and his smile widened when Blair's eyes traced where it should be, smugness mixing delightfully with growing desire in his features.

His need rose to match it, and Jim had to lift a knee to the seat to give his growing erection room. Blair moved at the same time to do the same thing, and he licked his lips, his gaze finding Jim's by habit, or maybe by instinct, as he did. Everything about him - posture, scent, expression - proclaimed that he was eager for Jim, eager to be taken, used, loved. Time and place didn't matter; he would offer himself up here and now if that was what his lover wished.

For all that he wanted to take Blair and satisfy them both, Jim was in no hurry. The heat in him was languid, rolling loosely through his gut, not searing but melting. He wanted to touch first, take his time and savor the special textures that made up Blair. Throat first, he decided. Fingers spread wide over the long column of neck, thumb traveling over jaw and cheek. Massage a little, make sure no tension lingered there. Up into the curls after that, to knead cautiously at the precious bone that sheltered that rare mind.

After that.... He shifted restlessly in his seat, imagining no shirt to prevent his fingers from stroking bare skin, dimly aware of the party around them and trying to restrict himself to pure mental pleasures. It was a challenge; Blair's breath was coming faster, as was his heartbeat. Somehow he was following Jim's fantasy touch, responding to it as if it were real. Jim didn't know if it was being read from eyes caressing where hands longed to be, or if their connection put them so in tune that Blair could tell from experience alone.

Either way, Jim didn't hesitate to continue building his image of his mate standing in front of him naked and aroused, waiting for the next delicate sweep from his hands. Thinking of how wonderful it felt to have him close, Jim fitted them back to front, so that he could savor the slight tickle of hair on his bare chest while he slowly glided his palms over the slight swell of muscle and taut line of bone and tendon in arms, thighs, hips, wherever he could reach. That made Blair tremble, weakening his knees so that he put more of his weight on his lover, letting his head fall back onto the shoulder waiting for him. As a reward, Jim skimmed over the erection standing out so proudly from the pliant body, doing so barely enough for it to be felt. Such a fleeting touch made Blair chase after more, thrusting forward and sighing, and the movement brought Jim's hard-on snugly between the firm mounds of the his mate's backside.

They cried out together softly at that, and Jim pressed into the welcoming flesh, suddenly longing to possess the opening hidden there. A nudge told his lover to bend over, and he adjusted his position, holding onto Blair's hips for leverage. Dropping a kiss on the back of the neck first, then nibbling at a shoulder blade, he probed with his erection, skating over the portal once, pulling a moan from them.

Focused intently on the body-heat holding him, hands tingling and humming from the life coursing under them, he shook off a persistent noise, literally moving his head to negate it. Then large palms captured both sides of his face, turning him forcibly, and Jim blinked into the worried face of Simon Banks.

"Dammit, Jim!" the big man whispered frantically, "This is no place to zone. Come on, snap out of it!"

Jerking back, automatically checking to see if his state had been noticed, Jim was relieved to see that the party had gone on oblivious to the two men sitting in the corner. The angle of the love-seat had hidden them from the shoulders down, concealing their arousal, and the general shuffling and mingling of people had prevented anyone from becoming aware of how long he and Blair had sat staring into each other's eyes.

That done, he glanced back to his partner, intending to ask why he hadn't pulled him from the zone. But Blair was blank-faced, eyes fixed on some distant spot, unaware of either him or Simon standing next to them. Gently Jim cupped his lover's cheek and softly said, "Chief?"

"Since when does Sandburg zone with you?" Banks asked, the words a mixture of confusion and irritation.

"He's not zoning," Jim answered absently, and patted Blair's face, trying only to jar him a bit. Not wanting to explain that what they had been doing, he improvised, "Just too much to drink and not enough sleep, I think. Come on, time to go home, partner."

Blinking once languorously, Blair snapped back to the here and now, eyes and scent rich with desire. "Yes," he murmured. "It is."

"Call us a cab, Simon?" Jim asked, looking up at their friend.

"You can spend the night here," the captain offered so quickly Jim had to wonder if he thought his best team was drunk.

"No we can't," Blair contradicted softly.

Looking ready to argue, Simon nodded reluctant agreement at their stubborn expressions and left to find the phone, looking back over his shoulder at them until he was out of sight. As soon as he was, Jim stood, grateful his shirt was long enough to cover his groin. Despite the abrupt return to reality, he was still rampant, aching for completion. Self-consciously he turned his back to the room to adjust himself in his pants, not surprised to see Blair do the same.

They quickly circulated through the party, making their good-byes, and trying not to be too obvious they were dying to get away. It seemed to take forever, and their urgency barely faded to tolerable levels during the task. But eventually they were in the back of the cab, on the way home, sitting close with Blair's head on Jim's shoulder, opinion of the cabbie be damned. Once they arrived, he threw some bills at the woman, pretending not to see her knowing smirk, and followed his lover into their home and up to their bed.

They had barely spoken to each other the entire time it had taken to get to the loft, not feeling the need to talk, but they had never been more than a molecule apart either. Once upstairs, they silently undressed, unable to watch for fear of being pushed over the edge before they had a chance to touch. As soon as he was naked, Blair turned and bent from the waist, bracing his hands on the bed.

It was precisely how Jim had envisioned it, and he was behind him in a heartbeat, entering the willing body with a single smooth thrust. Shouting at the instantaneous surge of pleasure, feeling Blair's rapidly approaching finish throbbing through where they were joined, he withdrew completely, then slammed back in as deeply as he could.

"Yes, yes, just like that, again, again, again," Blair groaned, his wide-legged stance preventing him from doing more than begging. "Again!"

There was no way Jim could refuse him, and he willingly did as demanded. As he hammered hard into Blair, he grunted, "Good, so good, gotta come, babe, gotta...."

With a keening wail, Blair shot, writhing as best he could into the serious pounding he was taking, pulling Jim along with him into ecstasy. Shoving in until he could feel bones digging into his groin, he surrendered his seed into his mate, wordlessly shouting and shaking from the release.

Somehow he managed to stay on his feet until the last drop had found its way home, then he slipped away to collapse on the mattress next to his lover. They tangled together, belly to belly and nose to nose, and fell asleep instantly with no thought but holding each other.

When they woke the next morning, all Jim really remembered about the night before was how needy and ready they had both been, and that he'd zoned on touch at Daryl's party. It wasn't until nearly a month later that Simon's comment about Blair zoning with him came back to haunt him.

On a quiet Saturday evening, he sat on the couch, watching a game on the tube while Blair worked on one of the many professional papers that seemed to flow endlessly from his fertile mind. To be truthful, Jim wasn't paying much attention to the game which was beginning its third quarter; instead he was indulging in one of his favorite past times....admiring his lover.

It was very easy to do. Whether fully dressed or scurrying about in a towel, Blair was a feast for the eyes. Today he sat comfortably in his chair, fingers flying over the keys of his laptop, pausing occasionally to tug at the stray curls floating free of those pulled into a ponytail. Those same digits would tap at full lips thoughtfully, encouraging Jim to lick his own in fond remembrance of how tasty both were. Blair would pick up a pen and bite at the end, jotting comments on the notes he was using to write, then set it aside for another flurry of key strokes. At times, he would remove his glasses and nibble on them while re-reading what was on the screen or set them aside while he sipped on a cup of herbal tea, still staring at the laptop.

Blair, Jim had decided long ago, was very, very oral.

Stirring restlessly, his maleness giving him a pointed twinge to remind him of exactly how oral he was, Jim wondered if maybe it wasn't time to divert his lover into something a bit more ... recreational. Erection growing to full length at the thought of what he wanted, he turned so that he was half laying on the couch, one foot on the floor and the other tucked up against his bottom. This not only gave the weight between his thighs room, but also drew the fabric of his sweats tight over it, blatantly calling attention to his state.

It would take more than that to lure Blair out of his writing, but it was a good start, and he added to the bait by touching his hard-on lightly through his clothes. Sighing in pleasure, his eyelids drifted halfway down so that he could watch his lover's reaction from under lowered lashes. Blair heard that soft sound, at least on some level; he squirmed in his chair, and Jim caught a whiff of desire on the slight air current caused by it.

That inspired him to fondle himself more firmly, using both hands to heighten his response. It was good, very good, and he sighed again, louder this time. Blair definitely heard that; he gave a sidelong glance that turned into a take that would have been comical if Jim hadn't been so caught up in the sensuality of what he was doing. Gaze flicking back and forth between busy hands and his lover's expression, Blair unthinkingly covered his own erection with a hand, giving himself a little squeeze.

With a breathy 'oh', Jim pressed up hard into his grip, then frantically shoved his pants out of the way to be able to jack himself properly. Hips lifting involuntarily into the motion of his hand, he caught Blair's eyes with his own, head reeling under the sexual charge that burned from them into his. It sizzled over his nerves, like a tangible touch from his lover's knowledgeable hands, increasing his pleasure and turning his hold on himself nearly brutal. Blair liked that, liked it a lot, and Jim's hard-on jumped hungrily, as if it wanted to cross the space between the lovers and find its counterpart.

That too reverberated between them, sending them higher into their shared pleasure, taking them closer to the culmination their bodies demanded.

Then a burst of angry voices, shrill and promising violence, pricked Jim's dazed mind, and warrior instincts made him jerk his head toward the source, breaking his union with his mate. On the TV, a fight was breaking out between the players of both teams, despite the best efforts of the referees. He was about to dismiss it and go back to finish what he had started, but the time clock in the lower corner flashed, catching his attention.

The game was in overtime; he had lost nearly the entire half to the foreplay he had been sharing with Blair. It hadn't felt like it had been that long; in fact, his body was insisting that they had just started. Stomach sinking, he recognized the signs of a major zone, though for the life of him the only thing that he could think of that he could have been lost in was sexual arousal. Worse still, it seemed Blair it had been lost in it with him.

Carefully he peeked over at his lover; Blair had gone back to working on his paper, apparently not noticing that he'd been interrupted for more than a minute. Only the hand in his lap, absently massaging the diminishing bulge there, gave any sign of the arousal that had been burning moments earlier.

Apparently Jim had been the only one really turned on and he had dragged Blair along with him, using their connection to do so.

That made him uneasy for reasons he couldn't put his finger on. Usually he was the one who effortlessly dealt with the strange twists and turns that came from their unique bond, mostly because Jim associated it with his senses. To him, one was part of the other, and if he accepted either, he accepted both. It had had always been Blair who had balked, though not even he could explain precisely why. That had struck Jim as strange more than once, given that his partner was the one who believed such things as psychic abilities were possible.

Arousal totally gone, he put both feet on the floor and thought fast and furiously about what had just happened. Today wasn't the first time, he realized. Remembering the intense fantasy he had spun at Daryl's party, he recognized it for the shared zone it was, though at the time he had blamed it on drink and an exceptionally good mood. And he didn't think Blair had been aware of their mutual zone out then, either. A defense mechanism to allow him to cope with the mental invasion? Denial?

With another sickening lurch in his gut, Jim pushed that idea away. It sounded as if he had given his lover no choice but to participate. They had both simply been caught off guard by a new facet of their relationship. Now that he knew it could happen, he'd watch out for it. He didn't even need to bother Blair with it and give him a new reason to freak out. His partner had enough on his mind between the university and the department, not to mention the various other projects he was always volunteering for.

Matter resolved in his own head, Jim pushed the whole thing away, dismissing his uneasiness as leftover horniness.

Cruising slowly down the street of the Tarryton Family Complex, Jim peered through the sun-glazed glass of his truck, not sure what he was looking for but certain he would know it if he saw it. There wasn't much to see, yet. This early on a summer day there weren't that many people around, though he was sure that would change later. The Complex was a favored place for young people and families since its shops and businesses were all geared toward fun and recreation.

Pausing in an alley between the paintball arena and far end of the batting cages, he listened for a minute, scanning through what he heard. There was nothing out of the ordinary that might indicate the vandals harrying the stores were around. Normally destruction of property wasn't a Major Crimes kind of case, but an unusual lull in the work load in that department had made Simon willing to shake loose one of his detectives when his friend Captain Carter had asked.

Jim had volunteered, partly out of boredom and partly because it gave him an excuse to be out. Though Blair hated it when Jim went on calls without him, this one seemed harmless enough, unlikely to turn into anything that would call for their special partnership. Besides, he would be able to run over to the university after he was done for a quick visit.

His partner was teaching two summer classes, building up administrative goodwill for those times the demands of the police department interfered with his school responsibilities. Since Blair wouldn't do expeditions right now, he had to have some way to build up his cache, and he took on half the unwanted jobs in the Anthropology department because of it. Jim missed having him ride with him, especially lately when he couldn't seem to get enough of his lover's presence.

Noting the limo pulling up behind the paintball store, Jim put aside personal issues, and watched as it parked near the back door. Limos in a family oriented recreation center was odd enough; the rider sneaking in the back way was worth paying attention to. The moment the bodyguard stepped out to open the door for the passenger, Jim knew who would step out: Elliot Tarryton, owner of the Complex proper. Gregor Haurer, the bodyguard and corporate security chief, had been known to Jim by reputation before he went into the personal security business. He had been one of the few CIA spooks that Rangers spoke of with respect, and the ex-military personnel grapevine had been eager share the news that he'd retired to Cascade.

Haurer scanned up and down the alleyway before opening the door, probably not seeing him because of where Jim had parked and because of the morning light in his eyes. Satisfied that no trouble was waiting, he let Tarryton out, but neither of them made a move to enter the building. Instead a tall, beefy man with fair hair badly in need of a wash stepped out, looking sour and argumentative.

Interest piqued, Jim concentrated on the meeting, piggybacking sight and sound so that it seemed he stood right beside the others.

"....contract says by midnight on the first of the month, and by damn, you won't get it a minute sooner," the blond said. To Jim he sounded snotty, ready to fight.

"So you insist on keeping my staff waiting for you every month because of the legal technilese in your lease," Tarryton said mildly. "You're keeping hard working men and women from their home and dinner because you begrudge me - and I'm not even the one being inconvenienced."

His tone implied that the shopkeeper was the worst kind of insensitive asshole there was and the other man flushed angrily. "I'm sure you pay them well enough."

"True, but this isn't the kind of business relationship that is conducive to success for either of us, Mr. Hayes. If you have some sort of personal vendetta with me, I wish you would simply be up front with it and stop the petty grievances you're always throwing at me."

The tone stayed reasonable, but Hayes grew angrier. "Maybe I just hate having to do business with your kind at all!"

Haurer stiffened, and Jim reflexively put his hand on his gun. But all Tarryton did was shrug with both hands. "In that case, when your lease comes due, I won't be looking for a renewal from you. I'm sure you'll find plenty of buildings with as much square footage and acreage as this one, and in an equally ideal location. Possibly even for the same rent that I charge."

Yeah, right, Jim thought to himself. Paintball games took lots of room, and anywhere but in this patch of property between suburbia, the city proper, and the industrial sections, the rent would be premium.

"It's not right," Hayes blurted out. "Decent man having to scrape to get by when you have money, power, influence. Tell me, how much of your shoddy empire did you earn on your knees in filthy bathrooms or dark doorways?"

A discrete shift backwards that Jim wasn't sure he saw at first held Haurer in place, and Tarryton lost his reasonable stance. "And how far has your blind prejudice taken you, Mr. Hayes? Has hatred made your life any easier at all?" With an air of dismissal he turned to his car. "I'll instruct the night watchman to take your check or cash from now on out. As he is a legitimate member of my staff, and therefore my representative, legally he is as good as my personal secretary. If you refuse to do so, you will be in violation, and I will have you evicted, Sir."

Without looking back, Tarryton got in his limo, Haurer hovering protectively between him and the shopkeeper. Letting his eyes speak for him all the while, he walked around to get in on the other side, telling Hayes exactly what he thought of him.

Once the door was shut, Jim switched his attention completely to the blond, not particularly surprised at the hatred he saw there. He knew the type far too well, and had had his share of run-ins with them since he and Blair had become a couple. Hayes didn't look defeated, however, only more determined and Jim leaned forward as if that would let him see what alternative plan the man had to deal with his landlord.

In the half-opened doorway next to Hayes, Jim saw a flash of movement and focused on it. A man was just inside the threshold, the darkness hiding most of his features. Saying something to Hayes, he gestured with his hands, which were holding... holding what? Trying to bring the object into focus, Jim zoned on the hint of metal and shine, trying futilely to resolve it into something recognizable.

"Jim!" Blair's voice, sounding strong and worried in his ear, jarred him back to normal just as click of a rifle's trigger being pulled hit his awareness. Without thinking he slammed the truck into reverse, backing it out of the alleyway, tires squealing. For one second he thought about roaring around the perimeter of the building, in hopes of locating the weapon and shooter, but he put the Ford in gear and sped off for the University.

There was no question in his mind that he had to get there, now!

Lights and siren going, he pulled up to Hargrove Building a record time later, his hearing searching out the distinctive melange of sounds that made up Blair's aural signature. Using that to guide him, noting that heartbeat was slow and breathing was ragged, Jim charged through the hallways until he came to the lecture hall, bursting through the doors to find his lover collapsed next to the lectern and surrounded by students.

None too gently pushing his way through the crowd, he barked, "What happened?" Kneeling beside Blair, he eased his limp form onto his lap, tilting his head a little to keep the blood flowing from his nose from going down his throat instead. Fingers sure and capable, he checked the pulse, surprised to find it steady but not surprised at the surge of sensation through their connection at the contact. Blair's breathing steadied as well, at that, the fact that he wasn't half choking on blood any longer helping considerably.

Several voices whispered to each other that he was the cop Dr. Sandburg worked with sometimes, and one of those volunteered. "Man, I don't know. One minute he's talking about standards of observation, the next he's staring into space like he's stoned on something. That lasts long enough for everybody to start wondering if he's going to start babblin' about seeing god or aliens or something, then he kinda just, well, crumples. No bones, you know?"

"Anybody call an ambulance?" Jim brushed aside the hair that had fallen over Blair's face, then took out his handkerchief to hold against a seeping nostril.

"911 said it should be on its way," a new voice spoke up. "Is he going to be okay?"

She sounded genuinely worried, and Jim said honestly, "I don't know. Vitals are good, though." Bending closer, he whispered, "Chief? Hey, you're scaring me here." Though he used a joking tone, it cracked around the edges, despite his best effort at control. "Blair?"

With a jerk, Blair's eyes flew open, and he tried to sit up, hands going up to grab Jim's shirt at the collar. "Jim!"

"Shh, it's okay, it's okay." A bustle behind him told him that the paramedics had arrived and he tightened his hold on his partner to prevent them from taking Blair away. "Relax, take it easy a minute. You passed out and the EMT's want to check you out, okay?"

Wide-eyed, clearly confused, Blair nodded his agreement, sinking into Jim's arms as if he feared being removed from them, as well. He didn't fight the oxygen mask placed over his face, and answered the questions the medics shot at him as best he could, all the while protesting he felt fine.

Despite that, it was decided to take him to the hospital, mostly because the bleeding didn't stop and Jim was worried about it. Blair spent the trip there bitching at him at sentinel level for excessive caution. Taking advantage of the paramedic's cluelessness, he got more and more creative with his complaints, wringing grins and even the occasional snort of laughter from Jim, earning them both weird looks from the attendants.

At the hospital, though, all traces of humor died, and Jim stood by the windows at the entrance, staring blindly out them. He'd relinquished his grip on his partner only because he didn't want to start a fight with the staff unless it was necessary, and because he knew he could keep tabs on Blair with his hearing. Then, too, recovered fully from his scare, his lover was fighting against being hovered over, preferring to deal with the doctors on his own, as usual.

There was no one thing in particular on Jim's mind as he waited; too many sensory impressions and half-formed thoughts chased through his head to allow coherent thought. But the times Blair had collapsed because Jim had been injured or ill, blood flowing freely each occasion, came to the forefront over and over. His lover had brushed it off each time, blaming it on the newness of their connection. But the bond wasn't that new, and the reaction was getting worse. Add to that the shared zones, and Jim was more uncertain about his senses and the consequences of having them than he had been since just before Incacha's death.

A whirl of scent and sensation touched his awareness; without moving he asked dryly, "Simon, do you tip the E.R. registration clerks to call you when one of us comes in or do you have a crystal ball?"

Cigar not burning, but still in hand, Banks answered, "I think they do it out of self-defense, to keep you or Sandburg from being too much trouble. What is it this time? One of your cases popping up unexpectedly, or his knack for finding trouble?"

"Actually, I think I might be the problem," Jim said honestly, startling himself. A moment later he mentally shrugged. Simon was the one person besides his partner who knew about the sentinel thing and who might be able to help him understand what was happening. "I was checking out the Complex, like you asked me to, and zoned trying to see something. Then Blair's voice yanked me out of it just in time to avoid getting shot." Lowering his head, he admitted, "I didn't hang around to find who was pulling the trigger; knew I had to get to Blair."

"God, Jim," Banks said tiredly, rubbing at his eyes under his glasses.

Arms crossed over his chest, he finally turned to face his friend. "He was out cold, bleeding from the nose. Doctors are saying things like seizure and tumor where he can't hear them, but I can. Not that they're close to right; I think it happened because he knew I was in danger and warned me."

Sitting heavily, Simon confessed, "I've wondered more than once what price the two of you pay for your closeness."

"Why is Blair carrying the burden of it?" Jim snapped. "I don't black out or anything; I just know that I have to go to him."

Consideringly Banks said, "From what Sandburg tells me, your senses are a genetic thing. You're literally made to do the things you do. But Blair is just another man who happened to find a sentinel and start working with him. Maybe for a normal person the, uh, thing, the two of you share is harder, less natural."

That hit Jim hard. Clenching his teeth until his jaw throbbed, he managed to hide the pain and say blandly, "Then because of me he's being pushed into being something he's not?"

"Jim," Simon said very gently, "Until the two of you got together, Blair was the straightest man I knew. If he could make the huge change to being your lover, is it really such a reach that he could be changed in other ways?"

Feeling the color drain from his face, Jim asked quietly, "He doesn't love me because I'm a sentinel, Simon."

"I didn't say that he does!" he denied hastily. "You have to know me better than to think I'd insult the both of you like that. I'm just saying that the senses are part and parcel of who you are, and like being a cop, it makes a difference in the people closest to you."

It made sense, too much sense for Jim's taste, and he sat tiredly next to the other man, putting his face in his hands. "So what do I do? It's too late to go back to being the way I was; I'm not sure I could without driving myself insane."

Simon didn't have anything to say to that, and Jim sorted through everything he'd learned about his gifts, trying to find an answer for himself. Finally the captain offered doubtfully, "You learned to control the sentinel thing. Couldn't you, I don't know, treat the connection like another kind of sense to be controlled? They call psychic abilities the sixth sense - it doesn't seem like much a stretch that you could handle one the same way you handle the other."

Desperate for a solution that would allow him to protect Blair, Jim considered what was being suggested, trying the idea on and looking at it from differing angles. In the distance he could hear his partner outrageously bullshitting a doctor with a tale of not eating for several days, getting dizzy, and trying to use a method taught to him by a shaman in Indonesia to control it. Convincing the man against his better judgement it seemed, the doctor allowed Blair go without any further testing, and Jim had no doubt the same tale would be used later to pacify the authorities at the University, as well. The conversation was accompanied by the sounds of clothes being pulled over skin, and he stood.

"Blair's on the way out. Look, I'll think about it, maybe see what I can do. But don't mention it to him, okay? At the very least we'd have a world class fight over me cutting off something he considers damned useful, if not absolutely essential to the upkeep and maintenance of a sentinel."

"Not to mention the same as gouging out your eyes," Simon agreed, standing as well. "And I'm not so sure he wouldn't be right. Jim, this might have been my idea, but don't do anything without talking to him.

"Better blind than hurting Blair," Jim muttered, then hastily changed the subject since his partner was nearly on them. "About the Tarryton Complex.... I'd like to stay in the loop on that. No matter how hard I try I can't pinpoint what I saw, and it doesn't make sense that someone would try to shoot me when all I was doing was sitting there. Unless he made me as someone he has a personal grudge against, but from that distance he shouldn't have been able to tell who I was. "

"No problem, as long as it doesn't interfere with your other cases," Simon agreed.

Crashing through the double doors that separated the waiting area from the exam room, Blair said cheerfully, "Get me out of here before they find another reason to stick me with a needle! I'm a pint short already! Hey, Simon! What're you doing here? Visiting Wayne?"

Simon smiled at the mention of his friend Wayne Chen who was on the physician's staff at Cascade General, who he met thanks to Jim and Blair. "He says hello, as a matter of fact. And since I'm here, need a ride?"

"Thanks. I've got just enough time to get to my next class." Blair led the way out, pulling at his bloodstained shirt. "And change. I think I've got a T-shirt I can pull on until I get home."

"Don't you think you should go home and rest?" Jim asked sharply.

"Why? Like I told the doctor, I feel great! Energized!" Pausing, he spun in place and grinned at the two men with him. "So what happened, man? What kind of trouble were in you that I picked up on?"

Grimacing, he filled his partner in on his trip to Tarryton's, shoving the rest of it away until later.

That night, holding his sleeping lover close and nosing gently through the curls spilling over his shoulder and chest, Jim replayed his conversation with Simon, giving what he said careful thought. Much as he hated to admit it, his friend had a point. If the connection was linked to his senses - and in his own mind, at least, they were - then he should be able to 'dial it down' to a level that didn't endanger Blair. Make it one-way, maybe, so that he could still keep tabs on his partner.

He tried envisioning a dial labeled 'Blair' but couldn't; what they shared was too all encompassing for the limited up/down range of any dial. Besides, his awareness of Blair included all his senses; it always had, and they constantly fed him input about his lover. That gave Jim an idea, and he idly skimmed a hand over his lover's back while he thought.

From the first he had been more 'aware' of Blair than he ever had been of any person. He had learned his scent and all its variations before they had become friends, really. Sound was the same way; he only noticed 'blairnoise' when it was missing now, it was such a part of him. And he had always touched the younger man far, far more than he ever had anyone, including his ex-wife.

If the bond was in part because of the senses, then withdrawing them, limiting the sensory knowledge he had of his partner, might curtail the connection as well. It seemed very possible, and, more importantly, he was fairly sure he could confine what he picked up to what any other person would know about another. After all, he knew what 'normal' felt like even if it was a thing of the past.

As if hearing Jim's troubled thoughts, Blair wiggled restlessly, mumbling indistinctly.

That made Jim ask himself what his lover would do when he found out what he was attempting. Hit the roof, probably. Simon had hit the nail on the head when he compared it to blinding himself; Blair wouldn't be that nice about it. He'd be horrified that Jim would ever consider voluntarily stifling or hiding part of himself, especially for his sake. And he'd be insulted and angry that Jim would want to make a choice like that for him. It didn't take sentinel hearing to imagine him saying scathingly, "If I don't have a problem with an occasional nose bleed, who the hell are you to bitch?"

Though he could marshal his arguments, rehearse them in his head until he could rattle them off as fast as Blair could argue, Jim knew he didn't have a chance of convincing his lover that blocking their connection was the right thing to do. It had been too hard, too traumatic for Blair to accept it in the first place. Beside, he hated fighting with him. It left him feeling as if he were caught in an earthquake; the whole world was uncertain underfoot.

He would have to just do it, and do it carefully enough that his partner wouldn't pick up on what was going on until was a done deal. That meant making damned sure that whatever side effects that came up stayed hidden, completely. If he got irritable from lack of Blair, he couldn't show it, or five minutes after he snapped at someone, his lover would find out and be quizzing him about what was wrong. Or if the senses misbehaved - and by now he was too experienced with how they could mess with him not to think it wouldn't happen - Jim would have to either hide it or come up with an alternative cause.

For a moment the idea of cutting his mate out of his life in any way ripped at Jim, making him tighten his loose hold on the lax form. Responding with a sleepy squeeze of his own, Blair snuggled closer, trying to comfort even while deeply under. That hardened Jim's resolve, and he pressed his lips to the broad forehead, closing his eyes to better cherish the taste/smell/feel. Then he carefully rolled away, turning his back to his lover, and set about fighting with his senses.

Long hours later he finally succeeded in caging them, at least where Blair was concerned. Though he could hear the driver of a car on his street cursing drunkenly about getting a ticket, the only thing he heard from his bedmate was a plainly audible breathy snore. No heartbeat, no bodily noises. It was the same for all his senses, so that there was sort of a blind spot where his partner should be, and Jim hated it. Being blindfolded, gagged, and wrapped in plastic wrap couldn't possibly be more miserable than being closed away from the source of his life.

Exhausted with his internal battle, he dropped off, only to dream of a panther trapped in a glass cage, snarling and scrabbling to get out, while a wolf howled mournfully in the distance.

Heart in his throat, lungs working over time, Blair sat bolt upright in the bed, sleep gone but night blanketing his vision so that for a moment he didn't know where he was. Then the faint light from the skylight created the familiar shadows of their bedroom, and he swiped his hair away from his face, wondering what had awakened him. Automatically he sought out his lover, forehead wrinkling in confusion when he found Jim laying on the very edge of the bed, facing away.

//Must have gotten too warm for him,// he thought muzzily, his own cooling sweat making him shiver. Blankly he looked around again, wondering what could possibly kick him out of sleep but leave his sentinel undisturbed. Finding nothing, he tried to remember what he'd been dreaming, but all he could find was a vague impression of terror with no specific images to go with it.

At last, shrugging to himself, he crept over to huddle up against the broad back of his lover, throwing an arm over Jim's waist as he did. Thankfully sleep was, for once, close enough that with luck he could drop back off and save himself from sitting in the darkness, unable to rest and revisiting old nightmares until dawn came. But even as he slipped into the comfort of both slumber and the presence of his mate, a feeling of dread lingered at the edge of his mind.

It was still with him when the alarm went off the next morning, but it was quickly buried under the rush to have breakfast, get ready for work, and the million other details that ate up the hours. At odd times throughout the day, though, it would dart through his mind, unsettling him and making him check and double check everything around him in a futile search for a source. It grew so annoying that he called up Jim, just to ask what was going on at the station, but he only succeeded in worrying his partner.

Finally he threw his office work into his pack, determined to go home and meditate, at least until he had the freewheeling anxiety cornered, if not defined. A knock on the door to his office didn't so much as put a pause in his stuffing of papers; whoever or whatever could talk to him on the fly. When the dean of Anthropology, Scott Latham, and Dr. Stoddard walked in at his cheery 'come in,' Jim trailing them, laughing at some remark, his hand stopped mid-flight.

"Whatever it is, I didn't do it, it wasn't my fault, I wasn't even there," he said facetiously, eyeing the three men suspiciously.

"Relax, Sandburg," Jim grinned. "We're not ganging up on you; I happened to run into these gentlemen on the way."

"Why does that not reassure me?" Blair mock-grumbled. He waved at the chairs in front of his desk, then perched on the edge of it.

"Want me to make myself scarce?" Jim asked Dr. Stoddard politely.

"Actually, detective, since our proposal would affect Dr. Sandburg's performance at the police department, perhaps you wouldn't mind sitting in? It would also give him a good sounding board for later, when he makes his decision." Dr. Latham looked very pleased with himself, and he settled his not inconsiderable girth comfortably in his chair.

Blair and Jim traded mystified looks, but Jim obligingly wandered to the rear of the office, and poured himself a cup of sludge, making the offer to serve the two older gentlemen with a lift of a cup. They nodded him an approval and he poured, using the spare mugs Blair kept on hand.

Acutely aware of his partner, but more concerned with his guests for the moment, Blair focused on them, and smiled. "Hey, if I'm not in trouble, then to what do I owe the honor?"

Exchanging a shrug, the two men regarded each other, the Stoddard spoke up. "I don't know if you're aware of this, Blair, but you're beginning to get an excellent reputation in our field for your work with Cascade Police Department. The papers that have been the resulting from your consulting are varied in content, extremely insightful, and have been providing a fascinating new look at the whole concept of the 'American melting pot.' If this keeps up you may become an acknowledged expert on American subcultures."

More confused than ever, Blair took his glasses off for an excuse for something to do with his hands. "I didn't know that; in fact, it surprises me. I would think that studying the cultural changes that are happening due to immigration would be common. More sociological than anthropological perhaps, but surely...."

"That may well be the case," Latham interrupted, "But few have the perspective that you have been fortunate enough to acquire. Nothing reveals the strata of human society faster than stress, and police works sees a great deal of the results of that stress up close and personal. At any rate, your studies have been attracting very positive attention."

Holding his distress down to a level where only Jim could sense it, Blair was appalled at the attitude being projected by the other two anthropologists. They seemed to regard the good work he did at the department only as a convenient means for him to further his career in anthropology. Fighting the niggle of conscience that reminded him that he'd been the same once upon a time, he asked with an edge showing in his assumed good humor, "I'm really flattered to learn that, Dr. Stoddard, but I know you didn't come down here into the pits of un-tenured teachers to tell me?"

Jim came around the desk to hand out coffee, not incidentally walking close enough to Blair to give him a reassuring hand on the small of his back on the way back to the coffee pot. It let him wait out the slightly startled silence from his colleagues while they assimilated the abrupt way he had derailed the carefully planned speeches they had in mind to coax/bully him into whatever it was they wanted. And they clearly wanted something they thought he was going to refuse.

Irritation showing only as sitting up straighter and leaning forward authoritatively, Latham said, "I merely wanted you to understand why you were chosen among all the other possible candidates for this really rather unique and potentially prestigious project."

"Project?" Blair protested immediately. "Dr. Latham, I'm already...."

"Hear me out, first, young man!" Latham snapped.

With an effort Blair closed his mouth over the rest, but retreated to his own seat behind the desk to emphasize his unwillingness to co-operate.

Obviously wishing to play conciliator between the other two, Stoddard stood himself and wandered around the room for a moment, looking with apparent interest at some of the artifacts and sipping at his coffee. About the time Blair's patience was ready to give out, he said conversationally, "Do you know who Jason Swett is?"

With a snort, Blair answered, "The only billionaire who gives Donald Trump a running for the title of World's Most Conspicuous Consumer."

That earned him a chuckle, and the tension in the room lessened considerably. "For all his flamboyance," Stoddard said, "He's done good charitable works. Granted, he does milk them for all the publicity they're worth, but he does give, and give generously."

Going back to his chair, he seated himself again, then went on. "His current personal crusade is education. More specifically, multicultural education designed to give young people a better understanding of the differences they might encounter among their peers. Social and ethic tolerance, that sort of thing.

"He's funding a mobile classroom toward that end, funding it very generously, and he personally asked me to assemble the best possible team from around the country to design it, money no object." Stoddard couldn't help preening a bit, but Blair didn't begrudge it to him. A high profile project like this was a professional coupe of the highest order, guaranteeing the participants professional stature for quite a while.

"Congratulations," he said sincerely. "Is he giving you a free hand?" The question was more than idle curiosity. A patron who insisted on over-seeing every detail of how his money was spent was a nightmare all researchers lived in fear of placating.

"Completely." Satisfaction oozed, but again, Blair couldn't blame Stoddard. The whole proposition was sounding more and more like an academic wet dream. "We've already discussed some of the parameters - elementary to middle school level, multi-media, hands-on, adaptable, and, of course, highest priority, mobile. The plan is to have the prototype tour several major cities first, and if the public approval is high enough, duplicate it to be able to reach a larger audience. I think he envisions a fleet of them, but frankly, I'll be happy to have just the one making the rounds. It would still be more than many elementary and middle students are exposed to, and might serve to rejuvenate general awareness of Anthropology."

Against his will, interest seriously piqued, Blair asked curiously, "What disciplines are you planning for the team? At the very least, you'll need a elementary education expert."

"And a child psychologist, a sociologist, a media expert, computer software designer, technical expert for the nuts and bolts of making the whole thing road-worthy, and, of course, an anthropologist to oversee it all," Latham spoke up.

Surprised, Blair asked, "Dr. Stoddard, you're not handling that end?"

"No, I'll be doing the more practical side; budgeting, grants, coordinating the team."

//In other words, doing none of the hard work while reaping all the benefits and making all the final decisions,// Blair thought to himself. The perennial grudge that all new post-docs had about being the bottom man on the research ladder surfaced, but he shoved it away with long practice. It was, after all, an academic tradition older than the caps and gowns used for graduation. Then the shoe dropped for Blair. "Oh, no!" he said, jumping to his feet. "I can't possibly..." he stuttered. "Head it? I'm up to my.... thought you needed a research assistant...lots and lots of more qualified...no time! You know how much I've got on my plate right now!"

"Come now, Blair," Latham said. "It's early in summer session, which is precisely why we're beginning now. Most of the people needed have reduced workloads, or are looking for this sort of endeavor to beef up their credentials and pad their summer salary. Most of what you're doing for us can be shuffled off to TA's or to teachers in more need of, ah, the academic experience than you are. Surely it won't take until the beginning of fall semester to have the first proposal ready."

About to reel off the dozen or so of good reasons that he could legitimately give for not getting involved in such a demanding project, Blair was startled when Jim spoke up suddenly. "Would you gentlemen mind if I have a word with Sandburg before you continue this discussion?"

The other two men shot equally startled looks at his partner; they had forgotten he was in the room. "Really, Detective Ellison," Latham started.

"I promise it will only take a moment," Jim said silkily.

Both Stoddard and Latham looked sour, but Jim ignored them and latched a strong hand around Blair's upper arm. "He'll be right with you," Jim added, practically dragging the smaller man out of the room.

Once they were in the hallway with the door safely closed, Jim pushed Blair gently into the wall and whispered, lips nearly at the smaller man's ear. "Do it, Chief," he unexpectedly urged. "We'll find a way to make the logistics work."

Astounded, mouth open, Blair stared at his lover for a moment, then whispered back, "You want me to commit myself to a job that will eat damn near every minute I can wring out of a day? Or don't you get how massive the scope is on what they want me to do?"

The near-pained look chased over Jim's eyes quickly, telling Blair that his choice of words could have been better. Before he could apologize for implying that Jim was the all brawn stereotype people often treated him as, his partner shot back without a trace of the defensive sarcasm that should have been present, "Look, hear me out, first, okay?" At Blair's willing nod, Jim said, "The job at the department - that's pretty dead end, isn't it? I mean, unless you're thinking of using it to wrangle some political appointment, there's nowhere for you to go as a consultant. Right?"

"Yeah, but that's not the point of what I'm doing and you know it."

"Hang on, you said you'd listen," Jim said seriously. "Career wise, this," and he waved at the hallway, implying not just Hargrove Hall, but academic anthropology itself, "Is what you want to do, make your name in, right?" Not waiting for an answer, he rushed on. "Then you should do what you have to in order to make your mark, Chief. I mean, I'm doing what I want to do, I've got my rep already, know where I could be in 10 or 20 years. But you're just starting, really, and you've got a long way to go to get where you want to go. You shouldn't miss a chance like this because of me."

Blair didn't know what to say to that, though his mind spun with a dozen different things he should say. The thing of it was, Jim was right. He really couldn't afford to turn down an offer like Stoddard's, unless he was willing to never be treated seriously by the profession again. Especially since it was the second time the elderly anthropologist had approached him. The years of labor that he had put into his academic life rose in front of him, and he protested weakly, "I don't want you riding alone, Jim. It could get you killed."

"We both know I'm dealing with the zone out factor pretty well, and there are things I can do to minimize the risk, like doing the leg work only when you're around. I'll even take time off if I have to; god knows I have enough vacation time saved up. Point is, we can work around it; it's not like the project is going to be forever."

With an attempt at dodging the bullet he was beginning to realize he didn't want to miss him, Blair said, "Travel. You heard him; team from all over the country. I'll have to travel for meetings."

That struck a nerve in his partner, he could tell, but Jim went on stubbornly. "With teleconferencing and the Internet, you could probably cut that down to a minimum and get points for cutting costs. But, like I said, I'll take time off if I have to. I really think you should do this."

Knowing his willpower was going down for the third time, Blair feebly tried, "I won't be able to do my share, you'll have to carry me, possibly at the department and definitely around the loft."

"Call it payback for the times you've had to carry me for whatever reason," Jim shot back, totally disregarding the fact that both were in the habit of picking up the slack whenever either was swamped for whatever reason. "At least go in there and listen to them map it out, get an idea of the scope and their expectations. Then if you honestly think we can't do it, fine. But give it a chance."

It was the 'we' that did Blair in. Jim's assumption that it would be 'their' work, even if all he did was provide back up, told him that his partner truly thought this was a good move. Grinning, he surrendered. "You're just trying to find a way to sneak Wonderburgers, aren't you?"

"No, never," Jim denied instantly, eyes dancing with relieved humor. "What makes you think I'm so desperate for Wonderburgers that I would shove you onto a plane and wave goodbye while dialing their take-out?" He pressed in close, his body saying something entirely different from his words. "For a nice, big, thick rare steak smothered in sauted onions and mushrooms, yes. For a mere burger... you're worth more to me than that."

"Wow, a whole steak," Blair chuckled. "I have serious market value then."

"With baked potato, butter and sour cream," Jim admitted. "But you're worth it."

Blair tossed his arms around his lover's waist and gave him a hard hug. "How'd we get off onto food anyway?" he laughed.

On cue Jim's stomach gurgled at them, and he chuckled, "Let me guess; you came over to have dinner with me. Got to go back to the station this evening?"

Reluctantly pulling away, Jim looked at his watch. "No, but I do need to be in early tomorrow. Since I want to go back over to Tarryton's Family Complex and have another look around, why don't we meet at Michaelangelo's in, say, an hour and a half, and celebrate the newest feather in your cap. You can even pay for it to show off your new solvency."

"More like my newest headache," Blair disagreed, "Providing I say yes."

Wrapping long fingers around his wrist and giving it a gentle tug, Jim smiled, then left, tossing back over his shoulder, "You will, Chief

He did. And, much as he was loathe to admit it, even to himself, he loved the unexpected turn his life took. True to his word, Latham dropped most of Blair's workload onto other shoulders, most of whom accepted the burden with a wry grin and congratulations for Blair. It allowed him, at first, to keep things steady at the station, hardly changing his work there with Jim at all.

The biggest change initially was his sleeping habits. As Jim had predicted, teleconferencing, e-mail, and a shared web-site proved the most effective way to communicate during the first weeks of the mobile classroom team coming together, getting acquainted and brainstorming. But since he was the only one on the west coast, the others scattered up and down the east coast with two in mid-America, he adjusted his schedule to make himself available to them first thing in the morning, their time.

It meant he got up at 3 or 4am, did the team conferencing work, had breakfast with Jim, went to the university to do research or teach, have lunch if there was time, go the police department to take care of things there, home if no stake out, then crash about 9pm or so. It played hell with his social life, but at least he worked with his lover, so there was little impact there, he believed.

They found ways to keep their relationship strong. Jim would always come upstairs and hold him until he fell asleep, and Blair would always bring a cup of coffee up when Jim's alarm went off in the morning. Those private moments went a long way toward making him feel loved and cherished, even if all they shared was a sleepy kiss and cuddling. But frequently enough to keep Blair quietly smug, they made love, slow and sensual or hot and heavy, depending on mood, just like always.

It made it easy to ignore the increasingly frequent silences from his mate, and even easier to dismiss the occasional crankiness. After all, there had to be some reaction to the change in their lives.

The only serious blot was the night terrors that would jolt him awake, shaking and close to panic, several times a week. But since they never disturbed his sleeping sentinel, and he always was able to go back to sleep almost immediately, Blair brushed them off, chalking them up to as an alternative to the nightmares some of the cases Major Crimes handled gave him.

That didn't stop him from being nervous to the point of nausea when it came time three weeks later for the first real meeting with the rest of the Mobile Anthropology Classroom team. Though he was comfortable enough with them as people not to have any worries about how well they would work together in the flesh, so to speak, he did not want to leave Jim. No amount of rationalization or reassurances that the ex-soldier/cop/sentinel could certainly take care of himself lifted the heavy rock in his middle that grew as take off time approached.

The conference had been deliberately scheduled over a weekend, to minimize the impact it would have on those team members working other jobs. Not incidentally Jim had a court day on the Friday and Monday off, so there was no reason to think that his partner wold be in any more danger than usual. But he grew more and more agitated, until it precipitated a rousing fight between the two of them as he finished packing. Jim did not appreciate the appearance that his partner didn't trust him to be able to take care of himself, and Blair couldn't give a good explanation for his extreme worry.

The ride to the airport was tense, though they managed to make up after a fashion before it was actually time to leave. It was Jim who tried to make things better between them while they waited for the flight to be called, clumsy and awkward though the effort was. All Blair could do was cling to him, whispering apologies over and over, fighting the fear trying to swamp him.

Amazingly he was able to channel it into a flurry of productiveness that inspired the others at the meeting, to the point they had the first rough draft of their proposal ready by the time he left Monday evening. It didn't last past boarding the flight home; once confined to the aircraft it rose up stronger than ever, taking all his will keep from overwhelming him.

As luck would have it, he sat near the back of the plane, and a woman traveling with an infant and toddler was in front of him. Helping her with the children kept him occupied, but also kept him from disembarking until nearly the last moment. On his way down the ramp, fumbling with his carry on with shaking and sweating hands, he uselessly craned his neck to see over the small group in front of him, desperate for the sight of his lover.

When he was at last through the gate, Blair stood to one side, anxiously scanning through the crowd, heart in throat. Jim was nowhere to be seen. Fire ants scrambled through his mind: his lover couldn't find a parking spot or was delayed by traffic, he'd gotten mixed up on arrival times, an important call came up and Jim had to go into the field, the Mayor was being a pain in the ass and not letting the detectives leave early. As reassuring as all that was supposed to be, none of it did more than crank up his fear.

Jim was too anal to be held up by traffic or misread an arrival time, and if anything else had come up, his lover would have delegated a friend to let Blair know. That left only two possibilities, each totally terrifying. Either Jim was angrier than their parting and daily phone calls had indicated, and was avoiding picking him up on some flimsy excuse or another, or he was hurt, injured in the line of duty and no one knew to pick Blair up.

About the time Blair thought he would simply sit down where he stood and have a full-blown panic attack, the last of the passengers melted away and he saw Jim sitting on one of the chairs at the very edge of the seating area. The sentinel had his head bowed into his hands, his own body tense with what Blair knew was pain. Abandoning his luggage without a thought, he raced over to his lover, calling his name.

At the first sound, Jim's head jerked up, and the most beautiful, heart-breaking smile Blair had ever seen bloomed over his features. Instantly he stood, which was a good thing, because Blair couldn't stop running, couldn't stop himself from slamming into his mate and hanging on for dear life. Too breathless from his rapidly dissolving terror to talk, he could only tremble and hide his face in Jim's shirt while strong arms folded around him.

He didn't know how long they stayed like that, holding on painfully tight and slightly swaying with each other, but an odd motion from Jim finally made Blair pull back just in time to catch his partner glaring at someone belligerently. A quick glance showed him the gate attendant was studiously avoiding looking at them, her mouth twisted in distaste.

And even that wasn't enough to make him let go. Somehow Jim got them in motion, retrieved his bags, and got them into truck, all without once removing the arm snug around Blair's shoulders. Even after he started the engine, they stayed tucked together, uncaring about the lack of seatbelts. It wasn't until they were nearly home that Blair was able to find his voice, and then it came out shaky and uncertain. "There is no way in hell I'm doing this again," he swore. "I've been going out of my mind, and don't blow up at me again telling me I'm over reacting, and that you were taking care of yourself for decades before you met me. I know that, but I can't help how I feel."

Jaw so tight Blair didn't understand why it didn't shred from the stress, Jim gave him a small squeeze, then said quietly, "Chief, it's impossible for two people to be together all the time, not even in primitive cultures. There has to be a way for a sentinel to be without his guide. What if one is injured during a war or becomes ill when the hunting is scarce? It doesn't make sense; they both could die if one doesn't go on as necessary."

"I know, I know!" Pulling at the hair on the side of his head, Blair thought furiously. "Maybe I should listen to you on this; you seem to be handling it okay." Suspiciously he peeked at his partner. "Right?"

There was a pause, then Jim admitted slowly, "I've had a headache almost from the time your plane took off. Not enough to slow me down, but it bothers me."

"Senses okay?"

Again, a wait before Jim reluctantly answered, "Touch has been...odd."

"Odd? Spiking, off line, odd how?" Blair asked gently, hiding his fond exasperation at the man.

Pretending to be busy with driving, Jim delayed answering until they were parked in front of 852. "Know how your skin feels after a really, really deep massage? Not exactly good, not exactly bad, just more there than normal?"

Blair couldn't help wincing. "Must be distracting as hell."

"Missing you was worse."

The unexpected declaration, softly spoken in the darkness of the truck cab, drove a spike of pure love and need through Blair from the top of his head all the way into his maleness. Trembling again, this time from a rush of desire as intoxicating as a drug, he twisted in his seat and stretched up, thinking only of finding Jim's mouth with his own. Answering the need either by instinct or because his own was as demanding, Jim met him halfway, lips already open. The kiss was rough, urgent, as raw in its lust and passion as the first time they had kissed.

Groaning deep in his chest, Jim backed out of the truck, taking Blair with him, trying to quiet both of them with nuzzles and hugs enough to at least get inside. It sufficed, barely, though they stumbled up the stairs alternating between fast, deep thrusts of tongue and tearing away to go a few more steps. Somehow Jim got the door open and both of them through it, but Blair was barely aware of anything but the necessity of getting naked, now!

He went for the buttons on Jim's shirt before the door was completely shut, and helped his lover wrestle off his coat a moment later. Shirts were gone by the bottom of the stairs, shoes kicked off as they rubbed against each other on the way up. Pants were tangled around ankles at the top step, and they hurtled toward their bed, bare and furiously erect, lips never losing contact.

There was no chance of slowing things down or making it last, and Blair threw himself into the loss of control, grinding against Jim with a complete lack of self-restraint or caution, knowing that any bruises raised would be cherished by both of them. For his part, Jim was all over him, hands skimming lightly one moment, and grappling painfully to bring him closer the next. Hips rocking into Blair convulsively, he hardly seemed to care what his cock was bumping against, as long as they were touching. Blair sympathized completely; much as he knew the climax roaring toward them would be mind-numbingly blissful, it was the act of holding and caressing his lover that mattered. Nothing mattered but getting as close to Jim as humanly possible, and then just a bit closer still.

But the body has its own needs, and his finish seared through him with bone destroying force, sending an incredible shock wave of pleasure through his mind that allowed nothing but its own existence. He didn't even feel his back arch and heels dig into Jim to try to answer the imperative of being one with his mate. When the shivers of release finally faded enough to allow thought, he was flat on his back in the middle of their bed, cradling Jim's head to the center of his chest while his lover languidly, dreamily licked and kissed the bare flesh. Hands tenderly petting, Jim was sprawled between Blair's wide-flung legs, reflexively humping the bedding while he cherished his lover through the afterglow.

Feeling wonderfully, thankfully, calmed and centered for the first time in a week, Blair drifted through the moment, content to be exactly where he was, doing exactly what he was doing. Jim seemed as happy; there wasn't any urgency in his caresses, only a relaxed savoring of the body he held. He was almost detached in his attentions, as if what he was doing didn't matter, as long as it involved Blair.

There was something familiar about that, eerily so, and it nudged Blair's conscience, making him try to focus on why Jim's focus was slightly diluted. Before he could ask or frame the question properly, even to himself, the phone rang, startling them both.

"Leave it," Jim muttered. "We're off duty. We're so off duty we're not in the same country as that phone."

Tempted to go along with him, Blair pointed out anyway, "At least listen to the message, so we'll know why Simon is tearing us a new one."

The answering machine picked up, and in the silence of the loft, Blair had no trouble hearing for himself who was on the other end. True to his expectations, it was Simon, and, surprisingly, he sounded apologetic. "Jim, I know Sandburg just got back, and that there's a good chance this machine is about to die a violent death by a pissed off, frustrated lover, but the Tarryton thing has been a burr under your saddle for a while. You've said all along it was going to escalate until somebody died, and it seems you were right. Hoo's Hobby Shop has burned down, arson it looks like, and there was someone in the building when it happened. If you want to be the primary on the case, you'd better get down here."

By the time Simon was through speaking, Jim was sitting up on his heels, indecision plain on his face. Body sated, feeling secure and well loved, Blair murmured, "We should go. I know you can always check out the scene later, but by the time forensics has gone over things and the coroners have moved the remains, everything will be all messed up sense wise."

"I don't want to go back to work," Jim answered, but he was already mentally back on the job, they both knew.

"Hey, the bed will be here when we get done. Or do you think a quickie is going to do more than take the edge off here?"

Bending down to take a quick, hard kiss, Jim said, "At times I wonder if either of us will ever get enough."

"God, I hope not," Blair said sincerely.

With a chuckle at that, Jim got up and got dressed, taking clothes from the drawers rather than try to track them down where they had been flung. Blair did the same, for once only needing a single short-sleeved layer because of the sultry summer air, pausing briefly once in a while as he did to touch Jim lightly in some way. That went on all the way to Tarryton's Family Center - both of them stealing small pats and squeezes that were a poor substitute for being home and wrapped around each other. Surprisingly, Jim didn't retreat all the way back into his cop mindset until they were nearly at the scene, unusual for him, but Blair thought he understood it perfectly.

He was having trouble getting back into work mode himself.

The hobby shop was at the farthest edge from the main entrance to the Complex, and long before they had navigated the smaller streets they could see the confusion of people and fire engines surrounding the building. It had obviously been a major fire, but contained quickly enough that it hadn't spread to any of the other stores. This late at night the expected gathering of spectators was small; mostly owners of other businesses and the night clean up crews. In the midst of fire trucks, police cars, rescue units, and unmarked cruisers, the limo stood out glaringly, drawing Blair's eye to the two men standing near it long before Jim had parked the truck.

They both automatically got out, and he could see that the sentinel already had his senses on high, so he stepped to Jim's side in case he was needed. He was studying the two men standing near the limo a few yards away; the occupants Blair guessed. "Do you know them?" he asked quietly.

"The dark-haired walking cover for Gentleman's' Quarterly is Elliot Tarryton," Jim answered. "He owns the complex, along with half of Cascade, I sometimes think. He rents to the businesses here, and has backed loans for several of them. You should read the leases; he really meant it when he named it 'Family Complex. A shopkeeper can lose his lease for allowing children on the premises during a school day, unaccompanied by an adult, for instance."

"And the security patrols don't hassle them when they are loose on their own; they just call their parents!" Blair volunteered, remembering the chagrin of Rainier's resident kid genius when he got busted for 'playing hooky.' Place has a good reputation; half the yuppies in Cascade bring their kids here to play."

Jim nodded; that apparently wasn't new information to him, and for a split second Blair wondered when he had become so knowledgeable about the premises. And why he hadn't been the one to provide the information. Before he could ask, his partner went on, "The ice blond next to him is Gregor Haurer, professional body guard, and rumor has it, Tarryton's lover." Jim took a deep breath and unexpectedly grinned. "Cancel that. Definitely not a rumor. We weren't the only ones rudely interrupted this evening, Chief."

"You can tell from here? Scent?"

"Mmm," Jim answered, going back to business and beginning to scan their immediate surroundings with both a cop's and sentinel's eye. Nevertheless he finished briefing his partner. "Haurer is a 'Nam vet, marital arts expert, and former CIA operative. But one of the rare good ones; Kelso likes him. Tarryton had a shaky reputation - not exactly shady or crooked, but it was hinted that he didn't mind taking advantage or pushing his weight around to get what he wanted. But when Haurer came to work for him, that kind of speculation faded. Haurer's been getting the credit for that."

A nudge got them walking forward, and Blair sneaked a last peek at the pair over his shoulder, admiring the supportive way the bodyguard hovered near the businessman. When he turned his attention back to the front, Simon was coming to join them, his ever-present cigar sketching abstracts in the air.

"Pretty simple-minded arson," he said immediately. "It's obvious the idea was more of the same kind of destruction and vandalism that's been plaguing this place for a while. My guess is whoever's behind it didn't have a clue the old man was in the back. According to security, Johnston Carter was pretty regular in his habits and almost always locked up the place at 9 sharp. The exception is when he's doing inventory, and then he had a habit of letting them know he was going to be in late. Didn't call this time, though."

"Any witnesses?" Jim asked automatically, heading for the shop. "For when it started, or the last person known to have talked to the victim?"

With that the conversation fell into the routine that Blair knew by heart, and he only listened with half an ear, giving more of his attention to the way Jim was sorting through his impressions while he walked. By the time they reached the carcass of the burned out building, he was positive that the sentinel hadn't found anything suspicious about any of the bystanders. The vandals hadn't hung around then to admire their work, then. That was odd; given that they could blend in with whoever showed up for gawking at the fire, most would have come back to get cheap thrills from the gossip in the crowd.

Picking their way carefully through the waterlogged debris, Simon led them to where Forensics was working. They gagged at the smell, then Jim murmured, "Brace yourself, Chief," and squatted down to lift the sheet covering the corpse. Blair didn't prepare himself, but he didn't look, either. Burn victims were the hardest for him; they barely looked human any more, and what was left was an obscene parody of the human form in his eyes.

After a minute Jim said thoughtfully, "We might want to look at other motives besides vandalism, Captain. This man was probably dead before the fire started."

Simon gave a little jump, but from behind them Serene Chang agreed. "More than likely; the autopsy will show whether or not there was smoke in the lungs. But to guess from the relaxed posture of the limbs, as opposed to the defensive crouch fire causes in living victims, I would guess it had been at least an hour before the flames did their damage."

"The fire was to cover a murder?" Blair hazarded.

"Could be. Or he could have already been dead of natural causes in the back of the shop, and the arsonists didn't know when they started the fire. But we'll check out the murder angle, anyway."

Expression distant, Jim rose to survey the wreckage, occasionally picking up pieces to examine more closely. Chang slanted a long look at him once, but most of the department was used to the detective's odd working habits. Since it gave him the best record any of them had heard of, no one gave him a hard time about what methods he used to get his 'hunches.'

For his part, Blair spoke with Simon, getting an update on the case. He kept a weather eye on his partner, but they were practiced enough that he didn't need to use the softly spoken, 'heads-up, man,' that would pull Jim back from the brink of a zone.

"From the start none of this has made sense," Banks said thoughtfully. "Kids out for trouble, playing pranks, destroy out of thoughtlessness and pick targets at random. Usually they travel en masse, are easy to spot, and as easy to deflect. The security teams roaming this place are good at what they do. High spirits are okay in the right place, and any one getting out of hand is pointed either to the exit or the right place to burn that kind of energy off.

"There's never been any warning, and never anyone around that admits to seeing anything. A rock thrown through a plate glass window, spray paint on signs or doors, fixtures torn down, equipment damaged - you know the kind of thing I'm talking about, Sandburg. It looks random, but feels premeditated, if you get my drift."

"Didn't the uniforms think at one point maybe rival gangs were working themselves up to claiming the Complex as part of their territory?" Blair asked, details from Jim's last conversation about the trouble here floating up to the front of his mind.

"It was a good theory," Banks agreed. "But it didn't pan out. For one thing, it's too far out for most. And, like I said, the security here is good. Gang colors are not allowed, and neither are gang grievances. Word on the street is that most are happy with the Complex being neutral ground. Guess even bangers need a place to play once in a while."

Thinking about what Jim told him about the owner, Blair said slowly, "Could it be, uh, more personal than you think? Could the real target be Tarryton himself, and since they can't get to the man, they're targeting his property? Someone with a grievance or grudge?"

Coming up beside them, Jim answered, "Tried that on for size already, Chief. Man owns real estate all over Washington, let alone Cascade, and some of it more publicly visible, like his corporate headquarters. None of it is having any unusual problems with vandalism."

"Security's better there?" Banks asked.

"Haurer's in charge of it all, and it's all good."

The only other thing that came to mind for Blair was that it could be a hate crime, gay bashing as it were. But hate crimes don't hide. The words 'fag' and 'queer' were generally tossed about in abandon. Of course, the 'fag' in question was one hell of a wealthy and influential man. Maybe the bashers were being uncommonly circumspect to be able to keep up their activities as long as possible.

Wondering if Jim had had the same thought, he started to ask, but his partner took him in a loose grip at one bare elbow and guided him out of the burned and charred structure. "Time to go straight to the source," he announced calmly. "Let's see what Mr. Tarryton thinks about all this."

They made their way carefully, justifying Jim's possessive hold, but he didn't drop it once they were clear of the building. Instead, as if he thought Blair would be reluctant to speak to a rich man, he urged the smaller man forward, staying slightly behind until they were nearly within polite speaking distance of the other two men. It wasn't until Haurer dropped a fast glance at the bracelet on Blair's left wrist, immediately flicking another up to the identical one Jim wore, that he caught onto what his partner had in mind.

As soon as the bodyguard did that and returned his eyes front and forward like a proper subservient guard, Jim let go, with a last gentle tug. "Smooth, Ellison, smooth," Blair subvocalized. "Let him know that we're a couple so he won't go too ballistic when you poke into their private life."

A barely audible snort told him that his sentinel had heard. Aloud he said, hefting his badge up for inspection, "Mr. Tarryton? Detective Ellison, Major Crimes, and this is my partner, Dr. Sandburg, a consultant with the department. I apologize for bothering you, but would you be available to answer a few questions?"

"Certainly, Detective, though I don't know how helpful I can be." Tarryton sounded genteelly concerned, a bare step above politely disinterested. "I heard about the fire from the night staff and came down in case I could be of assistance to the shop owners. At the time I didn't know about Mr. Carter, or that the flames had been successfully contained."

"Well, for starters, do you know who we should notify? So far on one has had any idea about family," Jim said with professional briskness.

"No, though I do know he lived alone. If you like, I'll have my assistant pull the file we have on the business. It's possible the lease has co-signers or what have you." As detached as the man was trying to be, Blair thought that he picked up on an underlying emotion - dread maybe.

"That would be appreciated," Blair said, unconsciously making his voice friendlier than his partner's had been. "I'll be notifying the Victim Advocates unit so they can start proceedings if necessary to enter Mr. Carter's home, but if it he does have family, your assistance could speed the notification considerably."

"Would it be possible for us to drop by for the information in person?" Jim inserted. "There are one or two other questions that I'd prefer to tackle when we're all fresh."

Blair barely bit down a smirk at Jim's choice of words, and the fleeting look of disconcertment on both Tarryton's and Haurer's made it harder. He had the impression that the businessman was about to deny Jim's request when his bodyguard subtly shifted. If he hadn't been on the giving end of such 'hints' a thousand times himself, he might have missed it. As it was Tarryton smiled a bit wryly and said, "Of course. Shall we say 10, then? I'm sure whatever else I have on my agenda can be moved or delayed."

Not paying the slightest attention to the implied tone of being inconvenienced, Jim said smoothly, "Sounds good. Tomorrow morning, or should I say this morning?" With that he turned on his heel and left, striding away as if he'd already discarded them as being of any other use to his case.

Feeling awkward as always when he did that, Blair made do with a fast nod of farewell and trotted after him, not able to get mad. Once they were in the truck, he asked with mix of irritation and admiration in his voice, "How do you do that, anyway?"

"Do what, Chief?" Jim asked distractedly, starting the engine.

"Manage to give the impression that you've got far better things to be doing than talking to whoever the hell you're questioning, while being totally polite when you do it?"

Jim turned to grin at him, laying a caressing hand in a good place. "I do have better things to be doing."

"Then why are we sitting here?" Blair asked cheekily.

"I'm drawing out the anticipation," Jim said dryly, but he put the truck in gear and started driving one-handed.

"Anticipation, my ass. You're trying to torture me," Blair shot back, bucking up into the fingers touching him.

"As a matter of fact, it is your ass I'm anticipating, and since I can't do much more than that, why should I be the only one to suffer?" Jim asked practically.

"Suffer? You don't even know the meaning of the word. Yet!" Blair promised direly, the words offset by the slightly breathless way they came out.

"You'd be surprised, Chief," Jim said, unexpectedly serious. "You'd be surprised." Then he found the sensitive spot just where cock met balls and pressed just right, nearly sending Blair through the roof in shocked pleasure. Both the tone and words were lost in the increasingly heated love-play between them, and Blair didn't remember them again until he was nearly asleep later that night, too exhausted and replete to wonder what Jim had meant.

Link to text version of part two: http://www.squidge.org/archive/cgi-bin/convert.cgi?filename=drama6/advancedstudies_a.html