Author's notes: This is a sad little story I wrote somewhere between the third and fourth seasons (I think!). My view of Jim has always been that of a 14 year old girl with a *bad* case of hero worship, so I think that when the chips are down, Perfect Jim will always come through.

Ever After
by Myrna

"Mmm, I love Sundays," Blair Sandburg murmured as he lay in bed on his back, arms spread open while Jim kissed a lazy pattern over his naked body.

"What else do you love?" Jim Ellison asked, lips curving in a smile.

"Coffee," Blair said in a deep, dreamy voice. "Courtside seats at a Jags game."

"What else?"

"That first chug of really cold beer on a really hot day. Mmm, the new shocks on the truck..."

"What else?" Jim whispered, nudging Blair over onto his stomach.

"You leadin' the witness, Counselor?" Blair asked, shuddering as Jim's cock teased at the opening of his ass.

"Do you object?" Jim asked, sliding inside his lover.

With a grunt, Blair shook his head and pushed backward.

Jim groaned his pleasure, the two of them sighing in unison when his groin came to rest against Blair's ass. For a moment, Jim let his entire weight surround Blair. He nosed the long hair out of his way and nibbled at Blair's neck.

"Mmm, yeah," Blair sighed, and Jim felt the younger man's body pooling in boneless satisfaction beneath him.

Jim shifted into a better position and began to ease his way back out. Blair's breath caught in his throat, and Jim smiled in greedy pleasure at the sound. He thrust back in, his heart quickening at Blair's surprised little grunt.

He kept up a slow, steady pace, drawing out the pleasure, enjoying Blair's inarticulate moans as much as he enjoyed the heat and pressure bearing down on his cock. He picked up the speed, lunging less gently now, moving excitedly toward the crescendo.

Reaching beneath them both, Jim fondled Blair's testicles, coaxing his penis to a semi-erection. Blair was breathing out of control now, grunting and groaning, pushing and flexing, writhing in delight as Jim worked him.

With a guttural sound of warning, Jim released himself inside Blair, his cock jerking as it emptied. Their labored panting filled the loft, the smell of sweat and semen heavy in the air. Jim rocked against Blair's body, slick and smooth with perspiration. Jim moaned as he withdrew from his lover, Blair groaning sadly in reply.

"Beautiful, Baby," Jim huffed, planting kisses over Blair's neck and shoulders. "You're so beautiful. My baby. My love, my sweet love..."

Blair laughed weakly. "My mush," he teased.. "My bowl of mush...my delicious, nutritious bowl of mush..."

Jim chuckled too, rolling over onto his back and pulling Blair up to rest on his chest. He kissed Blair's forehead, rubbed his hand up and down Blair's back and felt the younger man settling exhaustedly over him. He sighed at the contented wooziness coating him from the inside. Blair shifted, his still semi-erect cock poking Jim's thigh.

"Mmm, need to come," Jim said drowsily, reaching for it.

Blair weakly pushed his hand away and moved closer to Jim's side, denying him access. "Mmm, mmph shhh," he mumbled, warm breath wafting across Jim's chest.

Jim felt himself drifting. "Riiiight, Chief," he whispered.

He woke up later with Blair still draped over him. Mmm, yeah, Sundays are pretty damn good, he thought, petting Blair's hair, grinning when he came muzzily awake and stirred against him.

"You're an animal," Blair said with a theatrical groan.

"You know it," Jim said, grinning proudly.

Blair stretched and pushed himself upright, straddling Jim's waist, knees on either side of the big man.

Arms behind his head, Jim smiled at the sight. "You're beautiful," he said, eyes shining in appreciation.

Blair laughed off the words, bouncing lightly. "I guess you're all right," he said grudgingly, then perused the expanse of Jim's smooth chest with an exaggerated look of lust.

Jim's smile faded slowly as his eyes fell on Blair's bruised arm. He reached up and gently touched the angry black and blue mark, in the obvious shape of large, meaty fingers. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "I didn't think it would be like this."

"I told you it would be," Blair teasingly admonished. "I'm sorry your friends didn't live up to your expectations. Or rather, that they lived down to mine."

"Not my friends," Jim quickly corrected. "Co-workers. They are not my friends, just...people I work with."

"Are you still safe?" Blair asked. "I mean, a couple of reports and an expense voucher have all mysteriously disappeared in the last month. The parting gifts on your desk and in the truck are still going strong. Now a couple of those bozos in uniform try to rough me up at the precinct for God's sake. I mean, we're not dealing with the top of the food chain here, Jim. I'm gettin' worried."

Jim grinned and reached up to caress Blair's bearded cheek. "Gotta admit I like that, Chief. You worryin' about me."

Blair rolled his eyes and bounced again. "Pay attention, Mush," Blair said. "God, Jim, I mean, we're not even, like, officially out or anything, and it's getting pretty nasty. And with the Romano trial coming up and that Cortez drug cartel thing in the works and..."

"And, and, and," Jim teased. He pulled Blair down and wrapped his arms around him, settling Blair's head just beneath his chin. He kissed Blair's hair and ran his hand over Blair's ass and down his thigh. "Wish you'd tell me who it was," he said finally.

Blair snorted against his chest. "Yeah, right," he said. "I can take care of myself, thanks."

"I know," Jim said easily. "I still want to give those assholes a piece of my mind."

Blair grinned widely. "I don't think you can spare it, Jim," he said, then whooped when Jim growled and quickly reversed their positions, pinning Blair beneath him.

"I'll spare you," Jim said with a nasty grin of his own.

"Well that doesn't sound fair."

"Mm, I am one up this morning, aren't I?" Jim said, sliding up and down, and giving a dirty little chuckle as Blair's penis swelled and pressed upward against him.

"Payback's a bitch, man," Blair said.

Jim laughed, as he headed south. "Where the hell'd you hear that?"

[Two Weeks Later]

"Look, Jim, all I'm saying is when you decide all by your little self to pick up Chinese on my night to cook, that doesn't mean I have to take over your night. Now, if I asked you to pick up Chinese, then we could negotiate, but I didn't ask. Ergo, it's still your night."

Jim grinned at his lover and shook his head. "Ergo," he mimicked. "Just doesn't seem right, Chief. Here I was trying to do something nice for you and I don't get a bit of credit for it."

Blair looked up from his book and grinned back at Jim. "I thanked you," he said in a low voice that did dangerous thing to a man on stakeout.

Jim swatted at Blair who laughed and ducked out of the way. The two of them were holed up in the second floor an abandoned warehouse, staking out the lower level where Daniel Cortez supposedly housed the majority of his uncut heroin.

Jim had detected a small amount of the drug, but not enough to count the location as the main storage facility. Still, it was their best lead so far in the case and they were sticking it out. Jim glanced at his watch--only 45 minutes until Brown and Rafe relieved them. They'd been bickering back and forth about whose night it was to fix dinner, which Jim took to mean they'd be picking up a pizza on the way home.

Hearing a car door slam from outside, Jim shifted focus to his hearing, assuming that since he hadn't heard anything from the four officers surrounding the warehouse that it must be Brown and Rafe checking in early. But Jim quickly placed not two different heartbeats, but ten. And then he caught the unmistakable whiff of recently discharged gunpowder.

"Shit, Sandburg, we've got trouble," Jim said, reaching for the radio and hailing the department.

"Dispatch, go ahead," an officer answered.

Jim instantly recognized the voice of Pete Henderson, a uniformed officer who had never before manned the dispatch radio.

"This is Detective Ellison. I'm at the Bishop warehouse on the waterfront," Jim said calmly. "Ten armed men have infiltrated the lower level of the warehouse. We are trapped and need assistance."

"We have a poor connection, Detective," Henderson said, loud and clear across the wires. "Please say again, over."

"Repeat, I'm at the Bishop warehouse on the waterfront. Ten armed men have infiltrated the lower level of the warehouse. We are trapped and need assistance."

"Come again," Henderson replied lazily.

"Dammit you heard me, Officer," Jim said in a low, steady voice. "Get some back up here, NOW!"

"Yes sir, responding," came Henderson's clipped response.

Without turning it off, Jim tossed the radio aside, Sentinel hearing picking up what even official recordings would not reveal. "Eventually, you cocksucking faggot."

Jim groaned like he'd been kicked in the gut.

"What the fuck was that?!" Blair said, his voice hushed despite his panic. "What's going on, man?"

"Pete Henderson was on the mike. Kept saying he couldn't hear me. He's not gonna put the call through right away, Chief."

"Oh, shit! They're not gonna get here in time, are they?" Blair said softly.

His face gray, eyes falling shut, Jim slowly shook his head. "No."

"Okay so what do we do here, man? What do we do?"

"They're fanning out downstairs. We've gotta try to make it to the roof and see if we can't buy some time."

"Got it," Blair said and stood to follow Jim.

At that point, the gunmen down below began to shout. Holding their guns over their heads, they blindly discharged their weapons up toward the second level.

Running several steps in front of Blair, Jim heard the younger man grunt and then stumble forward with a muffled, "Shit!"

Turning, in time to catch Blair from falling to the ground, Jim's eyes were drawn to Blair's bloody thigh. "Shit!" Jim echoed, dragging Blair behind a large crate and helping him to sit.

"Damn," Blair whispered. He moved slightly and groaned, his hand falling to the injured leg. "I would catch it in the same leg. What in the hell are the odds of that?" He didn't wait for Jim to answer. "Jim, hey man, no way I'm gonna make it to the roof. You've gotta try to get out of here."

Jim shook his head again, staring intently at the growing blood stain on Blair's jeans. It was so red. And warm. Jim could feel the difference in temperature between the oozing liquid and the denim of the jeans. So red.

"God dammit, Jim Ellison, we do not have time for this!" Blair's stern voice quickly penetrated his near-zone. "You can make it out of here, man. Run toward the waterfront. The backup'll be here eventually. They'll have to be. Simon will...will..."

Jim could only shake his head. No. No, no, no, no. They needed more time. Deserved more time. This couldn't be happening. It just...couldn't. A police officer knew he could die in the line of duty, but not like this. Not with malice aforethought by his own brothers in blue. It just wasn't possible...

Blair jumped as the sound of more gunshots echoed in the warehouse. "Jim, man, you have got to stick with me here!" he said, swiping at the sweat on his forehead.

"We stay together," Jim whispered, applying some quick first aid to Blair's wound. "They've got two floors to search. The backup will be here. They have to be."

"Not in enough time to do any good," Blair said grimly. "You've got to try. You've got to."

"We stay together," Jim insisted.

"We're not givin' up!" Blair said. "Stickin' together is the same as giving up!"

"Shit, I know," Jim gutted out, his voice rough. "Aw, Jesus, man, please, Blair, I can't do this! You know me--you're the only one who does. You know I can't do this..."

Blair's eyes narrowed. "You can do anything," he said in a fierce whisper. "I'll try to get down and out the back door. Most of 'em should be up here in a few. There's a metal staircase that leads out to a fire escape. I'll try to get out that way."

Jim just silently shook his head. No. No, no, no.

"Listen to me!" Blair cried. "I don't regret anything. Not a minute of it, Jim. Not a second! It was all worth it! Don't you ever forget that! We couldn't have had any of it without all of it! But we are not gonna give up here, man. We've gotta try and that means you've gotta go!"

"I can't, Blair, please, please, please, don't. Please don't," Jim begged.

"I'm sorry," Blair said with a helpless shrug.

"Please!" Jim said, shaking Blair's shoulders. "Blair, please! I'll do anything, please don't do this! Please don't let this happen! Please, Blair! Please! I can't do this, I can't! Please, don't, don't, please!"

Blair was crying now. "Jim, you've gotta go. You've gotta try, okay?"

"Please!" Jim begged. "You're the only one. You're all I've ever loved, don't you see? Please, Blair. Please, please! Please!"

"I know, Jim. Oh, baby, I know," Blair soothed. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." He reached for Jim with a bloodied hand. "You have to go, Jim. You have to try. Now. Go."

Jim stood up on shaky knees. "Please," he whispered, doubling over, arms wrapped around himself. "Blair, please, Blair, please, please. Oh God, please."

"Go," Blair ordered. "Now! Go."

Stumbling, staggering, Jim moved away, taking deep shuddering breaths as he went, calming himself, centering himself, allowing a soul-deep, professional numbness to infuse him. Tracking precisely where Cortez's men were at every turn, Jim managed to get downstairs and was heading toward the door when five of the men cornered Blair on the stairs.

Jim heard a bullet enter his lover's flesh, and then he heard the sound of Blair hitting the floor after falling nearly forty feet over the railing of the metal stairs. Jim heard one of the gunmen laughing, and he heard Blair's battered body struggle for one more breath, heard his faltering heartbeat as it became fainter and fainter.

And then he heard the sound of a siren, and then another and another, and the relief he felt was not because they would now be rescued. No, he was certain it was too late for that. He was relieved simply because the gunmen now dispersed, leaving the area safe for his return.

Now Jim could go to his lover and hold him. And for the few remaining minutes of their lives, they would be together.

Hours later, covered with Blair's blood, Jim sat in the waiting room at Cascade General.
The doctor was sitting next to him and talking. "The head injury is our major concern. Blair's brain was swelling, building up pressure in the cranium that we had to relieve. He coded twice on the table, and twice more in recovery. There is still some brain activity present, and that's encouraging. But right now, all we can do is wait and see if Blair survives the next 48 hours."

"Survives?"

"I'm terribly sorry, Detective Ellison. We've done everything we can for Mr. Sandburg, but between the injuries themselves, the blood loss and the shock, the damage may simply be too extensive to overcome."

"What do I...what do I do?" Jim whispered, gripping the side of the chair as if gravity might suddenly cease to function.

"All we can do is wait," the doctor said quietly. "We've moved him to the ICU, and will let you in to see him for a few minutes. I understand there's to be a police officer on guard at all times. At least he'll be safe here, and I assure you, we're going to take good care of him..."

"Safe," Jim echoed the word like he'd never heard it before. Looking up suddenly, he stared around the waiting room at the uniforms and detectives milling about, speaking in hushed whispers he could have heard like shouts if he cared to. "Safe?" the word came out in whispered agony.

The doctor said some other things, but Jim didn't comprehend them. He watched the man disappear down the corridor and became aware of Simon standing in front of him. "I want these people out of here," Jim said to his captain. "They were too late this afternoon. They're not going to do Blair a damn bit of good now."

"Jim, these people are your friends..."

"I have no friends," Jim said bitterly. "Brothers in blue, what a load of crock. Well everyone can rest easy now. Sandburg'll be dead by morning and the reputation of Cascade's Finest remains untarnished."

"Blair is...what did the doctor say? The kid's in ICU, Jim..."

"Yeah, well, they're keepin' a slab in the morgue warm for him," Jim said tersely. "Look, Captain, I want these animals out of here, do you hear me? I want them OUT!"

Jim lunged forward, ready to go after the first officer he could get his hands on. Simon caught him, and when Joel came over, Simon asked him to clear the room. "Calm down, Ellison!" Simon ordered. "Jim, you've gotta keep it together here. You go up and see the kid, I'm going to go by the station and see what's going on with the bust, I'll be back here in three hours. Four hours tops. Can you hold on?"

The rage was squelched as quickly as it appeared. Jim shook out of Simon's grasp and looked at his captain with dead eyes. "Yeah, sure captain. Whatever."

"The kid's gonna be okay," Simon said, suddenly afraid to leave Jim by himself. "The doctors here are first rate. We'll make sure he stays safe and then..."

There was that word again. Jim cocked his head and looked at Simon like the captain had suddenly lapsed into a foreign language. "Right, Captain. Safe," he said. He licked his lips and smoothed the dried blood on the front of his shirt as he walked distractedly toward the elevator. "Yeah, gotta make sure he's safe."

Later that night, the first time Blair went into cardiac arrest, they all assumed it was simply because his heart gave out. It certainly seemed a logical outcome of his condition. Blair was stabilized, and Jim didn't think of it again.

The second time Blair coded, five days after the shooting, the doctors and nurses had been surprised by the downturn. Still in a coma, Blair hadn't been near regaining consciousness, but all of his vital signs were showing signs of improvement.

When it happened, Jim had been on his way home from the hospital to pick up the mail before driving back to spend the night with Blair. Not immediately suspicious of the cause, he was once the doctor told him the heart failure was caused by the disconnection of the respirator.

Assured it could have occurred by accident, Jim thought it more than a little suspicious that both times Blair's heart had stopped beating happened when he was away from the kid. He wanted to discontinue the uniformed protection but Simon and even Joel, who had been their most vocal advocate since all the shit began, balked at the implication that it was one of their own out to kill Blair.

Jim found that hypocritical at best. Their brothers in blue could cause Blair's death by negligence by not by malice-aforethought? Right, that made perfect sense.

After it became apparent that Jim was prepared to stay glued to Blair's side for the duration of his hospital stay, Simon made a few concessions. A hidden video camera was installed, and Simon, Joel, and several other Major Crimes officers took turns sitting in Blair's room while Jim was relieved for an hour or two.

Ten days passed. Slowly. Torturously. But they passed. Blair remained in a coma, his vital signs growing stronger and giving the doctors cautious hope.

But then Blair's heart stopped a third time.

Jim was just walking in the door of the hospital, training his hearing, as usual, towards Blair's room.

All he heard was chaos. Doctors shouting to nurses, machines blaring in warning, the smell--oddly enough--of blood.

Jim raced to Blair's room in time to find two orderlies removing an unconscious Joel on a stretcher and two doctors performing CPR on his lover.

"What's going on?" Jim shouted. "What the hell is going on here!"

Simon entered at a run. "Just got the call," he said breathlessly. "What happened? Where's Taggart? Sandburg okay?"

"Gentlemen, you're going to have to leave!" a nurse ordered, stopping just short of ushering Jim out the door.

Jim backed away from her. "What's goin' on?" he asked, tortured eyes on Blair.

"We're not sure, Detective," the nurse answered, her voice soft with compassion. "Mr. Sandburg has stopped breathing. His heart stopped beating. We're administering CPR now. Please, sir, wait outside, I'll come get you as soon as we know something!"

Jim let Simon drag him out of Blair's room, shaking his hand off as soon as they were in the hall.

"Get the tape," Jim ordered. "Whoever the fuck did this, it's on the tape."

And it was. Officer Pete Henderson, unaware of the hidden video camera, offered Joel Taggert a cup of coffee which the big cop eagerly accepted. Five minutes later, Taggert was unconscious on the couch in Blair's room and Henderson was quickly setting up some elaborate electronics display that as near as Jim could figure out, fooled the front desk into thinking the respirator was still functioning properly.

But it had been turned off, and Blair was writhing on the bed, struggling to draw in another breath and then another. And then he wasn't struggling at all, and Jim stood there and watched for six agonizing minutes until a nurse came in to check on the kid.

Jim just stood there, long after Simon switched off the tape, not zoned, simply lost in utter disbelief.

"Still want to tell me I'm overreacting?" he asked his captain.

"I'm sorry, Jim," Simon said hoarsely. "I had no idea; no reason to suspect..."

"Except that I asked you to," Jim said. "Except, of course, that Henderson was the officer who caused this whole fucking mess in the first place. Except for that, you're right, you didn't have any reason to suspect."

Simon sighed, too disheartened to argue or even to reprimand Jim. Besides, someone on the hospital staff had tipped off the local news, and the lobby was swarming with journalists and camera operators and Simon's pager was insistently buzzing with calls from the mayor's office on down.

"I want the protection discontinued," Jim said stoically. "In fact, I don't want a single member of the Cascade PD on this entire floor."

"Jim, come on, Henderson, he was obviously in with Cortez! This isn't some conspiracy. Let us help..."

"I don't need your help," Jim said, his tone deceptively mild. "I need your word that you'll call off the protection."

"Fine, it's done," Simon said with a tired sigh. "I've gotta go to the office for awhile, Jim, see if I can't straighten some of this out. Will you be okay? Can I do something? Anything?"

Jim slowly shook his head, and stood silently with Simon until the elevator doors opened. Simon stepped in and punched the button for the floor he needed, holding the door open for a minute. "He'll be okay, Jim," he said and tried to smile. "This is Sandburg we're talking about. He's going to get through this."

Jim just stared at him, through him. He reached out and gently pushed Simon's hand off of the door. "Good-bye," he said quietly, and then the door closed.

A nasty feeling churning in his gut, Simon left. Twice he tried to find Brown and Rafe, thinking Jim shouldn't be alone, but the men weren't around, and the DA was screaming for answers and the TV stations and newspapers were breathing down his neck. The sun was coming up by the time Simon returned to the hospital, more than a little scared about what he would find.

But he found nothing. Absolutely nothing.

No Sandburg, no Ellison.

And not a single doctor, nurse, or orderly who could tell him where in the hell they were.

[Six Months Later]

The dead silence of the entire floor rang in Jim's ears as he walked off the elevator and made the familiar walk to his desk. Eyes straight ahead, refusing to look at any of them, Ellison hung up his coat and flipped on his computer terminal.

Simon was standing up behind his desk, eyes trained on his missing detective. Ignoring Brown and Rafe's surprised greeting, Jim marched into his captain's office.

"Got a memo saying you'd be starting back today," Simon said, slowly lowering the hand Jim refused to shake.

Jim nodded. "Yeah, I'm here," he said dully.

"Where's Sandburg?" Simon asked as he glanced out to the bullpen to see if Sandburg was following.

"Blair's not here," Jim said.

"Is he okay?"

"I don't see how that's relevant, Sir," Jim said.

"You don't see how that's relevant," Simon echoed. "Detective, you disappear on me six months ago, without so much as a how-do-you-do, and you think you can just saunter back in here like you own the place?"

"What do you want me to say, Sir?" Jim asked. "The backup wasn't late, it wasn't. We were lambs to slaughter, Captain, and for what? For the unpardonable sin of loving each other. You'll pardon me if I didn't stop in this place to say good-bye when I got the hell out."

"God damn you, Ellison! You're not being fair! You were judge and jury where we were concerned! I would have been there for you! Done everything I could to..."

Jim coughed his derisive laughter. "Every last one of those officers who had been hounding us is still here," Jim said in a low voice. "Every last one of them, Simon. Not a mark in their personnel files, not a single bit of censure from anyone in the department. The only officer punished for any of this shit is Henderson and that's because he was on Cortez's payroll! What he tried to do to Blair wasn't even mentioned in his hearing. And you tell me I'm not being fair to you? That this all would have worked out differently if I'd been here?"

Simon didn't even bother to ask how Jim was privy to the other officers' personnel files, much less a closed IA hearing. "Where in the hell were you?" Simon asked harshly. "You didn't even have the decency to request the leave face-to-face. I tried to find you. Called in every favor I've ever had, talked to every contact I could find from here to Washington DC."

"I know," Jim said coldly. "I didn't want to be found."

"So is Sandburg back at the University, then?" Simon asked. "Is he coming back here?"

"No and no," Jim said, still staring hard at his captain. "Look, Sir, the only reason I'm here at all is because I need the money. My pension comes due in 10 months; I'm just doin' my time until then. Steven has put some financial deals together, and those'll come through around the same time. Then I'm outta here."

"Where's Blair, Jim? Is he okay? Can I talk to him? Maybe he could..."

"Blair is none of your concern, Sir," Jim said.

"I'm still your captain, Detective Ellison," Simon barked.

"And if there's anything you want to know about a pending case, I'll be happy to report it, Sir," Jim answered.

"So that's the way it's gonna be, huh Ellison?" Simon said, screwing up his face in disgust. "Come in, punch your card, shuffle the paperwork and then go."

Jim lifted his brow. "You can't pass any more judgment on me than's already been passed, Sir," Jim said. "I'm takin' what I can get out of this place, and it doesn't even come close to what I'm owed, so consider yourself ahead of the game."

Simon shrugged and nodded toward the door, dismissing his detective. Jim was halted at the door by Simon's quiet request. "I want to see the kid, Jim," he said, appealing to the man as an old friend. "Blair was my friend, too. He was close to my kid. Is he okay? Can you at least tell me that much?"

Jim turned toward Simon, lips pursed as he considered his answer. "He won't ever be hurt again, Simon. He's safe now, and there's nothing anybody can do to hurt him."

Mollified for the time being, it wasn't until Simon stood up to refill his coffee cup that he realized Jim hadn't answered his question at all.

Jim's grip on the steering wheel was so tight, his knuckles were white. His jaw ached with tension, and he sighed and rolled his neck. The commute to the station was over an hour, but the last half of it was on a fairly deserted two-lane strip. He glanced at his watch and figured he'd be getting in at just under the promised nine hours. Jesus, it felt like nine years since he'd left the haven of home to return to the station.

"It's okay, it's okay," Jim whispered to himself, as he pulled into a dirt driveway, his heart hammering painfully.

It was dangerous to use his Sentinel sight when he was driving, but the last few miles that led to the secluded home were safe.

Sure enough, Blair was standing on the front porch, bouncing on his heels in excitement. Jim broke into a broad grin when he heard Blair's exclamation as the truck came into view.

"He's home!" Blair shouted. "Emma! Emma! Jim's home! Jim's home!"

By the time Jim parked the truck and got out of it, Blair had maneuvered off the porch and was lumbering towards him, the heavy metal brace on his right leg sounding a rhythmic ca-ching that signaled every step he took. "Jim! Jim! Jim!" he called ecstatically.

Even though the kid needed to work the leg, Jim pushed off the truck and ran forward, catching Blair in a hug and swinging him around, joining in with his surprised laughter. "You're home!" Blair said.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Jim said, carefully setting Blair down and affectionately patting his head. "Everything go okay?"

Blair smiled and held Jim's hand tightly as they made their way inside. "You said nine hours, and you'd be home, so me and Emma counted each hour down, and then it was eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one, and then you came home!"

"Emma and I," Jim said, dropping a kiss to the top of Blair's head.

"Emma and I," Blair dutifully repeated.

"Everything go okay?" Jim now asked the question to Emma Barnes. It had taken Jim nearly a month to find someone both he and Blair felt comfortable with. A retired nurse, Emma was in her late 60's, and reminded Jim of Aunt Bea from the Andy Griffith show.

"We had a good day," Emma assured Jim with a comforting smile. "It was a little hard right after you left, but he settled down after lunch. Blair, will you run get my bag?"

Blair smiled, thrilled at being asked to help and slowly limped to the den to retrieve Emma's things.

"I gave him the first dose of Benitol early," Emma said. "He was pretty anxious, and I thought it for the best. He hasn't eaten much today, just half a sandwich or so, but he took a long nap this afternoon and after that he worked on his letters and drew you some pictures. We've been making dinner for the last half hour or so."

"Emma! You know you don't have to do that!" Jim said, though he was obviously pleased.

Emma shrugged and blushed girlishly. "I was happy to do it. Blair is so sweet, and he wanted to do something special for your first day at work."

Jim smiled. "Thank you, Emma," he said quietly. "Would you stay for dinner with us?"

"Oh no, dear. Thank you, but I have to get home to Henry. I'll see you tomorrow. Seven-thirty sharp."

Blair noisily returned to the kitchen, carrying Emma's bag and several pages of artwork. "I did all my letters and my numbers, and then I drawed you more pictures for the fridge."

Jim beamed at the younger man as he reached for the papers. "Drew, honey," Jim said.

"Drew," Blair said and nodded. "Do you like 'em? That's me and you and our house and there's Emma, and that's our tent for campin' out, if you let me get one which you haven't yet, but if you did, that's where we'd put it, right there."

Jim laughed at the kid's not-so-subtle hint. "These are beautiful," he said proudly, kissing the top of Blair's head as he moved past him to tack the pictures up on the already crowded refrigerator. "Tell Emma good-bye, Blair. You'll see her in the morning."

"Bye Emma," Blair said. "I'll see you in the morning."

Jim could have sworn it was the old Blair making fun of him, but when he turned from the fridge to check, the kid smiled at him with such innocence, Jim knew he was not being mocked, merely obeyed.

"I'm proud of you," Jim said, dishing out their dinner. "It was scary, being alone at home without me, but Emma says you did great."

"I was scared at the beginning, when it was nine hours until you came home," Blair said, carefully carrying his plate to the table. "I thought maybe that would take forever, but then Emma helped me count it down, and it kept getting smaller and smaller until you were almost home, and then you were home."

"You are a very brave kid, you know that?"

Blair grinned, enormously pleased at the praise. "And I didn't have one seizure," Blair pointed out. "And no accidents, and we finished her book The Pirate King. There sure was a lot of clothes gettin' ripped in that. Bet you had to be able to sew good to get on a pirate ship back then, huh Jim?"

Jim chuckled in spite of himself. "I bet you did," he said.

"Hey, can I see your money?"

"My money?"

"Yeah," Blair said. "Your money for goin' to work. Remember? You said you had to get some money so you were going to work."

"Ah," Jim said. "They don't give you the money every day. We get it twice a month. Every other Friday."

Blair frowned, not quite grasping the idea, but he shrugged good-naturedly and eagerly moved on. "Are you done thinking yet?"

"About what?" Jim asked.

"You know," Blair prompted, bouncing in his chair.

"Eat your dinner," Jim said.

Blair wrinkled his nose. "I'm still full from lunch," he said.

Jim lifted a pointed brow at the younger man. "Emma says you only ate half of your sandwich."

Blair shrugged and rolled his eyes. "C'mon Jim, you said you had to think, but you've gotta be done by now!"

"Think about what?"

Blair started bouncing again. "Remember? Remember? When I came home from the hospital and we had a new house and you said the back yard was big and I said was it big enough to camp out in you said yes and I said could we camp out and you said you had to think, but you've been thinkin' and thinkin', Jim! Aren't you done yet?"

Jim laughed and sighed in the same breath. Jesus, all those doctors who said Sandburg's memory was ruined for good sure as hell never saw the kid latch on to this damn camping idea. Not a day went by that he didn't ask about it.

"Yeah, I'm done thinkin'," Jim said, watching Blair's eyes get impossibly bigger in anticipation. "Okay, Sweetheart, we'll go camping..."

"Yea!" Blair shouted, throwing his arms up over his head and bouncing with even more excitement. "When Jim? When can we go camping?"

"How about Saturday?" Jim said.

"When's that?" Blair asked.

"Today's Monday," Jim prompted. "So Saturday would be how many days away?"

Blair chewed his bottom lip, but before he could get upset, Jim held up one finger for each day remaining. "Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday. How many days is that?"

Blair slowly counted the fingers; once, twice, three times to make sure, then he grinned. "Five!" he announced. "Five days, and I get to go camping!"

"That's right!" Jim said, and watched Blair flush in pleasure. "That means I want you to be on your best behavior the next five days. And we're gonna start with you cleaning your plate."

"When you camp out you eat good campin' out food, right Jim?"

"Yep, that's right," Jim said. "Two more bites of the broccoli, baby, and then you're done."

Blair gave Jim a measuring look, no doubt calculating how hard it would be to duck out of the order. He must have realized Jim wasn't going to back down, so with a sigh, Blair shook his head and scooped up a spoonful of the vegetable, saying sadly, "Man, I sure wish broccoli tasted like cookies."

A bare minimum of dinner finally coaxed into Blair, Jim cleared the table and did the dishes while Blair stood nearby and watched, waxing philosophic about the joys of camping. For an hour or so after that, they sat in the den, and Jim read aloud from one of Blair's favorite Encyclopedia Brown books. Marking their place at the end of the chapter, it was then time for Blair's evening therapy.

Jim sent Blair to get his bathing suit and then for beach towels while he keyed in the security code to let them out the back door. Three weeks earlier it was only Sentinel senses that averted a disaster when Blair had wandered out the back door and fallen into the pool. Still in bed, Jim had heard his garbled cry for help and came running, but not before Blair swallowed several gallons of water and scared both of them to death. Jim had the computerized lock installed that very afternoon.

Blair was still skittish around the water, and they went through the same litany every night.

"It's okay to be here because I'm with you, right Jim?" Blair began, slipping his hand into Jim's as they approached the pool.

"Right," Jim said.

"I wait for you, and then we swim together, right?"

"That's right, Sweetheart. It's okay as long as we're together."

Blair stood still while Jim unbuckled the cumbersome leg brace and set it aside. "I could have a seizure, and if I'm by myself you couldn't save me."

"That's right," Jim said, deftly stripping Blair's clothes and helping him into his bathing suit.

"If you get unconscious then the water gets in your mouth and you can't breathe."

"Exactly," Jim said. He picked Blair up and gently lowered him into the pool. "I don't want you to get hurt, do I, Sweetheart?"

Blair watched, eyes wide with awe as Jim dove over his head into the water. He was smiling brilliantly when Jim surfaced. "Nope, you don't," he said.

"And why's that?" Jim asked, pulling Blair out toward deeper water. Blair froze several times, needing an extra tug or two to keep him moving. "You're okay," Jim soothed, tuning in to the frantic heartbeat. "I'm right here with you. You didn't answer my question, did you?" Jim said. "Why don't I want you to get hurt, hm?"

Blair smiled almost in spite of himself. "Because I'm your most love," he said shyly, then laughed as Jim swooped him into a bear hug.

"Right!" Jim said smiling broadly at Blair's shouts. Blair threw his arms around Jim and buried his face in the older man's neck.

"And you're my most love, right Jim?" he said quietly.

Jim cupped the back of Blair's head and held him close for a minute. "Right," Jim whispered. He quickly kissed Blair's cheek and set him down, facing away from him in the chest deep water.

Blair's breath caught in his throat. "No!" he cried, turning and hiding his face in Jim's chest, arms encircling Jim's waist in a vice-like grip.

"You're okay," Jim soothed, frowning at Blair's sudden trembling. "Sweetheart, I'm right here. Nothing can hurt you here at home. You're safe here, you know that."

"Jim takes care of me," Blair said, his voice muffled by Jim's broad chest.

"Just like you take care of me," Jim said. He held Blair for a little while longer, then lightly swatted his rump. "All right there, enough stalling. We've gotta work that leg of yours."

"'Cause then it'll be strong, right Jim? And then I won't fall down like the times I falled down before, right?"

"Fell down, honey," Jim corrected absently as he reached for a kickboard by the side of the pool. "Okay, four laps holding the board, then we'll do some stretches."

Blair took the board, watching warily to make sure Jim wasn't getting out of the water. "You're watchin' me, right?"

"Always do," Jim answered. "You ready?"

Blair cautiously began his exercise while Jim watched him with a smile of pleased concentration on his face.

Now wasn't the time for melancholy or recriminations. Those came after the relentless nightmares, as he lay alone in his king-sized bed; stronger still as he held the trembling and confused younger man following yet another violent seizure.

But during these quiet family times, Jim allowed himself a measure of pride. His Blair had shown himself to be remarkably resilient. Every day he proved the doctors wrong about something. They hadn't expected him to live through the night he was shot; they hadn't expected him to regain consciousness, to speak, to understand, to use his leg. Granted he wasn't the man he'd been before he was shot--and he never would be; Jim had accepted that.

But despite the trials, despite the long list of nevers he didn't comprehend, Blair was still a fierce participant in life and nothing would ever take that away from him.

Yes, it was awful that Blair would never have Ph.D. after his name, he would never teach again, or travel by himself to strange, exotic worlds. He would never again work with Jim, which meant Jim would rarely, if ever, use his senses in the line of duty.

The two of them would never again be lovers.

But that list of nevers could have been longer, Jim reflected. And more dire.

He ached for his lost lover, but he treasured the sweet and loving boy who stood now in his place.

The kid was a blessing, and Jim was determined to treat the time they had left together as such. He drew strength from Blair's struggles, humility from his perseverance and peace from his goodness.

The old Blair had loved him with passion and delight, this one loved him without boundaries; with such selflessness and unconditional abandon that Jim felt humbled by it.

There were times when Jim felt like God was punishing him by putting the shell of his lover before him and denying him the soul; but most days, both good and bad, Jim knew God smiled down upon him, and that the Blair he now protected and nurtured was His gift.

Several hours later, having succumbed to Blair's pleas for another chapter of Encyclopedia Brown, Jim supervised the kid while he took his anti-seizure medication, brushed his teeth and got ready for bed. Again, Jim removed the leg brace, changed Blair into his pajamas and helped him into bed.

"When I wake up it'll be tomorrow," Blair said, reaching for Jim's hand. "And then it won't be five days until we go camping, it'll be four days. Do you still have to go to work for nine hours?"

Jim squeezed Blair's hand and bent over to kiss his forehead. "Yeah, I do," Jim said. "Emma is coming to stay with you."

"I like Emma," Blair said, "But I like it better when it's just you and me."

"It is nice like that," Jim said.

Blair shifted in the bed, the medication making him drowsy and slow. "Mm, I'm thirsty. Can I have some water?"

Jim squeezed Blair's hand. "Nothing to drink after seven o'clock, remember?"

Blair frowned. "Am I going to have a seizure?" he asked.

Jim brushed his free hand over Blair's forehead and shook his head. "No, honey. It's just in case."

"Just in case," Blair echoed faintly. He sighed and moved restlessly, fighting the muzziness. "In the morning, I'll wake up and then you'll go to work for nine hours and then you'll come home," he mumbled.

"Yep," Jim said. "And then we'll eat dinner and we'll swim in the pool and read our book and if you're good, we'll even watch some basketball on TV."

Blair smiled. "Mmm, that's a lot of things," he said, his lungs filling as the drug took over his autonomic functions. "I'll be good, Jim, I promise." He licked his lips and frowned against the sensation, but Jim put his hand on Blair's chest and gently rubbed it in slow, soothing circles. Blair sighed and settled down, no longer able to keep his eyes open. "And then, in four days..." his voice trailed off as he fell asleep, lips slightly parted, one hand still tightly gripping Jim's.

"And then, in four days, we'll go camping," Jim whispered. He sat there for a little while, then, gently disengaged his hand and stood up. He pulled up the metal bar that prevented Blair from getting out of bed without his help, another new addition since he nearly drowned in the pool. Jim tested it to make sure it was securely in place, then kissed Blair's forehead one last time before turning out the light.

With a sigh, Jim headed into the bathroom to take a shower. God he was tired, more tired than a man his age should be. The day had been grueling, but as the water sluiced over him, he realized that the rage he'd felt at the station was long gone, completely overshadowed by Blair's sweetness. He grinned to himself, employing Blair's obsession with numbers and time. Only ten months until his pension was secure. Forty weeks. Two hundred some-odd days. Maybe less if Steven came through with that land deal.

It was only 10:30 when Jim got out of the shower, but he was beat, so he crawled into bed without even turning on the light. He was supposed to call that guy Naomi e-mailed him about; some doctor who was trying a new brain tissue transplant technique that Naomi thought might help. Jim didn't hold out any hope, but if Naomi felt she had to keep searching for a medical cure, he wasn't about to stop her.

Jim laid on his back and stared up at the ceiling. Missed you today, Chief, he said to his Guide. The station felt so strange at first, almost like I'd never been there before. And then, it was like I'd never left. God, it pissed me off. There they all were, every one of them, still officers in good standing, daring to look me in the eye as I walked in the door...I wanted to torch the place for a minute there. Sure could have used your hand on my arm, Buddy. Made me realize, though, that I made a mistake writing them all off. I was just so...God, you know how angry I was. Am. It just felt like all of them were responsible. Maybe they didn't screw us over at the safe house, but the atmosphere that allowed it, they were partially responsible for that, weren't they? I don't know anymore, Babe. See, that's what I need you for. You're the philosopher, not me. I don't suppose it's too late to make amends. I really hurt Simon and Joel. Guess I should have let them in, you know? Maybe I still will. We've got a little time. There's a selfish part of me that says I'm not sharing what little of you I still have left.

It's so hard without you, Blair. I miss you so much. I'll dream of you tonight, like every night. We'll be together soon, Baby.

Wait for me, okay?

I'll talk to you tomorrow. Same bat time, same bat channel, right?

I love you.

G'night.

~ end ~