Archive of Our Own ^beta

"No. I'm not going, and that's the end of it." Blair's lower lip was pushed out in a pout that made him look like a willful ten year old, and Jim didn't know whether to laugh or to frown in exasperation. He settled on something in between, a long-suffering sigh and an indulgent shake of his head. "Come on, Chief," he cajoled. "I need you there."

Blair slapped his book down on his knee and threw Jim an incredulous look over the top of his glasses. "And you have the nerve to call me manipulative!"

Jim schooled the smugness from his face in favor of what he hoped would come across as wounded sincerity. "How can you say that, Chief. You're my Guide. I'll be on duty. Of course I'll need you there."

"But I can't!" Jim could almost see the wheels turning as Blair's agile mind searched for a plausible excuse to back up his assertion. "I don't even own a suit much less a tuxedo!"

"We'll rent you one." Jim's eyes narrowed. "Come clean, Chief. What's really bothering you about going to this shindig? It's just a fancy dress ball, for godssake, not the Republican Convention. No one's going to string you up for having long hair and wearing an earring."

"You don't understand." A look of real distress crossed Blair's mobile features.

"No," Jim agreed more gently, "I don't. Why don't you explain it to me." He sat down and waited for an answer.

Blair took off his glasses and tossed them onto the coffee table. He spent a moment looking down at the floor, then his mouth settled into a thin line. "Okay," he said. "Fine. I'll go. But right now I'm going to bed. If that's all right with you," he added sarcastically. He got up and stomped out of the room, closing his bedroom door behind him with more force than was absolutely necessary.

Jim looked after him with a troubled frown. What the hell had that been about? Oh well, he'd find out soon enough. Sandburg wasn't as good at keeping secrets from him as he thought he was, at least, not as good as Jim was at wheedling them out of him. No doubt they'd sort it all out in the morning.

—

But the next morning wasn't any different. Blair was still cranky and uncommunicative, which was so out of character that it left Jim feeling out of sorts, too. Mostly Blair was just ignoring him, which made Jim unaccountably unhappy. Well, not so unaccountably, perhaps. Jim was used to having Blair's nearly undivided attention, even if it was the attention of a scientist observing his test subject.

No, that wasn't fair. Blair hadn't treated Jim like a test subject in a long while, almost since the start of their partnership. When they became wrapped up in the Sentinel thing now, it was almost always because Jim needed help in some way: help to concentrate, help to focus, help to feel his way through the maze of sensory inputs that he still too often got lost in. Blair always seemed to know the right thing to say or do to get him back on track when something like that happened, almost as if he were inside Jim's head with him.

Now there was a thought. Maybe a Guide had a genetic advantage, too, a heightened sensitivity to his Sentinel. A reciprocal sensitivity? Maybe that was why Blair had been able to insinuate himself so rapidly and so thoroughly into Jim's life. Maybe that was why his presence seemed so essential to Jim now, and why the distance he suddenly felt between them hurt so much.

Jim watched Blair making breakfast, anger and tension obvious in his jerky movements and stiff body language, so different from his usual easy grace.

This isn't right, Jim thought. He's really upset, and it's all my fault somehow. This foolishness has to stop. Now.

"Look, Chief," he said, "I'm sorry about last night. I had no business trying to force you into doing something you don't want to. You don't want in on this assignment. Fine. Forget I said anything about it. You don't have to go to the ball. You don't have to do anything you don't want to do."

Blair's hand froze in the middle of stirring the scrambled eggs, and he continued to stand there, staring down at the pan, for several minutes after Jim had finished.

"Hey," Jim said at last, no bite in his voice, "I may have been willing to try your mom's recipe for tongue, but I'm not into eating charcoal."

Startled out of his introspection, Blair quickly turned off the burner and moved to scrape the overdone eggs into the garbage can. By then the tension had drained out of his body, to be replaced by a listless droop that Jim liked even less. He moved to the refrigerator and started to open it, but Jim's hand on his arm stopped him. "That's all right, Chief. How about I take you out to breakfast instead?"

Blair looked up at him and nodded, his jaw firming as if he had made a decision. "Right," he said, "and I'll tell you a story while we eat."

—

The restaurant wasn't very crowded at that hour of the morning, and their orders were filled quickly.

"You promised me a story," Jim prompted after a few minutes of watching Blair toy listlessly with his food.

Blair looked uncomfortable. He glanced at Jim hopefully, but Jim just shook his head. "All right," Blair said, conceding defeat, if not quite gracefully. "It's stupid, though," he said, "and really embarrassing, so don't laugh, okay?"

Jim threw him his patented would I do that? look, earning a derisive snort that transmuted into a reluctant sigh. "When I was seventeen, Naomi took up with this guy, Marcus. Talk about an unlikely pair! He was about fifteen years older than her and rich as Croesus. They met in July, when Naomi rammed into the back of his Mercedes at a stoplight in Beverly Hills—What?"

Jim was noisily choking on a piece of toast. "Nothing, Chief," he croaked, reaching for his orange juice. "Go on."

With a suspicious glare, Blair continued, "Anyway, they really hit it off despite their differences. Marcus eventually asked her to live with him, and she made it clear I was part of the deal. He didn't really like the idea, and neither did I, but he agreed, so there I was, living in this huge mansion in the Hills. Man, like it had everything! A sauna and a pool and a tennis court and even a miniature golf course." He shook his head in awe, and Jim grinned at him, earning a brief smile in return. "I mean, it was like living in Disneyland. It was great for a while, then it got pretty dull. I mostly hung out in my room studying, or in the kitchen. The cook, Maritza, was the best. She was from Belize, and she taught me things about the Maya culture there that you won't find in any text book." He fell silent for a moment, his expression wistful, as if he were remembering good times that hadn't lasted nearly long enough.

"And then?" Jim asked.

"And then Marcus' son Matthew got back from spending the summer with his mom in New York. And don't give me that look. Marcus and his wife were divorced. Naomi may be a free thinker, but she was never a home wrecker." Jim tried to look sufficiently contrite.

"Anyway, Matthew, who was my age, was not too thrilled to find mom and me in residence. He was smart enough to stay away from Naomi, but I was fair game." Blair shivered. "He had a real talent for making my life miserable."

"Why didn't you tell his father what he was up to? Surely he would have put a stop to it."

Blair looked at Jim as if he had suddenly sprouted feathers and started strutting around the restaurant clucking. "You have got to be kidding, man. Marcus only tolerated me because of Naomi, and besides…" his voice drifted off.

"Ratting on his kid would have been uncool?" Blair nodded. "So how long did this setup continue?"

"Too long. Wouldn't you know Naomi would decide to really get into the role of society matron. No, that's not fair." Another sigh. "I think Naomi really loved Marcus, in her way, and he probably loved her, too. Anyway, they lasted through my whole senior year in high school." He made a sound, not quite a chuckle. "Can you see me attending Beverly Hills High?"

Jim shook is head sympathetically, trying to picture an even younger, more vulnerable Blair Sandburg than the one he knew so well stuck in such an alien environment without a Blessed Protector to watch his back.

"Yeah," Blair agreed, "me neither, but I managed to survive it, just barely. Then came the senior prom." He fell silent, looking down with distaste at his still full breakfast plate. "Can we go home now? I'm not really very hungry."

"Sure." Jim motioned for their waitress and handed her a twenty, earning a grateful smile when he told her to keep the change. He led his preoccupied partner to the door, holding it open for him. Once outside Blair just stood there, looking out toward the horizon. "It's going to rain today," he said. Jim nodded and touched his elbow, quietly steering him toward the truck.

—

During the drive home, Blair didn't pick up the story where he had left off, and Jim didn't push. Back in the loft, Blair threw off his jacket and dropped onto the sofa. Jim pulled up a chair across from him, their knees not quite touching, and prompted him softly, "The prom?"

Unexpectedly, Blair laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. "Oh yeah, the prom. Boy was I excited. There was this girl. I never thought she'd agree to go with me. I mean, she was so beautiful, and she had never shown any interest in me. It took me weeks to work up the courage to ask her, so when she said yes, I was flying." Blair grimaced. "Of course, that didn't last long."

"What happened?"

"Did you ever see the movie Carrie?"

"Ouch," Jim winced. "That bad?"

"Oh, yeah. Matthew had talked her into going with me, bribed her, really, just so she could dump me at the dance as publicly and humiliatingly as possible. He took great joy in letting me know afterwards how he had set me up." Blair's cheeks flamed red as he finished his story, but there was also a faint, mischievous glint in his eyes that Jim found intriguing.

"What aren't you telling me?" he asked.

The blush deepened. "Well, there was Matthew, gloating and laughing at me, and I got kind of pissed off, and I, uh," he made a face, half embarrassed, half defiant, "I broke his nose."

Jim grinned, the anger that had been building inside him as Blair's story unfolded transforming suddenly into an intense pride. "Way to go, Sandburg." He reached out and grasped Blair's forearm, giving it a brief squeeze.

Blair grinned back at him, then looked sheepish. "Yeah, well, Marcus wasn't amused. He told me to get out and never darken his doorstep again."

"And Naomi?"

"Oh, she was great about the whole mess, though she didn't approve of me hitting Matthew, of course. Anyway, she just kissed Marcus goodbye, packed our stuff, and left with me. I felt kind of guilty about that, but I don't imagine they would have lasted much longer in any event. I could tell she was starting to get restless by then."

And another one bites the dust, Jim thought, wondering just how often in his life Blair had felt he really belonged someplace. Did he feel he belonged here? Jim vowed to himself he'd make sure from now on that he did.

But one problem at a time.

"Okay," he said, getting back to the issue at hand, "let me get this straight. Your high school prom was a disaster." Blair rolled his eyes at the understatement. "But what does that have to do with the Singer Tower Inaugural Ball? Why the dramatics last night when I told you we were going to be providing security at the event?"

Blair looked out the window. "The, uh, Singer hotel chain belongs to Marcus Singer. His son Matthew is in town to host the grand opening."

"Oh."

"Bingo," Blair said wryly.

"Look, Chief, what I said earlier still goes. If you don't want in on this assignment, just say so. It's up to you."

"Thanks, Jim, but maybe I should go. If I don't, I'm letting Matthew win again. I don't think I want to let him have that much power over me, not anymore."

"Sounds good to me, partner." Jim smiled his approval. "Just remember, you won't be alone this time. That twerp won't stand a chance against the two of us."

The faintest smile curved Blair's lips. "Right," he agreed without hesitation, but his eyes were shadowed with doubt.

—

Jim slipped into his tuxedo jacket and headed downstairs, calling out, "Sandburg, are you ready to—" He stopped abruptly, slightly off balance, almost propelling himself face first down the rest of the steps.

Blair stood in the doorway of his bedroom, looking up at Jim quizzically. The light from his room shown brightly behind him, creating a nimbus that picked up the highlights in his hair and set them ablaze with a glow like foxfire under a full moon. His tux was simple and elegant and fit far better than a rental had any right to. His white silk shirt was a ruffled masterpiece, and the silken bow tie that dangled limply from his neck somehow only added to the sophistication and charm of the overall image he projected. His expression, in contrast, was rueful.

"I look like a dork, right?" he asked faintly.

"Uh, no," Jim answered, clearing his suddenly dry throat. "What, uh, what did you do to your hair?"

Blair reached toward his hair self consciously but stopped before he could complete the habitual gesture of running a careless hand through it. "It's okay, isn't it?" he asked anxiously. "I went to one of those fancy styling places for a trim, and the guy there put some stuff on it. I wanted it to look nice." Jim didn't answer, still staring at his partner with something akin to awe. "Jim? It is okay, isn't it?"

Jim took a breath, feeling a bit short of air, and nodded. "Yeah, Chief, it's okay," he answered.

Blair looked relieved. "Would you help me out with this?" he indicated the tie. "I haven't a clue what to do with one of these things."

"Sure." Jim approached Blair slowly, reaching tentatively for the article in question. He felt vaguely relieved to notice his hands were steady as he knotted the silk to perfection. When he finished, he slid his hands outward, ostensibly to smooth Blair's satin lapels, and felt the softness of springy curls tickle at his knuckles. He took a quick step backwards.

Smiling nervously, Blair asked, "I'll do, then?"

Jim frowned in mock concentration, using the moment to regain his composure. "Yeah," he said at last. "You'll do just fine. Except—"

Blair's face fell. "What?" he asked.

"Your earring," Jim finished. "It's too plain."

Blair reached up and tugged at the offending object. "It's the only one I have," he said.

"I've got it."

Jim bounded back up the stairs, returning a couple of minutes later with a small jewel box. Blair stepped closer as Jim opened the box and held its contents up for him to see.

"Oh, man!" Blair breathed appreciatively. Inside, on a royal blue velvet background, lay a pair of diamond earrings that seemed to gather all the light in the room and amplify it tenfold before scattering it like stardust in all directions. "Those are beautiful! Where did you get them?"

"They were my grandmother's," Jim answered simply as he worked one free of it's mooring and held it out to Blair. "She left them to me in her will, for my— She left them to me."

Blair's hand closed over his, pushing slightly. Jim looked up from the hand into smoky blue eyes. "I can't, man," Blair said with a shake of his head that made the highlights in his hair shimmer brighter, it seemed to Jim, than the gemstone. "I can't wear that."

Jim frowned slightly. "Why not?" he asked. "I want you to."

Blair seemed about to protest again, but instead he clamped his mouth shut and nodded, releasing Jim's hand to reach up and remove his own earring. He set it aside and put out his hand again. Jim laid the diamond in it, and Blair carefully affixed it to his left ear. "How's that?" he asked.

Jim just smiled by way of answer. "Let's go," he said. "Our carriage awaits."

—

They arrived before the ball began and rode the elevator up to the penthouse suite to meet with Matthew Singer. Singer was representing his father, who was out of the country, as host of the biggest, poshest social event in Cascade's history, the launching of the Singer Tower Hotel, and he was more than a bit paranoid about security arrangements for himself and his guests. Since those guests included, among other VIPs, the Governor and the Mayor and their wives, Major Crimes had been more than happy to bow to that paranoia. Jim had been chosen to spearhead the security team by Simon Banks, his Captain, at the request of the Police Commissioner himself.

Blair hung back as Jim introduced himself to the elegantly attired but rather unattractive young man who ushered them into the suite. "Good to meet you, Detective," Matthew Singer said with an unexpectedly lustful gleam in his eyes, his handshake lingering a moment too long for Jim's comfort. "I've heard such wonderful things about you."

Huh, Jim thought, Blair didn't mention that little Matthew is gay. Eyes narrowing, he glared sideways at his partner. He wondered what else Blair hadn't told him.

Singer's gaze followed Jim's reluctantly toward Blair. "And this is…?" he said in a noticeably cooler voice. Jim took a small step to the side, fully exposing Blair to Singer's view.

"Blair Sandburg," Jim said. "I understand you two already know each other."

"Sand—?" Recognition dawned. "Blair," Matthew said after a moment's hesitation. "What a pleasant surprise." His voice and demeanor belied his words.

"Matthew," Blair acknowledged curtly. "It's been a long time." Neither man offered his hand to the other.

"I never would have imagined you as a policeman," Singer continued. He smiled, but there was a decided lack of warmth in his tone. "In fact," he added, "rather the opposite."

Jim heard Blair's breath catch, and he stepped closer to his partner, who looked up at him gratefully. "Yeah," Jim said, saving Blair from having to answer. "The Department was really fortunate to get him. Of course, I'm the biggest beneficiary of that good fortune. Blair is my partner." Singer's surprise was apparent. Jim laid a proprietary arm across Blair's shoulders. "He's the brains of the outfit. I'm just the muscle," he added with a deliberately predatory smile.

"Yes, well, I've been assured that you," a slight emphasis on the last word, "are the very best man for the job, Detective Ellison. Jim," he corrected himself without asking for permission. "I'm sure everything will go smoothly tonight."

"I'm sure it will," Jim agreed. "Now, if you don't mind, Blair and I have work to do."

"Of course." Singer followed Jim to the elevator, pointedly ignoring Blair. "I hope we have an opportunity to talk again later," he said hastily as the elevator doors closed in his face.

Jim pressed 'L' then turned to Blair accusingly.

"Hey," Blair put his hands out in front of him, palms forward, "it's not my fault that you're his type." A wicked gleam lit his eyes. "He always did go for tall, dark, and handsome."

Jim looked at him reproachfully. "You could have warned me," he said. Then, with a grin, "His nose is crooked. You must pack a bigger wallop than I had you pegged for."

Blair dimpled delightfully. "Good things come in small packages," he said. Then, more seriously, "Thanks, Jim. You didn't have to do that."

Jim shrugged. "All I did was tell the truth." Before Blair could respond, the doors opened. They exited into the lobby and headed for the conference room that had been set up as the Department's command center. "How about you, Chief?" Jim asked as they walked.

"What do you mean?"

"Were you Matthew's type, too?" Jim clarified, throwing him a quick glance.

"Who, me?" Blair shook his head. "Nah. Too short, too nerdy, too ordinary."

Jim choked back a disbelieving chuckle. "You, ordinary? Give me a break, Chief. You're about as ordinary as, as… See? You're so extraordinary I can't even think of something to compare you to for the sake of argument." Blair stopped and looked up at him quizzically. "What's the matter?"

"You really mean that, don't you?"

"That you're extraordinary? Of course I mean it."

"But I'm not." Blair shook his head emphatically. "I'm just not."

Jim smiled down at him fondly. "Sure you are," he asserted softly. "You just don't realize that you are." He leaned forward confidentially, patting Blair's cheek twice. "And that's just one of the extraordinary things about you."

Looking flustered, Blair seemed about to protest again, but Jim headed off, leaving his partner hurrying to keep up with him.

—

All Jim's men were in place, and the soirée was in full swing. The ballroom was really impressive, Jim had to admit, and the guests represented many of the richest and most powerful people in the state. His gaze swept the swirling crowd for the hundredth time, taking in again the over-abundance of exquisite jewelry on blatant display. A pickpocket's dream, he thought morosely. A couple of known felons had already been quietly scooped up and escorted down to the Precinct, and an unpleasant incident had been narrowly averted when Jim's Sentinel vision had located a "stolen" broach belonging to the mayor's wife among the fronds of one of the many potted plants.

Jim continued scanning the huge room, his mind only peripherally on the job at hand. Where was Sandburg? His partner had disappeared almost an hour ago, and Jim was worried about him. Granted, Blair could be somewhere in the crowd, but Jim didn't think that was the case. If he were in the room, Jim would have been able to locate him. His Sentinel senses were so finely attuned to his partner that he felt sure he could pick him out of even so large a group of people by some combination of sight and sound and scent. But if he wasn't here, where was he?

Jim saw Simon standing by the buffet table and headed toward him.

"Great spread," Simon said by way of greeting.

"Yeah," Jim answered, surveying the room one more time.

"What's wrong?"

"I've lost Sandburg," he admitted sheepishly.

Simon rolled his eyes. "Maybe he found himself a date and went off somewhere. He's not really on duty, after all."

Frowning, Jim shook his head. "He wouldn't do that. Look, Simon, I know you're here as a guest, but could you watch things for a few minutes while I look for him?"

"Jim," Simon started, then interrupted himself with a resigned shake of his head. "All right. I think we've got the situation under control, and you already earned your keep with that business with the mayor's wife. Go on, go find your little buddy and make sure he's okay. You won't be any use here until you do."

Jim threw Simon a surprised glance, wondering what he knew, or thought he knew, but Simon just waved him away, his expression blandly benign for a change. Nodding his thanks, Jim left.

—

Jim searched the whole first floor of the hotel, senses expanded to pick up any sign of his quarry. One heartbeat out of hundreds. One known scent. One favored countenance. His shook his head. God, apparently he had it bad.

He wasn't even sure when it had happened, when Blair had stopped being a strange little guy who had some useful knowledge and helpful ideas and had become an essential part of his life, his friend, his Guide, his… beloved? Ridiculous. More ridiculous still, Jim hadn't even realized what he felt until tonight, until he had seen Blair dressed to kill and totally oblivious to his own allure, face alight with wonder as he took in the chandeliers and candelabra, the marble columns and ice sculptures, the orchestra and the couples in designer fashions swaying to the strains of the world's most romantic waltzes.

Cinderella at the ball, Jim thought. Trouble was, the analogy fit. Fit Blair's response to the festive occasion and fit Jim's response to Blair. Hell, they even had a wicked stepbrother lingering in the background for good measure.

Which made Jim think of the last time he had seen his partner before his disappearance. Blair had been talking to Matthew Singer, and his earlier look of wonder had suddenly turned stark. Jim had immediately focused his hearing in their direction, but he had been too late to catch anything but Matthew's parting shot, "Yeah, I thought so. You were a loser in high school, and you're a loser now. But then, you already know that, don't you, Blairboy?"

Blair had stood his ground, but he hadn't answered. When Singer turned away, a triumphant sneer on is face, Blair had looked up and seen Jim watching. He had looked sad, troubled, and more than a little embarrassed, but he had mouthed softly, knowing Jim would hear him, "I'm all right," before turning away and disappearing from view. Jim would have followed him, but that was when the commotion over the lost broach had started.

So where was Sandburg now?

Jim was about to expand his search upward when his ears picked up a sigh coupled with the steady lub-dub sound of the heart that had been beating reassuringly at his side for months now. Blair.

Opening a door marked Arboretum, Jim found himself in another world. He had heard that the newest Singer Tower boasted an indoor garden of rare beauty, but this was magical. A gravel path, lined on both sides by trellised roses and willows, branched ahead of him. Overhead an arched dome of glass revealed a night sky spattered with stars that were barely visible even to Jim's enhanced sight above the glow of the city's lights. It was easy enough for him to follow the path to where Blair sat alone on an ornate garden bench, staring sightlessly upward into the hazy darkness.

"Hey," Jim said, sitting down beside his silent friend.

"Shouldn't you be working?" Blair didn't turn toward him, didn't sound surprised that Jim had found him.

"Simon's covering for me. What's up, Blair? What is all this?" Jim gestured to include the garden, the solitude, and Blair himself.

Blair shrugged. "I don't belong here, man," he answered. "I'm not a cop, not a guest, not even a waiter or a musician. I'm not anything."

The last was whispered so softly Jim had to turn up his hearing a notch to catch it. "What are you talking about?" he asked, honestly confused. "I asked you to come. You have as much right to be here as any of those other people in there. What's really the matter?"

Blair finally turned to look at him. "What Matthew said in there, he was right. The prick was one hundred percent right." He gave a helpless shake of his head that loosened a lock of hair to fall forward over his face. Jim reached up to brush it back in place, but Blair caught his wrist, stopping him. "Don't," he said, his voice fierce. "Just don't."

"Why?" Jim asked.

Blair jumped up off the bench and began pacing back and forth. "Cut the crap, Jim," he said. "Don't pretend you didn't hear what Matthew said. I saw you watching us. I know you—" he stopped dead in mid-rant, staring down at Jim's confused face. "Oh shit," he said. "You didn't hear. You weren't listening to him, were you?"

Jim shook his head. "No. I just caught the end of it. But you're going to tell me all about it now, aren't you, Sandburg?"

Blair plopped back down onto the bench, his face almost comically chagrined. "Oh shit," he repeated.

Jim could practically see the frantic activity going on in Blair's head as he sought to devise a story to get him out of the hole he had dug himself into, could see the steadying of his features as he worked out a strategy. Jim stopped him before he could get started. "Can the BS, Chief," he said, hardening his heart to Blair's re-emerging dismay. "I'm on to your tricks."

Deflating, Blair said, "You don't know what you're asking. You don't want to know."

"You're wrong, Blair, so tell me. What did you think I heard in there? What were you afraid I heard?"

Blair looked away, as if bowing to the inevitable but unable to say what he had to say to Jim's face. "Matthew knew me pretty well. He made it his business to find out everything he could about me while his father and Naomi were together. He wanted to have the right ammunition to shoot me down with." He paused as if getting his thoughts together. "The girl at the prom wasn't the first person he used to hurt me. There was this guy," Blair shrugged. "Let's just say Matthew isn't the only one who goes for tall, dark, and handsome. So it didn't take him long to put two and two together tonight. Anyway, once he realized he had the right ammunition again, there he was in my face and BAM! Bullseye."

"I don't get it," Jim said.

"Oh come on!" Blair said scornfully. "You're not that dumb. Matthew knew I'm in love with you within five minutes of seeing us together. Get with the program!"

Jim was shocked into silence. Matthew knew Blair was bisexual. Matthew knew Blair was in love with… "You're in love with me?"

"Oh yeah," Blair murmured fervently, then, in a rush, "but it's okay, Jim, really it is. It's my problem, not yours. I'd never, ever—"

Jim did the only thing he could think of to shut Blair up: he leaned down and kissed him.

Since Blair's mouth had already been open when Jim swooped down on it, the kiss went very well indeed. One split second of stunned surprise, and then Blair was kissing him back, his mouth wet and warm and tasting faintly of champagne. A lush groan thrummed in Jim's ears, and he splayed a hand against the back of Blair's head, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss.

Blair packed quite a wallop, all right, Jim thought disjointedly. Then he stopped thinking altogether, allowing himself to sink into sensation, concentrating on taste and touch, closing his eyes to eliminate the distraction of sight, toning down his hearing lest the voluptuous, wet sounds of tongue against tongue prove too much for his rapidly overloading senses, belatedly cutting off scent as the rush of musk from the body in his arms almost threw him over the edge into a full-fledged zone out.

He ripped his mouth away from Blair's, arching his head back, gasping, struggling for control, and finally, in some measure, finding it. A long, relieved breath whooshed out of his lungs, and he opened his eyes. That, it seemed, was a big mistake.

Blair's eyes were huge and so dilated they appeared black and deep enough to fall into. His cheeks were flushed with arousal, and his lips looked swollen and lush. Jim closed his eyes again and took another deep breath, leaning forward to rest his spinning head against Blair's.

"You kissed me," Blair said, his voice reminding Jim of a child unwrapping gifts on Christmas morning.

"Yeah," Jim said, feeling a dopey smile stretch across his face.

"Yeah?" Blair drew back indignantly. "That's all you can say, just 'yeah'?"

"Yeah," Jim said again, his smile growing even wider.

"How long have you wanted to do that?" The scientist's voice now, though a bit husky, asking questions, needing to know everything.

"Forever."

"Jim!"

Jim didn't think he had ever felt so happy or so sure of himself or another person. "For about three seconds before I did it," he answered truthfully. "I wanted to do it forever. I just didn't know I did."

"Oh." Breathless. Christmas morning again.

Jim was quite positive now: he had definitely never felt this happy before. "I want to hold you," he said gravely, asking for permission.

Shyly—God, Jim thought, delighted, he's shy!—Blair said, "Uh, it's kind of public here, isn't it? Someone else could decide to check this place out."

"Sentinel senses," Jim reminded him.

"Oh, right." Blair's breathing and heart rate kicked into overdrive. "I guess it'd be okay, then."

Jim stood up and stretched out a hand to him.

"Are you always going to be this gallant?" Blair asked.

Tilting his head to one side, Jim thought about it. "No," he answered, "probably not. I'm on my best behavior tonight. Courtship ritual, that sort of thing."

Blair grinned at the reference and took Jim's offered hand. "So this is just to woo me and win me, huh? Tomorrow I suppose you'll want breakfast in bed."

Jim pulled Blair to his feet and into his enfolding arms. "And a late dinner tonight," he whispered as Blair shivered against him, face tucked into his shoulder, hand pressed possessively to his chest. He bent to bury his face in Blair's hair, rubbing his cheek against it, inhaling its clean, fresh fragrance. "I want to dance with you," he said.

Blair laughed, sounding a little giddy and more than a little happy himself. "There's no music."

"Oh yes there is. The orchestra inside is playing a Strauss waltz. Beautiful."

"I can't hear it." Wistful now.

"It doesn't matter." Jim held him tighter. "Just follow me."

"Anywhere," Blair answered, moving easily to the music only Jim could hear. "Anywhere at all."

—

Epilogue

Jim's sense of duty terminated their dance and took them back to the ballroom far sooner than he would otherwise have chosen, but nothing could interfere with the glorious sense of anticipation that filled him now. Blair had been at his side since they left the garden, and though he made no overt attempt to divert Jim's attention from his job, his very presence was a constant distraction—a comforting, arousing, wonderful distraction.

Luckily, things seemed to have settled down on the crime front, and no further unsavory incidents occurred to mar the evening's festivities. Good thing, too, because Jim wasn't at all sure he'd notice a bomb going off with Blair burning so brightly beside him.

He schooled the Cheshire cat grin from his face for what seemed the hundredth time in an hour. Wrong story, he reminded himself dryly. Tonight we're doing Cinderella, not Alice In Wonderland. He had to admit to himself, though, that certain features of Alice fit very well. The grin returned in spite of his best efforts.

Feeling a prickling at the back of his neck, the familiar sixth sense that notified him he was under scrutiny, Jim surveyed the room for its source. Ah, Matthew.

The insufferable young man had been flirting with Jim all evening, and not even his best bad-cop glower had been able to faze him. Jim didn't really mind; Matthew meant no more to him than a gnat he would have swatted if his status hadn't demanded at least token politeness.

Jim glanced toward his partner, who was happily regaling a bemused-looking Simon with yet another outrageous tale of fascinating tribal customs in some primitive jungle. Those two had come a long way, Jim reflected. Simon had finally accepted Blair as Jim's partner and had even developed a grudging respect and affection for the younger man.

Blair has that effect on people, Jim thought with satisfaction. My Blair.

Dragging his eyes away from his partner, Jim realized Matthew was still staring at him, but he looked odd all of a sudden, a bit bug-eyed and flushed, as if he were ill or—

Jim had a sudden sense of the condition of his own body, of the heavy languor of his eyelids, the flush of arousal coursing through him, the tightness at his groin that his well-fitting tuxedo pants could do little to hide. Thinking of Blair had done this to him, but Matthew had no way of knowing that.

A wicked idea occurred to him. Blair was not the type to deliberately seek revenge for past hurts, but Jim had no such compunctions, especially when Blair had been the injured party. Besides, it would be poetic justice, he reasoned. Tit for tat. The more Jim thought about it, the more the idea appealed to him.

Only a few diehard revelers remained in the ballroom, and the Cascade PD's team was no longer needed. Raking Matthew with what he hoped was a sultry glance, Jim turned back to his friends. "I think I'll wind things up here," he said, "and send the rest of the guys home."

Simon nodded agreement. "Sounds good," he said then yawned widely. "Good thing tomorrow's Sunday. I'm getting too old to stay up half the night and be fit for anything in the morning. What about you two; any plans for the rest of the weekend?"

"Nah," Jim answered with a conspiratorial wink at Blair. "Once I hit the sheets, I think I'll just stay in bed until Monday morning."

Blair sputtered, blushed charmingly, and turned away, ostensibly to find a place to put his champagne glass. Simon, his dark eyes twinkling, pretended to ignore the exchange. "I'll tell the rest of our people they can go," he said. "You two can consider yourselves off duty as of now."

"Thanks, Simon," Jim said. "For everything." Simon just nodded and headed off.

Returning to Jim's side a moment later, Blair said, "That was bad, Jim. What if Simon finds out about, you know, us?"

Jim leaned forward and, glancing over Blair's shoulder at Matthew, confided, "I hate to break this to you, Chief, but I think Simon knew about us before we did."

"What?" Blair squeaked.

Jim gave a quick, sideways nod. "Believe it."

"And you're okay with that?" Blair sounded amazed.

"Tonight, Chief," Jim answered expansively, "I'm okay with the whole wide world." With one possible exception, he amended silently, still aware of Matthew's eyes on him. He turned his back to the man and moved between him and Blair.

"Uh, Blair," he said, in what he hoped was a casual tone, "since I'm here representing the Department, I should probably go over and say good night to Matthew. I know you'd just as soon not have to talk to him again, so why don't you wait for me in that little alcove off the entryway."

Shaking his head, Blair answered, "He doesn't bother me anymore, Jim. He can't; he's all out of ammo."

Jim smiled, pleased by Blair's certainty. "Still," he said. "I won't be long, I promise. Besides," he added, not seeking to temper the desire in his voice, "that alcove is private, and I want to kiss you again before we head for home."

Blair's face lit up. "Good thinking. I'll wait for you there." As he walked away, Jim heard him add under his breath, for his ears only, "Don't be long, lover." Jim schooled the grin from his face before turning back toward Matthew.

Show time.

Slowly approaching his prey, Jim made sure Matthew's eyes stayed on him, not on the direction of Blair's departure. He allowed his simmering desire for his partner to show on his face and in his body language; he could tell from the now-open hunger radiating from Matthew that his message was being received, and misconstrued, as intended.

"Mr. Singer," he began, his voice pitched low and intimate as he insinuated himself just a fraction further into Matthew's personal space than was generally considered socially acceptable between near strangers.

"Matt," Matthew hastened to correct, looking up into Jim's eyes from a height only slightly greater than Blair's. He licked his lips, his whole demeanor a caricature of classic lust. Jim was almost surprised he didn't metamorphose into a cartoon wolf and howl at him. He suppressed an amused laugh, almost feeling sorry for the bastard. Almost, but not quite.

"Matt," Jim agreed, lingering longer over the name than was absolutely necessary. "I hope the Cascade PD has lived up to your expectations tonight." He suspected the smile that accompanied his words was not a pleasant one, but he hoped Matthew would misconstrue that, too.

"Oh, yes," Matthew agreed. "Most satisfactory."

"I'm glad to hear it. It's been a pleasure meeting you." He offered his hand, and Matthew grabbed it a little too quickly, a little too desperately. His palm was unpleasantly cool and slick with sweat, and Jim instinctively turned down his sense of touch. He felt his jaw tighten in distaste, but Matthew was beyond responding to such subtle cues.

"You're not going already?" Matthew asked. "I was hoping you'd come up to the penthouse. For a drink," he added awkwardly as a waiter approached the table next to them and began collecting glasses onto a tray.

Jim shook his head as he retrieved his hand. "Regretfully, I have a prior commitment. Perhaps another time." He cast a meaningful glance at the waiter, who was still within hearing distance, and then slowly let his eyes drift meaningfully toward the hidden alcove where Blair was waiting for him.

Matthew's eyes widened, and his pupils dilated suddenly as he realized what Jim was suggesting. "Yes," he said, his voice impatient now. "Yes, of course. I'll see you again, soon." It was said confidently and with a trace of arrogance now. Matthew was obviously used to getting what he wanted.

But not this time, Jim vowed silently as he turned and walked away. Just before entering the alcove, he paused and threw one last look over his shoulder. The look he got in return made him nod in grim satisfaction: payback was definitely going to be a bitch.

Blair was huddled in a wing chair, eyes lowered. He had loosened his tie, and the top button of his ruffled shirt was undone. He looked more gorgeous to Jim than ever.

"Hello," Jim said softly. "What's up?"

Blair looked at him and shrugged. "Being alone gave me time to think."

"What about?"

"Doubts. Insecurities. Dumb stuff like that."

"Can't leave you alone for a minute." Then, "You're not alone now."

A slow smile. "No, I'm not. I suppose you want that kiss?" Blair stood up and stepped toward him without hesitation, but Jim held him away slightly, hands gripping Blair's waist.

"Before we lock lips—

That earned him a dimpled grin and a murmured, "That is so not romantic, Jim," as Blair again attempted to close the distance between them.

Jim held him at bay and shook him slightly to regain his attention. "Before we lock lips," Jim repeated, struggling to keep a straight face, "I thought you should know that we're going to have an audience in a minute." Blair looked up at him quizzically. "I, uh, invited Matthew to join me in here. Of course, he thinks it's going to be a private party."

"Jim," Blair admonished.

"Hey, I knew you'd be here to protect me. Besides, I figured you might want a little of your own back."

"You set him up."

Jim nodded.

"For me."

Jim nodded again. "And for me," he added.

Blair sighed. "That wasn't necessary."

"No," Jim agreed. "But he deserves it. You deserve it.

A moment of silent consideration, then, "It might be fun at that," Blair admitted dubiously.

"Make up your mind. He's coming."

"Oh, what the hell." Blair stepped closer and pulled Jim into a heated kiss.

Instantly they were so caught up in each other that neither of them noticed Matthew enter the alcove. When his presence finally registered, they drew reluctantly apart. Blair turned slightly in Jim's embrace, and they both looked at the stunned man standing in the entryway.

Feeling somewhat stunned himself, Jim said gruffly, "As I told you, Matthew, I had another commitment." His deliberate emphasis on the last word left no doubt as to his meaning.

Blair moved slowly out of Jim's arms and stood, back straight, shoulders squared, beside him. He didn't laugh, didn't mock his old enemy. Instead, with quiet dignity, he held out his hand to Jim.

"Let's go home," he said.

Taking the offered hand, Jim proudly accompanied his new love from the room, leaving a dumbstruck Matthew gaping after them.

—

And they lived happily ever after.