Author's disclaimer: They belong to each other and there's nothing Petfly, Paramount and whatever sundry others can do about it. Now I'm putting them back, worn out, tired - but definitely not frustrated. It was the least I could do.

Author's notes: Well, folks, this is my last Sentinel story. It's been a lot of fun, playing in this sandbox and I'd like to thank you all for reading and for sharing your enthusiasm for my work. It's been an invaluable experience for me and I wouldn't have missed it for anything.

Special thanks go to Rie for doing a mega-fast beta on this and for all that wonderful support. Thanks also to Top Gun (you know who you are) for being dragged into this without any kicking and screaming and to Mairaid for pages and pages of enlightenment. Finally, a big thank you to Kadru - you're the best. This has indeed been made an exceptional experience due entirely to the people I've met.

The Good Friend - Part one
By Jack Reuben Darcy

"And thus, conscience doth make cowards of us all..."
Hamlet
Shakespeare

Jim had to dial down both hearing and sight as he stepped into the nightclub. Flashing lights focussed their energies towards the opposite end of the room, giving him some reprieve - but the music was so loud it should have been classified as a lethal weapon. The place was half-empty. It was way too early for things to have picked up just yet - and for that, at least, he was glad. It wouldn't be so hard to find Sandburg.

His hearing adjusted and slightly more comfortable, he moved through the club towards the bar, casting his gaze over murky, smoke-red shadows smelling of things he didn't want to know about. He was stared at, measured and judged - but left alone. Small mercies.

He reached the bar, a long black-vinyl covered thing all glistening with chrome studs and ice green glass. A barman approached, half-interest and half-disbelief conjoined on his otherwise bored face.

"What can I get you?"

"I'm looking for a friend."

"Aren't we all?"

Jim sighed internally but kept his focus on what he needed. "He's about five-eight, long curly hair ..."

"Big blue eyes and is waiting for his partner, Jim, right?" The barman took a step back and let a smile cover the rest of his expression. "Sure, he's down there, around the corner. Strayed, did he?"

"Something like that." Jim nodded his thanks and navigated his way around groups of milling patrons to where the bar hooked a right angle. There, perched on a stool as though it was his only anchor in life, was one Blair Sandburg, somewhat the worse for wear.

For a moment, Jim didn't approach but instead, simply watched. Blair wore a pair of black jeans he hadn't seen before and a red shirt, buttons open at the neck, sleeves rolled and folded to his elbows. There was something about him which looked entirely at home in this place - and something which never would. Farm-boy meets the big, ugly city and neither got off lightly.

Blair had his left leg straight and planted on the foot rail running along the base of the bar. Even in the dim light, Jim could see the thickened girth around the knee from bandages hidden by the jeans. The man himself was hunched over the bar, three empty glasses in front of him, another half full. He had his glasses on, his hair tied back, but long errant strands hung loose, obscuring his face from Jim's eyes.

He appeared to be writing something. Fast and furious, pen darting across a notepad, urgent and necessary.

Jim smiled. He took a few steps forward until he stopped beside the distracted figure of his friend. "Hey, Chief?"

Instantly Blair looked up, eyes surprised - then widening to a great, goofy grin. "Hey, Jim, man! What are you doin' here? Not your kind of place at all, man. Wanna drink?"

Oh dear.

Gently, Jim shook his head, pulled up a stool and perched on the edge. "What are you writing?"

"Oh," Blair waved his hand, shaking his head, dismissing his efforts as though they were already forgotten. "Nothin' much. Just, you know... stuff. Things I wanted to say, you know?"

There was something a bit wrong about everything Jim was seeing but he knew his partner better than to push hard. Softly, softly was the best approach right now. "Maybe I will have a drink."

Blair grinned at him again, alcohol making his eyes glisten. Absently, his hand tapped the pen against the bar in time with the throbbing music. At any other time, his whole body would have been into it - another sure sign that something was wrong.

The barman brought them both short glasses of what turned out to be whisky. Blair grabbed his, downed half of it in one swallow then turned back to Jim. "Oh, hey, I got you this." He reached into his shirt pocket and produced a small tube of something. "It's seaweed toothpaste. It's really mild but it's supposed to be great. I know you're getting a little sensitive to that cinnamon one I got - but I thought this might be worth a try. It's just a sample. I can get more if you like it."

Jim took the tube and, only because Blair was watching him closely, opened it and took a careful sniff. It seemed okay. "Seaweed, huh?"

"Yeah. All natural products. Nothing artificial."

"Thanks." Jim put the cap back on and put the tube into his pocket. Blair was grinning at him again, so far away from his usual focussed self.

"So man, watcha doing here?"

Jim sipped his drink then placed the glass on the bar with great care. "You called me, remember? Said the pain meds for your knee were acting up? You wanted a lift home?" Pain meds acting up - and reacting to the alcohol Blair had consumed. It wouldn't be long before the mixture knocked him out completely.

"Oh, yeah," Blair drew the word out as though he was just remembering - though it was obvious that he didn't. He stared at Jim a second longer and abruptly, all the bounce left him - or rather, the little bounce that remained disappeared. "Jim?"

"Yeah?"

"I... er..." Blair swallowed and turned away, gaze dropping back to the pad and his writing.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Come on, Chief, you can tell me. What's up?"

He shrugged a little, hands now twisting the pen between them. Another little shrug followed and then words came out, words influenced by both pain meds and a substantial amount of alcohol. "It's ... nothing much... just ... Nick."

Carefully, Jim leaned a little closer, bringing with the movement an air of intimacy. "What about Nick?"

"He ... er... dumped me."

"Dumped you? Why?" The response was out before Jim could stop it, articulating a disbelief and confusion he had no time to analyse. "What happened?"

Those shoulders shrugged again and Blair took another mouthful of whisky, licking his lips afterwards as though he would find the words he needed. But he said nothing.

Jim pulled his stool a little closer. "Chief? Come on," he said gently, hoping the other man could hear him over the noise. "I thought everything was fine with you two. Did something happen?"

"I guess. Maybe. I dunno. He didn't say." The voice was small and very unhappy.

"Well, what did he say? Exactly?"

"Blair, I don't want to see you again."

"That's it?"

"Pretty much." Blair shot a glance at Jim then snaked a hand out to his glass, wrapping long fingers around it. When Jim didn't move to stop him, he took the glass and drained its contents, wincing a little afterwards.

"Okay, what's the rest of it?"

Blair's gaze rose a little guiltily before wandering across the rest of the room. "Decided he didn't like me working with the PD after all. Didn't like me sharing an apartment with a cop. Didn't like me spending so much time at the university. Didn't like my flannel shirts. Really hated my backpack. And my car? Man, let's not even go there, okay?"

Jim sat back a little, clasping his hands together and resting an elbow on the bar. When Blair had come to him some months ago and confessed he was seeing a guy, Jim had been surprised, to say the least. Until then, he'd had no idea Blair was interested in men - but Blair had made his confession, lacing it with large quantities of apologies for keeping it from him, for not coming out sooner. Oddly enough, Jim had absorbed the information quite quickly and had even agreed to have dinner with Blair and Nick a couple of times. Nick had seemed like a nice guy - but Jim had stayed well out of the thing, preferring to retain some distance between Blair and his train-wreck love life. It had always been one of the necessary paths he took to retaining his sanity.

But the truth was, nice guy or not, he'd never liked Nick at all.

"I'm sorry, man, I guess you don't want to know all this, do you?"

Blair was waving at the barman for another drink and Jim didn't stop him. When two more glasses appeared, he took a breath and composed his next question carefully.

"Chief, Nick never seemed to mind any of that. In fact, I got the distinct impression he liked the idea of you working with the PD. Didn't he ask to come along on a stakeout once?"

"Yeah." Muffled, begrudging.

"So what made him change his mind? Something else must have happened."

"I don't know what. I mean, I was like, at his place last night and everything was fine. And then this morning, when we woke up, well, he didn't say anything and nothing had changed and man, last night we were just so... hot you know, like we couldn't keep our hands off each other and well, this morning it was the same and then he came to the clinic after I hurt my knee, helped me back to my office and then just tells me he doesn't want to see me any more. I thought he was joking, because of my knee." Blair finished this with a faintly wistful sigh - then stopped abruptly and turned wide, horrified eyes on Jim. "Shit, man, I'm sorry, too much information, right? Oh, fuck! What the fuck am I doing wrong!"

With half a sob, he planted his arms on the bar and buried his face in them, shaking his head and muttering words Jim couldn't make out.

Too much information? The idea of Blair and Nick ... last night and this morning ... well, it didn't bear thinking about. At least, not in a place like this. Of course, it didn't matter to him if his roomie was bi - didn't matter at all - and he'd not done any gross things like demand that Blair never bring any guys home with him. In fact, he'd done his best to make sure Blair knew he was okay with it all. It wasn't like it was really his business, was it?

Only now it was, because said roomie was doing a heartbreak hotel all over this nightclub bar and it was up to Jim to fix it - or at least, make it a little better.

He reached out and put a hand on Blair's shoulder, leaning close so Blair could hear him. "Chief, if he doesn't want you, that's his problem. There's nothing wrong with you. If he didn't know what he had with you, then he wasn't the right man for you. Don't hate yourself. Your Blessed Protector won't stand for it, okay?"

That got him a slight hiccup of drunken laughter. Slowly, Blair lifted his head and peered at Jim over misty glasses and through a veil of tangled curls. "I guess... that's what a Blessed Protector is for, right?"

"Right," Jim replied, smiling softly. He squeezed Blair's shoulder, backing up his words. "You did nothing wrong, Chief - and you know I wouldn't lie to you, don't you?"

"Sure," Blair nodded hazily. "You're pretty good at pointing out when I do do something wrong, so I guess I should trust you this time."

"Exactly."

"It's just that..."

"What?"

"Well, he ... well, I thought that he was ..."

"What?" Jim murmured, feeling the nightclub and music and other people fade away into the background in the face of Blair's alcohol-razed anguish. "Do you love him?"

Blair searched his face for a moment before lifting a shoulder, "I guess. I thought he loved me. I suppose I was wrong. I mean, I wouldn't just dump somebody I loved."

"No, you wouldn't."

"Jim?" Blair smiled foggily at him, hand coming out to touch his resting on the bar. "You really are okay with this, aren't you?"

Jim blinked and nodded, "Sure. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Dunno. But I knew you'd come through for me. Doesn't make much sense to me 'cause... Sorry, I can't think much right now."

"How 'bout we get you home? How's the knee?"

"Hurting. Stupid thing to do. I should have been looking where I was going."

"How did you do it?"

"Fell down the stairs near my office. Got a nice bruise on my ass as well. Still, I guess I won't have to worry about that for a while, eh?"

Jim closed his eyes at that last comment, shutting out the instant image it created. Blair slid off his stool, standing unsteadily. Jim came to his feet, picking up the backpack left on the floor, held it open while Blair stuffed the notepad into it. Then, with his arm around Blair's waist, he helped the limping man to negotiate the growing crowds until they reached the door. Once outside, Blair paused and shivered, blinking as though he'd just woken up.

"Where's your coat?"

"Must have left it in my office. Doesn't matter, I'll be okay once I'm in the truck."

"Well, I'm parked around the corner so you want to wait here and I'll go get it?"

"Sure."

"You'll wait here?"

Blair turned a grin on him, "Jim, I'm not going anywhere on this knee. Just go."

Jim nodded and headed down the street. He found the truck where he left it, tossed the backpack inside then drove around the corner to find Blair leaning up against the wall of the nightclub, looking as much like a wayward hooker as a man ready to collapse from exhaustion. Jim could only shake his head and smile. Only Blair could combine innocence and wantonness with such obscure purpose. Good thing Jim was a cop - and straight - or he'd be pulling out his wallet and counting the bills.

He got out and helped Blair into the truck, easing the injured knee as best he could to minimize the discomfort. He strapped Blair in, gently eased his head back onto the rest, then climbed in behind the wheel. They were barely around the corner before Blair's eyes closed and his respiration settled. He was asleep.

Jim kept track of his vitals as he drove, no more than a habit developed and held onto over the years he'd worked and lived with this man. For all that the Blessed Protector stuff was little more than a joke, they both knew that beneath it lay a very real need for Jim to look after Blair - which was probably why they made a joke of it.

But it wasn't really a joke - not after what had happened today, not with Blair's man of three months dumping him like that for no apparent reason. Blair had found a club and downed half a dozen whiskies on top of meds in order to numb the pain. He was hurting - and Nick had been the one to hurt him.

The man was obviously nowhere near good enough for Blair. His partner was better off without a prick like that. But Blair was going to hurt for a while because Nick had been his first guy. A real romance, from what he could tell. In fact, for a while there, he'd begun to wonder whether that was it, whether the day was quickly approaching when Blair would deliver those lines to Jim, the ones about it being time he moved out and found a place of his own, or worse still, a place with Nick.

Maybe Blair had been thinking along those lines himself, maybe not. But Jim had kept quiet about it because he knew, much better than Blair did, that the moment he moved in with somebody else, the moment either of them pursued a relationship permanent enough to spark off such a move - their friendship, such as it was, would be over.

Not that that was such a terrible thing, no. After all, it wasn't exactly normal for two guys their age to live and work in such close proximity to each other - not without committing murder. But Jim had long ago recognized that they were too close to each other for the addition of another significant other to put up with. And all along, Jim had known it would be Blair who would find someone first. He was young enough, energetic enough to pursue dating as an active pastime. Jim, internally worn and battle-bruised, only dated when the occasion presented itself - and that was no way to go about finding a life partner. Most of the women he met were either involved in the law - which he avoided like the plague now, or involved in breaking it - and he'd had far too many of those in the last few years to be even remotely tempted.

And it wasn't as if he could trust the idea of an intimate relationship with anybody, was it?

There had been others in his life. An ever decreasing line of women who had loved and been loved in return. Each of them, in their own way had scarred him - as he had probably scarred them. He could never do that again, never pursue something that would, in all probability, end in failure. It was just too hard. Not the pain, not even the humiliation - but the loss, the working to get so close and then finding an emptiness facing him.

He couldn't do that again. Couldn't open himself up inside to somebody, couldn't get to the point where intimacy was something he longed for. Perhaps that was the reason why those women in the past had left him - he was never likely to know. All he did know was that any relationship that tried to survive without that level of emotional closeness would fade and die.

So his chances were about nil - whereas Blair? Blair, the man everybody liked, the man women (and more recently, men) chased after. The man who could bring sunshine into a room with one of his silly jokes, a badly-timed anthropological explanation or one of his prize-winning meals. Blair had the ability to stretch the imagination of those around him - and there was hardly a person who came in contact with him who didn't notice and wonder at it. It was only a matter of time before Blair found that one special person and then that would be it.

Sure, they'd remain friends - very little would ever stop that - but it wouldn't be the same. It wouldn't be allowed or tolerated for them to remain so close. Jim knew, it had happened to him before. He'd already decided that when the day came, he would help Blair move out, buy him a nice house-warming present - then tell him to stay away in the nicest possible way. He knew there'd be trouble - but he also knew it was the best and only way they could go.

That didn't stop him hoping, horribly selfishly at that, that the day would never come.

Prospect was almost empty by the time he pulled up in front of their building. Blair remained steadfastly asleep, alcohol, pain and medication having finally caught up with him. Resigning himself to the necessary work, Jim climbed out then gently lifted Blair down from the truck. He got a few garbled words of thanks and then Blair virtually slumped in his arms.

He got inside the building and thanked god that the elevator was working. Blair didn't so much as grunt as Jim carried him bodily into the cage and pressed the button. The ride up was quiet and Jim shifted his hold, arm around Blair's waist, Blair's arm around his shoulder. When the doors opened however, he couldn't get Blair to walk at all. With an inward sigh, he reached down and slipped an arm under the smaller man's knees and lifted.

Taking care not to bash head or feet against walls and doors, he made it to 307. He put Blair down briefly to fish out his keys and unlock the door. Blair took the opportunity to snuggle his head against Jim's shoulder, more incoherent mumblings floating in the air. Once again, Jim picked him up, grimacing and smiling at the same time and got him inside, kicking the door closed behind him. Almost staggering now, he made it as far as the couch, turned and sat with his burden.

His plans to ease himself out from under Blair were thwarted however, when Blair mumbled something else, brought his other hand up around Jim's neck and settled in, his head comfortable against Jim's shoulder, a look of warm peace on his face.

"Chief?" Jim murmured, "Chief? If you just let go, you can lie down and get comfortable, okay? Get some sleep. You'll feel better in the morning."

"Feel'kaynow," was the slurred response.

Belatedly remembering the injured knee, Jim straightened Blair's legs, shifted so that the man sitting in his lap didn't break anything valuable on his makeshift chair. Then he tried again, "How's the knee?"

"Fine... jus fine, Jim. Stop worrying. Mm fine. Go back t'sleep, 'kay?"

"Yeah, okay, Chief, you go back to sleep." Jim had to laugh to himself as he brought his arms around to hold Blair properly, so they'd both be comfortable. This was exactly the kind of thing they wouldn't be able to do in the years to come. Just the two of them sitting here - impossible - and yet, it was kinda nice and Jim was glad he'd been the one to help Blair out when he was feeling so down. Glad that he was the one Blair called 'best friend'.

No, Nick had no idea what he had in this man. No idea at all - because if he had, there was no way he would have tossed Blair away like a used napkin. He would have held on, treasuring every joyful aspect of this precious bundle, revelling in the fact that the man had so many interests instead of disparaging them. Would have held on as tight as Jim held onto Blair now. Held on and never let go.

"Hey?" Hardly a word. More like a slide of air.

"Yeah?"

"Bruise. Ass. Hurts."

Jim almost laughed aloud - but settled for a lop-sided grin. Without a word, he carefully lifted Blair enough to change his weight, hoping to shield the bruised buttock from further discomfort.

"S'better." Blair murmured into his shoulder. "'S'nice."

"Good, Chief. You just rest, okay?"

"'kay."

Blair settled down further in his arms and Jim glanced down at his face, so soft now in the darkness and sleep. There was something so vulnerable about that face, the clear brow, the hair half-loose and cascading over his shoulders, the nose flaring slightly with breathing, the mouth still and quiet. He seemed so young, so slight and yet, there was such evidence of his unique energy imprinted in those features, it took very little effort for Jim to see where it all came from. But this was perhaps the first time he'd ever had a chance to look, really look at Blair's face.

It was a good face. Expressive, varied, capable of changing without warning. So much like the man himself. And ... truth was, it was beautiful in a Blair kind of way. In any age, under any circumstances, both men and women would find Blair attractive. But Jim had never really looked at it like this before. Instead, he'd simply grown accustomed to it, letting it become part of the furniture, a part of his life as much as this couch or the afghan thrown over the back.

Now that he'd begun to look, he couldn't stop. He dialled up his sight and deliberately catalogued every tiny imperfection he could find, taking the shadows and the pale streetlight bleeding through the windows as a guide to his guide. It was like discovering a breathtaking view for the first time, pristine and untouched by future history, and Jim was awake, aware and ready to open and learn whatever his senses told him.

Yeah, Blair was beautiful - and not just on the inside.

As though aware of his scrutiny, Blair shifted again, making some little noise deep in his throat before settling again, his head tilted back, mouth slightly open -

Mouth...

Jim swallowed hard.

That mouth...

A suppressed shiver scattered down his spine and vanished.

Full lips...

This was silly, right? Really silly. Just a trick of the light, okay?

Open, head tilted back as if...

Silly? Yeah. So silly he couldn't take his eyes away, couldn't get the idea out of his head, couldn't make himself move to a safe distance, either internally or externally. Instead, a wash of adrenalin ricocheted around his insides and pooled in his belly, tightening his gut.

Inviting...

Silly, maybe - but ... really... what would it be like ... to ...

Kiss a man?

Yeah. Kiss a man. What would it be like, in reality to kiss a man... to kiss... Blair...

Shit.

He wanted to do it. For no apparent reason - he suddenly wanted to kiss Blair. Kiss those warm, inviting lips... Shit!

So what would Blair do if he did? Fight him? Okay, then Jim could back off and pretend it was an accident or something. Blair was really too out of it to know one way or the other. And if he didn't fight? Well, Blair was bi - what difference would it make to him?

And still he couldn't drag his gaze away from that mouth, precious, perfect ... ready.

Shit. He was going to do it. Somewhere inside, some contrary part of him had already made the decision; a snap judgement waiting for the rest of him to catch up and act upon it. He was going to kiss those lips... that mouth...

Blair...

Again, Blair shifted. Just a little. Just enough to send a spike of something violent from one end of Jim to the other. Head tilted back just a fraction more, mouth open, chin lifting up as though he knew, as though he wanted Jim to kiss him...

Oh shit!

Was he going to do it? Did he really want to?

But what choice did he have, eh? This was the first chance he'd ever had to find out - and would probably be his last.

So do it, Jim. Kiss the man.

Heart pounding furiously, Jim bent his head a little, until he could feel the breath coming out of Blair's mouth, scented with whisky. He imagined Blair moving up further towards him, wanting the kiss - and his heart skipped a little, sending warnings though him unheeded. He had to do this - if only once in his life. He just had to.

So he did.

The first touch was gossamer, fine, gentle and aching for more. Hardly daring to dare, he took another kiss, pressing further now, letting his tongue reach into that cavern, tasting and touching, feeling the lips press against his, melt against his, opening further, letting him in, wanting him to do this.

Moist, slick warmth, spicy and heady, drowning out his own flavours, bringing him out of himself and bringing his body alive.

He closed his eyes.

Darkness enveloped his kiss, flaring with heat, a tangible and exciting elixir almost too rich to bear.

He went deeper, tongue probing against tasty flesh, against a tongue which probed his. With the smallest shift of movement, Blair began kissing him back, opening more and more until he was sucking on Jim's tongue, letting Jim suck his in return, letting the passion flow from their joined mouths through their entire bodies.

Jim was drowning, unable to reach for a life-raft. It was too good, this. Too sweet, too dangerous, too terrifying. But he simply couldn't stop. Blair was a drug of addiction and Jim was an instant junkie.

Blair moved, turning on his lap, reaching around his neck to draw them closer. Some tiny part of Jim not yet involved with this madness could scent sharp arousal on the air, feel the increase in blood pressure, rise in pulse. In both of them.

Shit.

Breaking the kiss only to gasp in air, Jim plunged in again, his eyes opening only long enough to glimpse the growing bulge in Blair's jeans. The image was imprinted on his eyelids as he shut it out, shut out what it meant, what it would mean if he didn't stop this craziness right now.

But did he want to? Blair was so out of it, Jim could... could ... well... keep going right here on the couch and there would be no argument, no fight, nothing more than ...

Jesus...

He could die from this, he knew that now. Die from the pressure on his balls where Blair's body pressed against him. His cock was trapped and the fear only made it harder - oh, but what a place to be in, up against...

Oh, god...

He held on tighter, diving further into the kiss, partaking and joining the passion with his own. When Blair moaned into his mouth, a growl husky with desire, Jim thought he might come from the threat, the promise of what might happen if he would only let it.

But Blair's mouth held him captive, a prisoner of taste and texture, sensuous and erotic.

No, he couldn't do it. Couldn't take advantage of Blair like this. This kissing was bad enough. The man was drunk, on meds - the combination of the two affecting his judgement. Chances were, he wouldn't even remember this in the morning - or for that matter, probably thought that the man kissing him was Nick.

Blair moaned again, more harsh now and Jim knew his time was up. If he didn't break this off now, Blair was going to start something it wouldn't be wise for them to finish.

Feeling worse and worse by the second, Jim deliberately softened the kisses, brought them to a safe shallow place until he could, with one last touch, end them completely. With a gentle hand, he pushed Blair's head back against his shoulder, letting him settle there, letting him drift back to sleep.

He sat there for an hour, feeling his legs go a little numb. Only then did he dare get Blair up and into bed. The younger man stumbled, leaned heavily on him and fell onto the futon without so much as a word. Jim removed his shoes and socks, pulled the covers up and closed the door behind him.

Pain was a good indicator that it was time to get up. The problem was, Blair was too comfortable where he was - or rather, most of him was comfortable except his knee and his bladder.

Oh yeah, and his head.

Dear god, what had he drunk last night?

No, forget that. He didn't want to know. The dying man doesn't need to know what calibre bullet has ripped the insides of his head apart.

Fearing the consequences, Blair cracked one eye open and caught the unmistakable signs of daylight filtering though his curtains. Okay, successfully established that it is no longer night. Job one completed.

Next?

Bathroom. Yeah, bathroom and something to drink. Something long, wet and cool and preferably consisting of nothing more than H2O plus sundry trace elements. Okay, got a good list of priorities going here. Looking a bit more promising.

Steeling himself against the coming onslaught, Blair pulled back the covers and only then noticed he was still dressed in jeans and shirt. His red shirt. The one he'd bought because Nick had liked it...

Nick.

Shit.

Nick.

Nick had liked the red shirt but Nick didn't like Blair any more. Didn't like his hair, his clothes, his work, his face, his body, his existence. What Nick liked was all that mattered to him and it had been plainly obvious that Nick hadn't given a damn that he was hurting Blair with his litany of complaints.

Asshole.

Gorgeous asshole.

Why?

That's all he wanted to know. Why? Why be so nice at the clinic ... so wonderful in bed yesterday morning and then, suddenly at the U, turn into an asshole?

What had he done wrong? He couldn't remember saying anything unusual, hadn't done anything - but Nick had dumped him all the same, his list of dislikes rattling into Blair's stunned silence like bricks into a pond.

No, there was no way Nick would just dump him for no good reason. There must be something else going on. Had to be - and he'd find out. Once he was out of this bed and feeling a bit more human, he'd call and ask, insist on meeting up somewhere. Christ, he had almost three months invested in this relationship, he wasn't going to just let it go like that without a fight.

But, god in heaven he hurt right now. Definitely time to get up.

Gritting his teeth, he swung his good leg over the side of the bed, elbowed himself up to half-sit. Then he edged his other leg over until it stuck out, pinned by the bandage that was only now beginning to itch his tortured skin. Damn it!

Panting a little to control the pain, he tried to stand up. For a moment, it looked like it would work - but then his head throbbed so hard, dizziness overwhelmed him. He fell backwards, twisting his knee.

"OW!" He yelled. "Ow, ow ow! Shit and fuck!"

"Chief?"

Blair pulled in a breath and held it against patience.

"Sandburg? Are you okay?"

"Does it sound like I'm okay?" Blair snapped back.

Jim pushed the door open and stood there looking down at him. "Mmmn, no, I guess not. Want some help?"

"And here I was thinking you'd just come along to have a good laugh."

Jim raised his eyebrows and made a decent attempt to stifle a grin. "Where are we going? Bathroom?"

"Unless you want to find me one of those hospital bottles, yes - in something of a hurry."

"Right."

Jim came up to the bed and took Blair's hand in his. With barely an effort, he pulled Blair upright, swung an arm about his waist and propelled him out the door. Blair tried not to put any weight on his left leg but it wasn't easy. Movement however, got a few things working again so that by the time he reached the bathroom, he was confident of handling further activities on his own.

"Chief, can you ..."

"Yes, I'm fine!" Blair winced as the bathroom door slammed shut under his hand. He took a deep breath and said, "Sorry!"

A short pause preceded Jim's reply. "Aspirin and juice?"

"Thanks."

Blair peeled himself out of his jeans and shirt, relieving himself with a gusting sigh. Okay, one pain taken care of, two more to go. The third, the internal one, would have to wait a little longer.

Balancing on one leg, he pulled his robe off the back of the door and shrugged it on. He paused a moment to splash some cold water on his face then hopped his way back out into the kitchen. Jim glanced up and frowned, instantly coming to help him again.

"Hell, why didn't you just call. Come on, sit down. I'll get you breakfast - though it would qualify as lunch."

"Why? What's the time?"

"Almost midday. You didn't have any classes today did you?"

"No, no." Blair settled into a chair, wishing he could afford to return to the comfort of bed. Jim returned with a huge glass of orange juice and two aspirin, followed by an even bigger glass of water. He then stood over Blair, arms folded and waited for him to take his medicine like a man.

Sniffing, Blair swallowed, drank, drank some more and then counted how long it would take him before he had to make another dash to the bathroom. Jim just raised his eyebrows again.

"What?"

"How do you feel?"

"How do I feel? Do I look like a happy camper here? Jeez, Jim can we cut the dumb questions please? My boyfriend dumped me, I've got a bad knee, a hangover from hell and now a sentinel who needs spoon-feeding basic information. God help me."

"Too late for that. I'm afraid you're stuck with me. Now, let me take a look at that knee. You shouldn't have slept with the bandage on."

"Don't you think I know that?" Blair snapped again, paying for it in the way his head throbbed with each word. Fortunately, Jim - stoic, solid reliable Jim - had determined to remain oblivious to Blair's mood and instead, lifted his foot to rest on another chair. Then, with careful hands, he began to unwind the bandage. As it loosened, Blair began to relax, his fingers going inexorably to the newly revealed crinkled flesh where he couldn't stop himself from scratching a little.

Good old stoic, reliable Jim caught his hands. "Don't. You'll only make it worse."

"But it itches!"

"Let me." And Jim proceeded to rub gently with his fingertips the areas not purpled with bruises. "You're damned lucky you didn't do permanent damage you know. How does it feel now?"

"Better," Blair admitted somewhat begrudgingly. Jim's fingers were working something of a miracle and he let himself relax a bit more. Pain number two taken care of. Headache under threat of aspirin. Now for the nasty one. "I ... don't suppose Nick has called, has he?"

"Yeah," Jim nodded, short and curt. "About an hour ago."

"Why didn't you wake me?" Blair demanded immediately, almost knocking his leg off the chair.

"He didn't want to talk to you. He just wanted me to let you know you've got some stuff at his place. He said he's going away tomorrow so you can pick it up after that ... and leave your key at the same time."

Blair fell back in his chair, air leaving his lungs in a helpless gust. "Fuck." Nick really had meant it, really didn't want to see Blair any more - and still he had no idea why.

After a moment, he glanced back at Jim, "Did he ... you know, say anything?"

Jim watched him steadily, shaking his head, "No. He just told me about your things, about him going away and then hung up. He didn't even ask if you were here."

Blair wanted to be angry - but his head hurt too much. Instead, he just felt pathetic, inside and out. And damn, but it hurt! Nick had loved him! Had said so in as many words! How could he just... why would he just... for no good reason... and it had been so good... and fuck, now was really not a good time to have a cry, okay?

Strong arms came around him, holding him close and not caring whether he was crying or not. He buried himself inside them, promising himself he was never coming out again, not this year, not this decade. It was good here. Jim loved him. Jim would never do something like that to him. Jim was the best friend a man could have.

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay, Chief. Take it easy. Just relax. It'll get better, I promise."

"I know. It's just hard to see it from here, you know?"

"Yeah." Jim rubbed his back a little, gently and soothingly and Blair was soothed, comforted and yes, it did feel a bit better and he was grateful that although he had a shit of a boyfriend, he still had Jim, a friend who would never just cut him out like that. Jim was far too loyal to behave like a complete bastard.

Okay, he could behave like a complete bastard - but he still wouldn't do something like that.

"Feel up to some food?"

Blair nodded and released Jim, letting the man stand up. "Hey, aren't you supposed to be at work?"

"Day off."

"On a Saturday?"

"Sure, it happens." Jim offered him a smile and headed into the kitchen.

"But this is like, the second time this year, isn't it?"

"A small exaggeration - but not by much."

"Damn, we could have gone camping or something!" Blair turned away and looked out to the balcony doors where a blue sky waited, fringed by the occasional fluffy white cloud.

"With that knee of yours?"

"Oh, yeah - but hey, we didn't know I was going to hurt my knee. Why didn't we organize something?"

"Well," Jim set about making some sandwiches for them both, "I wasn't sure you'd want to go without Nick and I remember him saying he hated camping - and to be honest?"

"What?"

Jim glanced up, giving him a twisted kind of smile, "I wouldn't have wanted to go camping with him. Sorry."

Blair sat silent for a while as Jim finished preparing the food. He waited until Jim brought plates and coffee over to the table and sat opposite him. For a minute, he ignored his food, "You don't like him, do you?"

"No." Jim kept his attention on his lunch.

"You never said."

"It wasn't my business to say."

"And it wasn't because he's a guy?"

"No."

Blair frowned, some odd feeling in the back of his mind warning him that Jim wasn't being entirely honest with him. "Are you sure?"

Jim shook his head and said around a mouthful of bread, "Chief, when have I ever interfered with your love life, eh?"

"But you ... well, you never said anything about Nick and I always wondered," Blair paused, using his coffee as a means to get his thoughts straight. "We never talked about it, really. Me being bi. I mean, I told you about Nick and that was about it. I guess I was surprised you took it so well. Were you surprised?"

"A little."

"And?"

"And what?" Jim glanced up again, revealing nothing in those cool blue eyes. Whatever he was hiding wasn't coming to the surface any time soon. "Chief, it really doesn't matter to me, okay? What does matter is ..."

"Is?"

Jim looked away again, "You were hurt, okay? Do I have to spell it out for you?"

Blair had to smile, and from the inside at that. This was indeed his typical, reliable, stoic Jim, the man he could always depend on. "No, I get it. And thanks, Jim."

"You're welcome. Now eat up and we'll go out for a drive in the forest, okay?"

"Sounds great."

Tall pines lined the grassy area close to the river bank, the ground below them devoid of undergrowth. The thick carpet of brown spines forbade anything from pushing through and seeking the light - so there were just the trees, then the flat grass and then the smooth granite boulders before the water swept everything else away.

Blair sat on the blanket, his damaged knee stretched out before him, watching Jim wade along the shallow river bed, his gaze fixed on the rocks beneath his feet. Even from here, Blair could tell Jim was using his sentinel sight, testing himself, stretching his abilities in ways that nobody else could understand. Most of the time, he did it without thinking, so comfortable was he now with the gift he'd been born with.

Jim still hated to think of himself as being different, as being special. He'd once tried to explain to Blair that there were people out there who could play a piano before a concert audience of five thousand - but he couldn't play a single note. How special could he be? Blair had tried to argue that a man who could play a concert piano was special too - but Jim wasn't prepared to listen to logic. He'd accepted his gift, accepted the responsibility that came with it and just wanted to live his life in peace - relatively speaking. Peace wasn't too easy a thing to achieve being a cop.

But was that all he was? A cop and a sentinel? Nothing more? No wants and desires beyond the odd camping trip, a spot of fishing and working out at the gym? Did Jim's ambitions only circle around his need to do good for his tribe? Didn't he want more for himself? A wife, a family? Children?

Jim would make an interesting father. He'd be great with kids when they were young, but as they grew older, he would find it harder and harder to talk to them. Not that Blair was anything of an expert - but teenagers had their own problems communicating - and a father who found it hard to express his feelings would cause plenty of problems.

But did Jim even want children?

Why hadn't they ever talked about this?

God, he knew Jim's favourite food, favourite authors, could read almost any mood, guess his reaction to almost any given situation - and yet, had no idea about something as fundamental as this.

He took in a deep breath, "Jim?"

"Yeah?" Jim didn't look up but kept his gaze on the river bed.

"You ever want kids?"

"What?" Finding a stable position, Jim threw a quizzical smile at Blair. "Where did that come from?"

"Just thinking."

"Yeah, well I've warned you about that before." Jim turned back to his wading but now angled his path towards the bank. Climbing up, he stripped his waders off and left them to drain on the grass before joining Blair on the blanket. He sat cross-legged before Blair, reaching for the thermos. "You still thinking about Nick?"

"No - I was thinking about you - and don't try to change the subject. Have you ever wanted kids or not?"

As Jim poured out coffee into a plastic mug, he shrugged, "Have you?"

Blair shook his head and chuckled, "Man, you are so evasive some days."

"And you, my friend, are pushy."

"Hey, if I'm your friend, I have to be pushy. I wouldn't get anywhere with you otherwise."

"So, has being pushy got you anywhere with me?"

"Right now, it's getting me nowhere at all." Blair shifted a little and turned his best pleading look on his friend, "Come on, Jim, tell me."

"No."

"Why not?"

"I mean, no, I've never thought about having kids." Jim wrapped both hands around his mug and regarded Blair steadily, as though expecting a barrage of questions he didn't really want to answer.

So Blair saved him the discomfort for once, "Because of your senses?"

"Pretty much. What about you?"

The abrupt change in the direction of questioning forced Blair's gaze away, forced other things, other memories to the surface he'd successfully ignored for most of the afternoon. "I don't know. I guess, maybe sometimes I thought I'd like to have kids. And well, with Nick, I thought I ..."

"It's harder to become a father when your life partner is a man?"

"Something like that."

A long silence filled the forest then, fringed with only the faint rustle of pine needles above them and the more obvious rustle of water over rocks before them.

"So," Jim ventured into the danger zone, "Nick was it, was he?"

"God," Blair breathed, keeping his gaze on the distance, "we're talking about him like he's dead."

"Sorry."

"It's okay. I'm doing it too."

"So, was he?" Jim's question was softly voiced, making Blair shiver inside.

And that was the big question really, wasn't it? Three months and he should know one way or the other. He thought he had known - but it seemed Nick had thought differently.

Again, why?

"I think," Blair murmured after a moment, "he might have been, yeah."

Jim got up abruptly and walked to the water's edge. His movement made Blair look at him. Shoving his hands into his pockets, Jim lifted his head and gazed up into the trees opposite. "So you'd go back to him? If he asked?"

"I think so."

"And what if I ..." Jim's voice trailed off, lost itself in the thick forest.

"What?"

"He's not good enough for you, Chief. Not if he treats you like this. If he's playing some stupid game, then he's just being vicous. If he isn't, then he's just too dumb to appreciate you. Don't make the mistake of going back to him."

Stunned, Blair could only stare, his mouth hanging open. After a moment, he collected himself, "Is that an order, Jim?"

"Damn it, Blair, I'm serious!" Jim whirled around, all gentleness gone, his eyes hard and sharp. "What's the longest relationship you've ever had? Nick, isn't it? Three months or so and you think you've found the man of your dreams. And what about women, eh? Just two minutes ago you virtually said that you thought you'd had to give up hopes of having kids because you wanted a man in your life. Is it worth it? Having Nick, being treated like a doormat and sacrificing something that's important to you - all for him? Was it really that good with him?"

Blair's eyes stung. He pulled in a breath and heaved himself to his feet, more than ready to face Jim's anger with his own. "What the hell would you know about it? You had dinner with us twice! Nick came to the loft a total of three times - and you went out on stakeout every time. You hardly ever saw us together - how the hell would you know if he was worth it? Jeez, Jim, he just dumped me for no reason that I can see - but that doesn't mean he didn't have a reason!" He drew himself up, clenching his jaw against saying other things he knew Jim didn't deserve. "And I've sacrificed plenty for you so don't you start telling me how to live my life, okay?"

With that, he bent down enough to grab the blanket and turned to limp his way between the trees, hoping he'd find the truck without getting lost.

"Chief, wait!"

"No, damn you! I thought you'd understand. I thought you'd at least..."

Jim caught up with him, coming around and grabbing his shoulders, forcing him to look up. "Chief ... I ...I..." The strong, square face worked hard, but ultimately arrived nowhere fast. Blair didn't have the patience for this.

He twisted out of Jim's grasp, dropped the blanket and spread his arms wide. "What do I have to do to make you understand? This hurts!" He thumped his own chest, "In here. I hurt, Jim. I don't need you to ..." But he couldn't go on. He really couldn't. Instead, he turned away, snapping in gulps of air as the only remedy against pathetic tears.

Jim came close, tentatively placing hands on Blair shoulders, rubbing gently. "I'm sorry, Chief."

"I know." And Blair leaned back and Jim wrapped arms around him again, for the second time that day, offering the only real comfort Blair could appreciate in this state of mind. Jim had always been good with touching, as though in his often distant and repressed world, it was the only thing which kept him grounded, connected to real life. Blair had never been so glad of it, for whatever reason.

They stayed like that for a good few minutes before Blair dared to speak the words waiting in the back of his mind. Fear clenched at his stomach, but he had to say this. "Jim, would you do me a favour?"

"Sure."

"No, don't agree before you know what it is."

"Okay, tell me."

"Would you ... would you go and talk to Nick? Try to find out what I did wrong?"

Instantly the warm body behind him stiffened - but Jim didn't let go. Instead, he turned Blair around until they were facing each other. Jim just stared at him a moment, blinking slowly, jaw clenching and relaxing as though reaching for enlightened wisdom and not finding it. "You," he said eventually, "want me to go and talk to Nick?"

"Yeah. I mean, I'd try but I know he won't say anything to me. Not if he's angry."

"Did he seem angry?"

"No - but that doesn't mean anything. Sometimes you don't seem angry and you're furious."

Jim didn't smile. "And what if he tells me something you don't want to know?"

"Like?"

"Like he's found somebody else."

Blair stepped back, eyes wide, "What?" But Jim was already reaching for him, putting hands on his shoulders again.

"Take it easy, Chief. It's just something you have to think about."

"There's no-one else, Jim! I trust him! He couldn't lie to me. I would have known, okay?"

"Okay, okay, I believe you."

But Blair didn't want comforting, didn't want platitudes, didn't want the soft and easy option of backing away and putting this one down to experience. Three whole months of his life invested in a relationship he'd thought might really go somewhere and yeah, it was the longest he'd ever stayed with anybody and yeah, he'd thought it would really work but fuck, he needed to know what went wrong!

"Jim, please, just talk to him, okay? Help me get him back!"

Jim froze.

Those hands left his shoulders as Jim's gaze seemed to turn inwards for long, silent seconds. He stood up straighter, blinked once then took in a deep breath. "No."

With that, he turned, picked up the blanket, retrieved the thermos and waders, and headed back to the car, leaving Blair to make his own way.

Jim sat on the couch, remote in his hand, idly flicking from one channel to the next paying no attention to any of them. Long, thin shadows streaked across the floor from a moon bright and early in the sky and every now and then, he would get up, wander to the window and gaze out, studying the majestic blue disk with eyes that hoped for hope.

Blair was taking a long time in the shower. It was hard for him to move around with his knee so bruised and incapable of bending too far. It would be a good week before he regained some mobility, a week during which Blair wouldn't be able to move far from the loft and certainly wouldn't be going into the station.

So Jim would have to do without him for a while. It wouldn't be the first time. Blair had been injured a couple of times while on a case - and when finals time arrived, he was more often than not buried beneath a pile of papers. Jim could function perfectly well without Blair at work. Didn't mean he wanted to.

The bathroom door opened with a loud click, disturbing the silence, and quickly, Jim found a channel, turned the volume up and took another sip of his forgotten beer. Blair had hardly spoken a word to him since they'd left the forest - and really, he couldn't blame the man for being angry. But -

But there was just no way on this earth Jim could bring himself to help Blair get back together with Nick.

It was the Blessed Protector in him. The part of him which needed to keep Blair safe. The part which knew there would only be more pain ahead if he did something so foolish. The part that had never liked Nick and now, never would. The part of him that wanted -

No.

Won't think about that. Can't. It's too late. It didn't happen.

"Jim?"

He glanced up to find Blair standing at the end of the couch, dressed in jeans and sweater, hair pulled back, glasses on as though he meant serious business. He held a shoe in one hand.

"Would you help me with this?" Blair gestured with the shoe. "I still can't bend my knee enough."

"Sure," Jim replied, waving him to the coffee table. Blair sat, sticking his foot up onto the couch beside Jim and handing over the shoe. Jim stuck it on his foot and did up the laces. "You going out somewhere?"

"Yes."

Jim tried not to frown - and almost succeeded. "You can't drive."

"I can manage." Blair was already up and heading for the coat rack.

"You don't need to, Chief. I'll take you. Just give me a minute to..."

"No." Blair didn't pause long enough to even throw Jim a glance. "You'll only get angry again and I ... well, I'm sorry I asked you to talk to Nick, okay? It was outta line, man and I know it. But I'm going to see Nick now, myself. So, you know, don't wait up for me."

The leaden words were delivered with such finality, Jim was half out of his seat before he could stop himself - but he was nowhere near fast enough to stop Blair. The door slammed shut, echoing a horrible finality within the confines of the loft and with a deep sigh, Jim sank back to his seat, his gaze firmly on that damned door.

Why?

That's what Blair wanted to know. Why?

So did Jim.

And for a moment - one short terrible moment - he seriously considered following Blair. Considered driving straight over to Nick's place and sitting outside somewhere in the shadows, listening in, invading the privacy of a relationship he'd paid so little attention to before now.

But he hadn't wanted to know, had he? Hadn't wanted to notice that it had been three months and Blair still seemed happy. Hadn't wanted the details and the dinners and the long phone calls. Hadn't wanted to contemplate the growing bond, the increasing intimacy between Blair and this guy, a bond which would, given enough time, come between sentinel and guide.

There were two immutable laws here - the one which insisted Blair be happy and safe - and the other which insisted things had to stay the same, never changing, never leaving these last three years to be consigned to the good old days.

But it was changing. It had been changing since the day Blair had met Nick. Perhaps even before then. Blair had been dating and changing women so fast, Jim had lulled himself into a false sense of security, believing that the wandering nature of Blair's attention and interests would keep him immune to a serious relationship for at least another few years. It had simply never occurred to him that Blair might instead find a lasting relationship with a man - would want it, would pursue it, would go out on a night like this, injured leg and all, determined to do whatever he needed to do to get that man back in his life.

So yes, it had already changed. There was already a bleak crack in their relationship, curried there by Jim's selfishness and desire to keep Blair to himself and if Blair succeeded tonight, the crack would become wider because Jim knew he would have no choice but to withdraw further and further from his best friend. Back away until there was nothing left of the friendship but memories.

Maybe it was time. They'd had three good years. Three incredible years, now that he thought about it. Three years he would never forget - but it was time to cut Blair free. Time to give him what he needed.

Blair hadn't remembered the kiss last night. Hadn't asked how he'd gotten home, how he'd ended up in his bed still fully dressed. Hadn't flinched from him each time Jim had held him today, hadn't wondered, hadn't reacted, hadn't felt anything he hadn't felt all along.

And it didn't matter to Blair that Jim had discovered something last night. Hadn't made any difference to Blair why Jim had reacted the way he had today. To Blair, Jim was just Jim, his friend; reliable, trustworthy, dependable. Always there in the background. Sometimes somebody to grouch at, complain about or study - but nothing more. Never would be. Especially not if Nick relented tonight.

And if he would never be any more than that, then Jim would never know what else he'd discovered last night and right now, he didn't want to know. Repression was a way of life and now - not for the first time - he embraced it lovingly, trusted that it would make him forget the way Blair had forgotten, let that kiss - those long, shocking kisses - die in the ashes of inevitability. Blair had found the one he wanted - and it wasn't Jim.

There was nothing left for him to do but step back, be ready to walk away when the moment came. If he really had the balls, he would do it sooner rather than later - and be the good friend Blair so richly deserved.

The street was as quiet as he remembered. Totally residential, unlike where he lived. Nick's house was one up from the corner, long lawn sloping down towards the road, gardens manicured weekly by a service the businessman was happy to pay for.

The panic had hit the moment he'd got into his car. He'd ignored it long enough to drive away from the loft so that Jim wouldn't have any reason to stop him. But then, he'd had to stop himself, pull over and wait, force his breathing to comply, to behave, to still the tide threatening to engulf him. He'd held on to the steering wheel, gripping hard enough to hurt, focussing on what he needed to achieve, what he needed to know. Slowly, he'd brought himself back from the edge, further than the edge. Back to a place where he was cold, hard and angry. Only then had he moved, driving the rest of the way to Nick's, parking before the house.

Blair sat in his car for only a moment. Sat and watched the windows, the doors for only a moment. A moment was all he could allow himself - for more time would warn him against such an action, warn him out of there and away to some place where it was safe. But danger courted him, like a fickle lover, creeping upon his awareness in times of need then backing away, coy and shy. He'd long ago learned how to respond to danger. Learned to live with it, deal with it and even in some rare cases, to enjoy it. Tonight, he would embrace it with arms open, no matter what happened. Some things were worth fighting for.

So he got out of his protective car, left the familiar safety of upholstry and chrome and ventured into the unknown. Keeping his limp to a minimum, he walked up the path, heartbeat surprisingly normal. He felt no trepidation at what he would find, no harping worry that there would already be somebody else taking his place. Nobody could take his place with Nick.

He stopped before the door and pressed the buzzer. He didn't even count the seconds it took before there was a response he could hear. Then there were footsteps on the polished boards inside and then the door was opened and Nick stood there, looking at him, a flat, dry expression on his face, unwelcome and unsurprised.

"Thought you might come round tonight, before I went away. I've packed your things up. I don't think I missed anything." He stepped back, allowing Blair room to go past him.

The entrance hall was as he remembered it. Everything polished and smooth. Even the African masks on the walls and the hand-woven rug on the floor appeared gleaming in new colours, all washed clean with the promise of a new life - one without Blair in it. Through the archway, the living room appeared equally normal, equally empty. All as unwelcoming as it's owner. It seemed too strange to believe that it was only yesterday morning that they'd been here together, really together, had made love on that couch between waking and breakfast.

Making love? Or was it just sex?

Nick had left him alone, had walked into the bedroom and left him alone. Nick, surprising Nick, the man who had built up his own business importing goods from the Third World to sell in the States, promoting the local communities in a dozen countries with a hand in both capital gain and social awareness. Nick, the man of contrasts who drove a Mercedes but who was stintingly pedantic about recycling the smallest piece of trash. Nick, whose hair was blonde but whose beard was brown. Two faces on the one man.

Nick, who had held him and kissed him and talked to him and listened to him - all little more than one day ago. Nick, who had seemed to work as hard as Blair to build something warm and special between them.

"Here."

Nick had returned and was holding a bag out for him. Blair took it, eyes absorbing little of what they held. He had no idea how much he'd left here after three months, no idea how much he'd taken with him already - or how much he'd ultimately leave behind.

He hadn't guessed he would feel so cold.

"Are you going to tell me what's going on?" Blair lifted his gaze from the bag until it rested on the man who had shared his bed for so many nights but who had, it seemed, never really shared his life.

"What makes you think something's going on?"

"So, there was a prescribed time-limit, was there?" Blair spoke evenly, having, it seemed, left all his emotions out in the Volvo. An intrinsic problem with moving around a lot - sometimes important stuff fell by the wayside. "Three months and then, that's it? End of story?"

"I was hoping to avoid a scene." Nick's voice was low, as though he was the one afraid of something, as though he wanted to do absolutely anything but stand here and talk to Blair.

"I'll bet you were. And why is that? Too boring for you? Like me? So you wait for a perfect opportunity, when I'm injured and can't make much of a fight of it, wait until I'm in my office before you dump me? Very neat. Very polished."

"You're making me out to be an ogre."

Blair shrugged. The bag he held was too light to make a difference - to anything. "Hey, man, I'm just guessing here. You know me, always looking for a reason. Something inexplicable happens in my life and whoa, I'm in there asking questions. So, tell me I'm wrong, okay? Tell me it was all a mistake, a momentary aberration and it won't happen again."

Nick turned away, took two steps into the living room and paused. He glanced down at a small table by the wall where a pottery lamp stood, a gift Blair had bought him only last week. He unplugged it, turned and handed it to Blair, "You might want to take this back."

Blair held it in his hand, felt the weight of it, the memory of it, the thoughts he'd had when buying it, how he'd known Nick would like it, how it would fit in with the other African things he had in this house. He held it and shook his head. He didn't want this. Didn't want this memory hanging around his life.

He pushed it back into Nick's hands. "Well? You going to tell me what went wrong?"

Nick sighed, putting the lamp back down. He could hardly meet Blair's gaze. "What would you rather hear?"

"Oh, you mean, what could you say to me to get rid of me the quickest? Mmn, let me see - how about the truth?"

"I told you the truth already - but it seems you don't want to believe me."

"And it seems that what I want doesn't matter to you any more. Funny, but about thirty-six hours ago, what I wanted looked to be on your top ten list." There was something feeding him inside. Something laced to the words he was speaking and letting loose into this void of emotion. Something hard and cruel and appearing to be wearing the colours of justice.

But it was too late for that. He couldn't dump Nick because he'd already been dumped. Already been tossed away. Already been rejected. All the things he was, all the things he liked about his life, all the things he was proud of where all the things Nick suddenly didn't want. So, what was left?

"Look," Nick turned back, spreading his hands in a gesture of feigned peace. "It's over, Blair. We had some fun, sure - but nobody said it was going to be forever. Why can't we just let it be, okay?"

"Why?" Blair leaned back against the door, bag hanging useless in his hand. "Why is it over? Just answer that and I'll go."

"It just is, okay?" Nick snapped.

"Nothing just is," Blair growled back, feeling and feeding that thing more and more as each second went by. The longer he stayed, the better he felt. "What, am I no good for your image? Is that it? Or you don't want to be associated with the police? Eh? I'm going to keep guessing here, Nick, until you tell me."

"Damn it, Blair!" Nick stormed up to him, dark eyes blazing, "I've had this. I tried to make it clean. It's over, okay? Over. I don't want you around any more. What else do I have to say? I knew you'd do this, you shit! Just leave me the fuck alone!"

Two faces. One light and loving, the other dark and hating. For the first time, Blair could look at both without flinching.

"Jesus, Nick," he whispered, "you are such a liar."

The air was fresh and moist when Jim drove the truck up to the front of his building. Scents of the morning dashed across the street to join him, celebrating a new day. A Sunday, the day of rest.

And rest was what he needed. After having the entire day off yesterday, Simon had called him in ten minutes after Blair had left to see Nick. A new case, a murder down by the docks. It had taken nine hours to exhaust all the leads they had and the autopsy wouldn't be finished until mid-afternoon. So rest time it was. But there was no rest for the wicked, was there? No sleep for those who stretched their limitations way beyond original design specifications. No time really to think and plan and make sure everything would work out fine. So he was home, worn out, worried, counting the number of times he'd called to see if Sandburg had arrived back from Nick's yet, the number of times there'd been no answer, the number of times he'd cursed himself for a fool for not following him or telling him the truth about ...

About what?

He stopped in the street, idly fingering the keys in his hand. What would Blair say if he told him the truth? Told him about the kiss. Would he shrug it off? Or would he go digging in the minefield as he usually did when Jim reacted to something in a manner that was seemingly out of character?

Would he want to this time?

Huh, only if Jim gave him the opportunity - which he wouldn't - and so there was little point in telling him, was there? Little point in adding to the guilt he already felt.

He stopped in the bakery long enough to buy fresh bagels and coffee, then went home, relieved to find the elevator working for a change. Sandburg's car wasn't out in the street. There were no lights on in the windows, no early morning noises. The man had gone to see Nick and had stayed the night - ergo, they were back together. Time to start letting go.

Juggling breakfast bags in his arms, he pushed his key into the door and went inside, heading straight for the kitchen. He dumped the bag on the counter, opened the fridge looking for the last of the cream cheese. There was just enough left. He'd have to get some more later, after he'd had some sleep. With a quick slurp of his coffee, he tore the bagels open, smeared cheese on one and took a mouthful. Only then did he notice the bundle on the couch.

He swallowed hard.

Leaving his breakfast behind, he approached carefully, using the first of the morning light to really look, to take in as many details as possible. Sandburg was rolled up into a ball, hair a total mess, his favourite flannel shirt twisted around him, ancient sweats rumpled and messy. One of Jim's sweaters had become his pillow and by the look of it, a not very comfortable one at that.

He appeared to be sleeping. Jim crept closer, shamelessly using his senses to pick up whatever clues he could. If a crime had been committed, he needed to know exactly who was the victim and when the hurt would begin.

There was no smell of sex, no stale sweat, not even a hint of arousal. Nor was there the sweetness of fresh soap and shampoo. But there were red marks around Blair's eyes and the foetal position he'd chosen for sleeping spoke more eloquently than any of the more complex messages he wasn't receiving.

Carefully, he retrieved his coffee and bagel, returning to sit on the coffee table by his partner. He slowly finished his breakfast, keeping watch, saying nothing, moving no more than he had to. When he was done and Blair hadn't moved an inch, he put some coffee on, went and had a quick shower, then returned, dressed in comfortable sweats and feeling a little more human and less like one of the criminals he usually arrested after a night like that. By the time he returned to his seat on the short table with two cups of fresh coffee, Blair appeared ready to wake up.

Blue eyes darkened with red were the first things that greeted him. Blinking, struggling, recognizing and then rejecting. All in slow-motion. Jim gave him a careful smile.

"How're you doin' Chief?"

"Go away."

"Ah, but I have coffee."

"Hand it over and nobody gets hurt."

"Sit up and I'll put it in your hands. Best service in Cascade."

Blair grimaced, shook his head, burying his face in Jim's sweater for a moment. With a groan an elephant would have been proud of, he pushed himself up until he could sit, his bad leg stretched out before him. He reached out and took the mug, wrapping both hands around it in an attempt to absorb caffeine through porcelain and flesh. When that failed initially, he opted for the old-fashioned method of drinking. Jim let him consume half the mug before he spoke again.

"You want to tell me what happened?"

"Where were you? I came home and you weren't here."

"Simon called me in. A murder by the docks. I get a few hours sleep before I have to go back. Where's your car?"

"At ... Nicks. My knee was hurting so I grabbed a taxi. I'll have to spring for another one to go get it back. I'm such an idiot."

The friend in Jim wanted very much to go sit next to the man, wanted to fold him up in his arms and promise nobody was ever going to hurt him again - but that same friend was the one who knew things had changed and weren't going to change back and that some time - like now - he would have to force more distance, trust that Blair could take care of himself. The friend in him mourned for what was already lost, what he would lose in the days to come.

So he just sat where he was, kept his hands to himself and asked the question as gently as he could. "What happened?"

"Oh, nothing much," Blair's voice came out with bitterness attached, pegged to each word like clothes flapping in a brisk wind. "I talked, he listened, he talked, I listened. All very peachy, you know? All perfect. It was all a big mistake."

Jim frowned, not reading this at all. "A mistake? Then ..." he didn't want to ask this, didn't want to know. Just like he'd never wanted to know. But he did want to know so he did ask. "Are you telling me things are okay? You and Nick are back together?"

"Back together?" Blair's gaze hitched onto the fireplace and sat there, like a budda, unmoving. "A contradiction in terms. That would imply we'd been together in the first place which appears to have been untrue. But me, the idiot, didn't get that, did I?"

"Did you talk?"

"Nope," Blair shook his head, looking tired and frustrated with overburdened energy at the same time. "I posed questions, he refused to answer. Something of a stalemate. I got my stuff though, so it wasn't a complete waste of time."

Jim moved. Nothing could stop him. He put down his cup, took Blair's away from him and sat beside the smaller man, turned enough to see that pale face in profile. The face that two nights ago, he'd kissed.

And just as repression was a way of life, so was untangling memories so treated. He might forget now, but one day he would pay for it - only next time, his gentle guide wouldn't be there to help him through it.

Blair sniffed, chewed his bottom lip and seemed to sink into the couch a little further. Jim reached out and put a hand in the centre of his back, rubbing gently.

"Come on, Chief, give me the rest of it."

"He was trying to get rid of me in a hurry. Didn't want to talk. He's going away for a few weeks tomorrow and he needed to finish packing." Blair reached up and ran a hand over his face. "I knew that. But I pushed him and you know, it felt good to push him. Or it did feel good up until the point where I realized I was only pushing him because I could. It stopped being fun then and I knew I was being a schmuck. He didn't want me so why was I hanging around? Only..."

"Only?"

"That was it, you know? That's when I saw why I was hanging around. He made it so easy for me. So easy for me to walk into the trap, head first, sticking my face in there ready for it to be slapped. I... I nearly hit him."

"Nick?"

"No," Blair sighed, too weary of all this. "His new lover."

"Oh, shit, Blair, I'm sorry."

"Walked out of the bedroom, clear as day, composed, calm, collected. Tall, good-looking, well-dressed. Supercilious smile on his chiselled face. Made me want to throw up."

Jim left it a moment before asking a final question, "What did you do?"

Blair hung his head, some noise like laughter welling up from his chest. "I told him you and I had been secretly sleeping together for the last three weeks. I just hadn't got around to telling him. I'm sorry, man, but the look on his face was worth it. And on his slut of a lover. The only good thing ..."

The hard laughter dried up with a threatening hiccup and Jim reached out, putting his arm around Blair's shoulders. He offered a smile as some recompense, "Wish I'd been there. I would have got a good laugh out of it as well." Yeah, ironic laughter, bitter and twisted, Ellison. Draw the man in close as you're pushing him away. Be his best friend when he's lying about you being lovers, wondering which you would rather was the truth.

But truth was relative. It all depended on your perspective. And after all these years, old tools like repression didn't always work.

Only a cold-hearted bastard kicks a man when he's down - and Jim hoped that, regardless of the things he'd been through in his life, he'd managed to avoid that kind of cruelty, especially to one who had come to mean so much to him, one he was prepared to give so much freedom to.

"I'm sorry, man," Blair murmured, his body stiff and uncompromising, as though letting loose even a little would open the floodgates. "This was more than you paid for, right? I mean, you were right to stay well clear of my love life. You're right, it is a train-wreck. Some days I wonder why I bother. Maybe I'm hiding some horrible deep-seated determination never to commit myself to anybody so I keep sabotaging my own efforts. But I trusted him, you know? I did, I trusted him - and he went and betrayed me. He'd been hanging around this guy for days and never said anything. And what's worse, I didn't even notice! God, I'm such an idiot! I deserve this, I really do. It's my own fault, man. I don't know why I didn't expect this. We seemed so close. I just thought ... I thought that maybe, if I worked really hard, if I really tried to keep it together, it would work. I wanted it to work. I was so sure ... so ..."

The voice trailed off and Blair got up, straightening his shirt, pushing his hair back from his face. He looked down at his feet and not at Jim. "Look, I'm sorry about this afternoon - or I guess, it's yesterday afternoon now, isn't it? But I am sorry. You didn't deserve that. I shouldn't have asked you to help especially when you'd just finished telling me what an asshole you thought Nick was. So you were right and I was wrong. I should have listened."

Jim stood quickly, reaching out again, wanting to hold the man, wanting to give comfort, the kind of comfort he couldn't afford to give and Blair couldn't afford to accept but wanting to give it anyway and damn the consequences. He put his hands on Blair's shoulders but Blair pushed him away.

"Don't, Jim. I'm sorry, but just don't, okay?" He glanced up, but only for a second. "I just can't do this any more. It hurts too much. I feel like I've been in an argument with a battering ram and I don't have anything left to fight with. I think it's time I faced the truth. I guess I'm just not the kind of guy anybody wants to be with long-term - men or women. So I think I'm just going to get out of the game, go back to the casual dating thing, have a good time and live the life of a carefree batchelor - just like you."

"Me?" Horrified and elated at the same time, Jim could do nothing more than stare.

"Well, you're not doing too bad out of it, are you?" Blair took in a deep breath and let it out noisily. "Look, I'm going to take a shower and try to get some more sleep. Wake me when you're getting ready to leave and I'll come with you, okay?"

"You don't need to."

"Yes, I do!" Blair instantly held his hands up in apology for snapping, then brushed one against Jim's arm. "Just wake me, please?"

With that, he turned and headed for the bathroom, leaving Jim alone with thoughts that refused to be repressed any longer.

The first few days had been the worst. As though some kind of eclipse had blackened out the sun of Sandburg's personality. He responded when spoken to, offered what thoughts he had on their current cases, did more than his fair share of paperwork and running around, operated in all respects as though he was perfectly comfortable with his life and what it was giving him for free - only there was a complete and total absence of joy in any of it. Jim had never noticed until it was gone, never realized how much Blair's enjoyment of something fired his own, fired others.

The Bullpen noticed, in a general, fuzzy kind of way. Only Rafe asked Jim a question on the quiet; a veiled concern for the anthropologist's welfare. Everybody else kept their dealings with his partner to a minimum, polite and free of the usual banter the air could be plied with. They made no demands on him he didn't appear willing to fulfil - and for that, Jim was glad. Blair was in no mood to give anything away.

Simon however, hardly noticed. He was too entrenched with cases and an audit from the State Department to worry about sundry consultants and whether they were happy in their unpaid jobs. Either way, Jim wasn't concerned about the hours Blair spent at the PD - only about the hours he spent at Rainier and at home, when he wasn't there.

For those first few days, Blair didn't appear to eat very much, but then Jim casually made a few of Blair's favourite foods and gradually things improved. Not a lot, but a little. A kind of bridging space between bad and getting better. It was a whole week before he saw anything even resembling a smile on his partner's face.

But then, without any warning, ten days after that terrible Sunday, Blair bounced back, waking up with a familiar lust for life, complaining about Jim leaving no hot water and having to sit through a faculty meeting when it was bordering on warm outside. He sailed through bathroom and kitchen, leaving chaos in his wake, before vanishing out the door with a wave, a smile and a promise to meet Jim for lunch.

For some strange, inexplicable reason, Jim found the entire display seriously disquieting. But he had no time to dwell on it for the next few days. Work piled up and soon he found his life dominated once again with gun-runners, a school drug ring and a woman who claimed her husband was trying to kill her. He wasn't.

"Chief?"

"What?"

Jim got to his feet and leaned over the balcony, "Have you seen my sleeping bag?"

"What?" Blair's voice drifted absently out of his room.

"Have you seen my sleeping bag?"

"Why?"

"Because I'm looking for it."

"Oh."

"Well, have you?"

"Why would I know where your sleeping bag is?"

With a sigh, Jim sank onto the bed. He'd meant to keep quiet about it. Had planned it to be a surprise - and now he'd had to ask about it and any minute now, Blair would think to enquire why Jim wanted his sleeping bag.

"Isn't it in the basement, with the rest of the camping stuff?" Blair said, suddenly a lot closer than before. Before Jim could even reply, Blair was coming up the stairs, a magazine in his hands, eyes still on it.

"Probably," Jim quickly got to his feet but Blair wasn't looking at him or the stuff he'd pulled out, the bag and clothes and other miscellaneous items they would need for a weekend away. "What have you got there?" He asked quickly, aiming for continued distraction as a means of escape until the surprise was ready.

"Oh, it's an article in one of the magazines I subscribe to, about same sex relationships within the religious structure of the early Greek empire. It's fascinating. Did you know that ..." Blair glanced up - paused, looked around the bedroom and then frowned. Jim had the explanation all ready on his tongue - when Blair turned, mumbled an apology and headed back down the stairs. He'd returned to his room and had shut the door by the time Jim could react.

With a frown of his own now, Jim side-stepped into the kitchen to check on dinner, turned the oven down a bit then quickly set the table. It seemed that Blair had forgotten all about eating - again.

Unsure what to do next, Jim retrieved a couple of beers from the fridge as he called, "Chief? Dinner's ready."

"Okay." The voice was almost normal. Almost.

But then the door opened and Blair appeared with a fixed smile on his face, ready to be as polite as possible. Jim brought the casserole out of the oven and placed it on the table, collecting the basket of bread before he sat down. He was dishing it out, once again preparing his words when Blair beat him to it, all casual.

"So, where are you going?"

"Uh, I thought north for a change." Jim handed the plate to Blair - and then finally noticed what was wrong. Kicking himself inwardly, he served his own meal up and took a mouthful of beer, trying to get his smile under control. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Blair bent his head to his food, picked up his fork but didn't do any more than play. "The weather should be okay for you. I don't think there's any rain forecast. And you know, if you can't find your sleeping bag, you can always take mine."

For one brief second, a frightening image splashed into Jim's mind - but then, as quickly, it vanished in the face of Blair's obviously subdued distress. "But then what would you sleep in?"

"Me?" Blair glanced up, for a moment, eyes filled with hope and delight - which was quickly damped. "Hey man, if you want a weekend away on your own, I'm not going to barge in again. The way things have been the last few weeks, I don't blame you for wanting a bit of space."

"Yeah, things haven't been so good the last couple of weeks - which is why I thought you'd enjoy a weekend away." Jim attacked his meal. He was hungry.

"Oh, am I a charity case now?"

"No, of course not!"

"Come on, man," Blair raised both hands, "you don't have to invite me along just because you think I'll be disappointed if you don't. I can cope on my own, you know."

"Yes, I know that, but I want you to come."

"Since when? Since I made that childish display just now?" Blair shook his head, putting his fork down on the table again. "Hell, Jim, just don't fall for it, okay? I don't need your sympathy. You go and have a nice weekend."

"Chief!" Jim snapped, "You just aren't listening, are you? I want you to come."

"Why?" Blair asked this as though expecting Jim to be unable to answer.

"Because it's not the same if I go alone."

"Oh? Suddenly you can't bear the idea of going away on your own for a weekend? You're lying, Jim, I know you. You just can't..."

"Damn it, Sandburg!" Jim got to his feet, suddenly overwhelmed with anger he'd spent two weeks trying to bury. "You really are determined to have a fight over this aren't you? Well, let me just pop your balloon here, okay? I've been planning this for two days. I've bought all the groceries. I left them in the truck so you wouldn't catch on before I was ready to tell you. I've already got all the equipment ready in the basement and I was just trying to pack my own stuff before I said anything to you. Then I was going to wait until after dinner to give you half an hour to pack up your stuff so we could get away tonight before Simon hauls me in on another case I don't want to face right now. It was all meant to be a surprise. Go check the food if you don't believe me. Two of everything. So if you really want a fight about this, then please go ahead. I'm going to eat my dinner and then I'm going to find my sleeping bag - but one way or the other, you'd better be ready to leave by the time I am or you'll be going without your stuff. Are we now talking on the same level here, Chief?"

Blair sat looking up at him as though he'd suddenly grown antennae. His mouth was open, eyes wide, whole body frozen mid-rant. That image held for a minute - then abruptly changed. He shut his mouth, pushed his chair back from the table and got to his feet. Everything about him spoke of rejection, of anger buried so deep a submarine wouldn't get to it before being crushed under the pressure. Jim could see the next movements. Shoes going on, jacket and keys collected and Blair would simply walk out without saying a word. It was all there, written across the stern square shoulders.

And really, if Jim had been the friend he wanted to be, he would have let Blair go, would have let the rift between them open further and further until they had no choice but to part company.

Then again, didn't they say all roads led to Rome?

Blair was at his bedroom door before Jim found the words he needed. "What the hell is wrong with you, Sandburg? Now you're all hurt because I yelled at you? I've yelled at you hundreds of times before and you haven't batted an eyelid - apart from yelling back. These days it seems about the only way I can get through to you. So go on, sulk! Walk out and ruin a perfectly good weekend. I don't give a damn any more - but I am not going on my own because I don't want to. I want to go with you and if you can't handle that, then you'll have to put up with me being here and annoying the shit out of you weekend. Now come back here, sit down and eat your damned dinner!"

Jim pulled out his chair and sat down hard, unable to help noticing how Blair had paused in the doorway, neither in nor out - but hovering, trying to decide which he wanted, hurt or ease. Which would take him the furthest, which would keep him warm at night, which would, in the long run, would make him regret the most.

It took him a long time to make his decision. A full minute at least. Then slowly he turned, lifting his head to look at Jim. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah, I know. Eat; your dinner's getting cold."

Blair sighed and came back to the table, sliding into his seat as though something beneath the table would bite him. He picked up his fork and took a mouthful of food, eating in silence until half of it was gone. Then he glanced up, "I am sorry, Jim, really. I don't know what..."

"Chief?" Jim interrupted - but gently, "How about we leave it for the moment, okay? How about we pretend we didn't just have that shouting match but instead are looking forward to leaving in about an hour. How about all we think about for the next hour is what we forgot to take with us last time, okay?"

Blair smiled slowly, understanding and getting it and agreeing and conceding and believing. The best smile Jim had seen from him for weeks. "Okay," Blair nodded. "Jim, have I ever told you I love you?"

"Not that I've noticed." No, he would have noticed something like that - even in the context Blair meant.

"Okay," Blair grinned even harder, "Just checking."

Continued in part two.