The Good Friend - Part four
By Jack Reuben Darcy

Jim knew he was never going to sleep now. Not after everything else that had happened - so he didn't bother trying. Tossing and turning in the bed upstairs was about the last thing he wanted to do. However, he also kept his thoughts away from what he did want to do because that was impossible, totally impossible and he had to learn right now to do exactly that, to keep away from it, to work at repressing it in the short term, forgetting about it in the long term.

So he had a shower. A long one. A long shower during which attempts at repression failed completely and where he tried to wash away the feel and smell of Blair coming in his hand, the taste of his skin and the memory of that one beautiful act, that one beautiful man in his arms, making such noises at his touch, revealing such need and being able, for once, being totally able to give in response and being proud of that, for once, being proud of giving rather than taking and learning that above all else, that's what he wanted to do.

So he let his body remember, just once, let himself go back over those sensations, deliberately intensifying the moment, leaving out the unwanted parts - that he hadn't dared kiss the man, that he'd heard Nick's name batten against the air, a cry from within Blair that had nothing to do with love but everything to do with loss.

His body paid no mind to reality. As the slick soap moved over his skin, he responded, closing his eyes and feeling once again that hard cock in his hand, brought his hand over his own and imagined, let the dream drift free, untethered by constraint for he was alone now, with nobody to witness what he kept fast in his heart. His body loved him for it. It gave to him what he'd missed before, filling in the details he'd not had time to notice, giving him an image of Blair with him, touching him and loving him and reaching into him where he belonged.

He leaned back against the wall and plunged into the dream, his hands moving over his flesh, teasing and stroking, playing with the water. He was hard, so hard, so aroused from before, when fulfilment had been impossible so now he took it, his breathing stunting and stretching as the image grew and blossomed and Blair was so beautiful and wonderful and hurt and strong and Blair loved him, really did love him and what difference did it make if Blair never loved him like this, wasn't it worth it, in the long run, just to be with him?

Was intimacy really so terrifying? So impossible?

But to feel his hand there, on this cock, to want it, to feel that body press against his own, would that be so bad? So much to ask for?

The scent of his own sex rose to him, joining that other memory when they had been together and again, imagination stripped it of its cruelty and gave him some tiny shred of joy and he took that as well, took it and put it in his hand, took his cock and stroked hard and fast, enjoying it and striving towards it and taking it all into himself ...

"Blair!" The word was mouthed and nothing more as his climax flooded through him, out of him and into his hand. Washed away by the shower, innocent and clean.

By now he should have learned that repression only worked to the point where reality began to interfere. Judgement day always arrived soon after.

Blair folded and flattened, tucked and placed clothes back in the drawers were they used to belong. He didn't really need to do it. Jim had put everything back for him already - but not where they usually went and although tidiness was not high on his usual list of priorities, it gave him something to do. He couldn't settle and read, couldn't bring himself to sleep - because that would mean lying down on his bed and that was a dangerous place for him right now.

What was wrong with him? When had he become this person who would willingly trade friendship for some small moment of empty comfort? And although Jim hadn't wanted to do it, he had gone through with it, being there in the place Blair needed, touching him the way he needed to be touched ...

Loving him.

Blair sank down on to his chair and listened as the shower turned off, listened to the new silence within the empty loft, the silence which now stretched miles between them.

He'd always been so sure of Jim's love. Never really had a moment's doubt about it for oh, a long, long time. Jim was the kind of man who had few close friends - but those he did have, he loved without question. Blair had been one of those for almost three years.

"Hey Chief? I'm gonna make some pancakes. Want some?"

"Sure." He caught a glimpse of Jim walking past his door on his way upstairs, towel around his waist, damp hair and muscle and then he was gone. Elusive Jim Ellison.

Could they talk about this? Would Jim be willing to talk? Or had he already said everything he needed to say.

"I can't give you what you need..."

But what did Blair need and how did Jim know what that was?

He'd known last night, in bed. He'd known exactly what Blair had needed.

Had he?

Had Blair?

Or ... had he needed more? More than feeling, more than sensation, more than comfort, more than closeness.

"Syrup or fruit?" Jim was back, dressed now. In the kitchen, rattling mixing bowls and filling the coffee pot.

"Have we got any fruit?" Blair's voice didn't sound anywhere near as dead as it felt.

"I think so. Yep."

"Both then."

"Coming up."

So why not go out there and help him? Why not go out there and talk to him? Why not go out there and prove to himself at least, that this friendship was more than one-sided?

Or was that the exact problem? Was he only friends with Jim because Jim was friends with him? Or was his own fear-based response to blame for all that had gone wrong between them?

He was a scientist - and understanding developed only through the gathering of data. But whereas his sentinel was a research subject, the same could not be said for his friend and obligation alone would not satisfy the needs of either of them. Duty and loyalty appeared to have boundaries that Jim at least, was not afraid to step over.

Lead by example. A principal every officer had drilled into them. Lead by example and others will follow. Those who do not, can not.

He had everything to lose and not much to gain - except perhaps something that had gotten lost in the melee - his self-respect.

And maybe ... the respect of his friend?

All the lights were on in the kitchen. Dawn was just beginning to break, giving the darker living room a soft glow Blair had always liked. He stepped around Jim and pulled the bottle of juice out of the fridge, collecting plates and glasses on his way. Keeping himself busy, he set the table, making trips for sugar and lemon, coffee and syrup. He kept his focus on what he was doing, where he was - and the man he was with. He didn't waste more than a few moments with idle activity, however. No courage would stretch that far.

"Jim, that night when you kissed me, had you ever felt that way before?

A spoon clattered on the kitchen floor and Jim hissed a curse before he picked it up. "Is that supposed to be some kind of joke?"

Blair swallowed at the sharpness in the tone. He kept his own as level as he could, placing things on the table, knives, forks, spoons. A mantra of activity. "No."

"Now is really not a good time to ask."

"We've got nothing else to do until Joel calls - and well, maybe we won't get another chance. I mean, if we don't find any evidence for this contract kill and I ... I ..." He had to work hard then, pushing the terror back down to a place where he couldn't see it with a casual glance. "If they send me to prison, any chance to talk will be ..."

"You're not going to prison!"

Without pausing, Blair opened up and absorbed that, absorbed the vehemence issuing forth. He needed it - just as Jim needed to say it. He took his moment, then continued on, "So we talk about it anyway."

He finished with the table and returned to the kitchen, placing a hand on the bench and studying Jim in profile. "Well?"

"I suppose you think it's all your fault, don't you?"

"What?"

"That we're hardly talking to each other? That until you were arrested, we were pretty much a done deal?"

"So ... all this is ..."

"Temporary?" Jim spooned more mix into the pan and tilted it to get an even spread. "Your whole life is temporary. Why should I be any different?"

"You think that I ..."

"Your interrogation technique stinks, Chief." Jim flipped the pancake, his movements short and sharp. "Try not making so many assumptions. Try asking questions. You're supposed to be good at that, right?"

"What's the point? You won't answer them."

"Fine. You ask, I'll answer - whether I want to talk about this or not. Isn't that always the way with us?"

"God, can't you stop pushing me away for one minute?"

"And I'm the only one pushing, am I?"

"What?" Blair pulled up short, frowning.

"You heard me." Jim took the pancake and turned to put it in the oven with the others. He then poured more batter onto the pan and again tilted it, smoothing it over. "Whatever you want is not here. This sentinel project, me, the PD, Cascade, we're all just steps along the way with you. What you wanted was Nick - only you couldn't have him so your entire life went on hold while you worked out your next step. You kept going on and on about how you'd put three whole months into that relationship as though what you'd put into ours - what we'd both put into it was hardly worth noticing. No, Chief, the truth is, I really don't want to talk about it - but I know you won't stop asking questions and maybe that's for the best. Maybe it's time we got it all out in the open and stopped kidding ourselves. So go ahead and ask - just be sure you want to know the truth because I for one am damned sick and tired of this whole fucking thing!"

He'd known. Deep down inside, he'd known what would happen if he pushed - and he'd been right. So he had no choice but to listen and absorb, just as he'd absorbed the hope, he now had to absorb the desperation and despair.

And those other things that were there, the ones Jim hadn't used words to express.

Terrified now, Blair took in a deep breath, "Jim? Are you in love with me?"

"God damn it!" Jim threw the pan across the room. "Why do you have to do that? Every single damn fucking time! Just leap to that conclusion without a single care what damage you do along the way! Is that what you did with Nick! Forced it? Made it happen because you just had to know? Is that the problem? That we're all too slow for you? Too dumb? Jesus Christ, Sandburg, for once, why can't you just ... just ..."

Blair stepped forward, braving the danger, "Just what, Jim?"

With a moan from hell, Jim grabbed his arms, held him still, met his gaze with eyes full of fury and tears, "Yes, I felt that way before but I never noticed it before and it had never been so strong I couldn't resist it! Yes, I know you'll go in the end because I'm not what you want and there's nothing I can do about it. Yes, I'm in love with you and yes, I can't bear the thought of losing you! Are you happy now? Is that what you wanted to hear?" With a final shake, Jim let him go and walked off, stalking up the stairs until silence once again fell over the loft.

For a moment, Blair held on to the trembling inside him, held it steady and controlled - but then it took over, so strong that he had to lean against the bench for support or he would have slid to the ground. He wiped a hand over his eyes and felt moisture there, stared at it as though it would give up answers he wanted to hear instead of those he already had.

But he had to move. Some thing inside him made him move. He picked up the pan, cleaned up the mess, put things into the sink for later. Then he took out a plate, put pancakes from the oven on it, with fruit and syrup, sugar and all the trimmings. He took a fork in his other hand and headed for the stairs.

"Go away!"

He continued climbing until he reached the top. Jim was sitting on the other side of the bed, head in his hands. "Oh, the Great Blair Sandburg always knows what's best for other people, doesn't he?"

Blair put the plate down on the side table and climbed across the bed until he was kneeling behind Jim. Carefully, knowing he would get a fight, he put his arms around the man.

Jim tried to push him off. "Just leave me alone! I don't want your pity!"

"Why not?" Blair replied softly, hardly knowing what he was doing here - or why. "I accepted your pity last night."

"That wasn't pity! That was ..."

"What?" Blair settled against Jim's back, clasped his hands together around the man's chest. "Whether we're prepared to admit it or not, Jim, we do happen to need each other. We have a symbiotic relationship. You give, I take - I give, you take. Until recently, the balance was pretty much even."

Jim didn't say anything but he didn't try to push Blair away.

"You do know I love you, don't you?"

"Sure." Jim's voice came out tired, dry and bitter. "We're best friends, aren't we? At least, we used to be."

"Can we ..." Blair paused as Jim released the grip around him, turned until he could face Blair.

"What?"

"I ... I gotta tell you," Blair swallowed, felt his face reddening. He glanced down to where Jim's hands rested on the bed and suddenly he knew this wasn't such a good idea - being up here with Jim like this. It would be too easy to just give in, as he had done before, give in and take what should never be offered under these circumstances...

But the truth was, he did want it.

Wanted Jim.

Wanted those arms around him again, wanted to feel that again, just as he had last night. Wanted to make love to the man ...

But at the moment, that's all he was sure of wanting. And that wasn't enough. Not this time.

"I gotta tell you, well, that I never let myself think of you that way, you know? Because I believed you were straight and I knew it would complicate matters if I started lusting after you. I didn't want to put you in that position ..."

"Wise move," Jim replied dryly. "It's not pleasant."

Blair glanced up, some silly part of his face trying to smile under trying circumstances. "The point is, Jim, I don't know how I feel, okay? About Nick, about this case, about life in general and most of all, about you." He took a chance and reached up to touch the side of Jim's face. "I do know I don't want this to be such a mess. I just don't see how we can fix it."

Jim closed his eyes in resignation and nodded, turning his face into Blair's hand and kissing his palm.

Blair's heart did a quick thump, hard and harsh. He knew Jim heard it because the next moment, Jim had taken his hand, held it to his lips and kissed it again, letting his tongue linger, swiping a long moist line from fingers to wrist.

"Oh, god," he whispered.

Bad idea. Very bad idea coming up here to Jim's bed, being so raw and vulnerable and needy while Jim was in exactly the same condition, when Jim was pulling him close, pressing soft kisses against his throat, making him shudder with how strong that need was.

"Oh, god," he whispered again, an admission he'd never wanted to utter, had worked so hard to avoid. Desire sprung up in flames hot enough to engulf him. Without a word, Jim pushed him down onto the bed, stretching out on top of him, taking both his hands and putting them above his head, so he couldn't move, couldn't escape and couldn't decide one way or the other what was the best thing right now, for both of them.

Jim seemed unworried. He nuzzled Blair's ear, breathing deeply, shifting his body until Blair was only too aware of the desire which matched his own, a hard, heated urgency pressed against his. "I want to make love with you," Jim murmured, too busy with the reality to worry about the theory. "I want to make love with you right now. I wish I could be everything you need, for the rest of your life."

Oh god!

And maybe Jim was right, maybe he did have to jump to that conclusion because the next words he uttered caught him by surprise.

"Kiss me."

Jim lifted his head and gazed down at him like a man waiting for execution. "Are you sure?"

Blair gave him the gift of absolute truth. "No."

A sudden knock at the door nearly made him jump out of his skin. Jim kept hold of him though, smiling a little. "That's Joel."

"Then ... I guess we'd better ..."

"Yes." Jim nodded slowly, "Yes, we'd better kiss now before it's too late."

"Yes," Blair breathed and moved as Jim moved and their lips brushed together, sweet and intoxicating, tasting deep and dark, things only visible at night only it was morning now and it was even better, better than believing or trusting, better even than loving. He closed his eyes to memorize it, the feel of Jim lying on him, that mouth open to him, the gentle exploration that made him dizzy, the tongue seeking out his own, all too brief, all too little and perhaps, all too much. And then it was over.

Joel knocked again and Jim turned his head, "Be right there, Joel!"

He turned back to Blair then, caressing his face with sure fingers. "Can you do this, today, love? This isn't going to be easy."

"Oh, Jesus, Jim," Those words brought tears to his eyes, opening so many old and ancient wounds that should never have seen the light of day again. "Just give me a minute, okay?"

"Sure. Take your time." Jim touched Blair's forehead with another brief kiss then rolled to the side. He stood up, straightened his clothes and trotted down the stairs.

The voice Blair heard him use with Joel was all too normal. The older man would never have known that the earth had just shattered in the moments between one knock on the door and the next.

"Rafe wanted to come as well, but I said it was better if we kept this quiet. Besides, we've all been up all night and I figured some of us should get some sleep."

"Wise move." Jim took the pile of files from Joel and set them down on the end of the table. He needed activity. Needed work. Anything in fact, to keep his mind off the idea of Blair upstairs, lying on his bed - and the fact that they'd just shared their first, real kiss. "We were just about to have an early breakfast. I'm afraid we haven't had a lot of sleep, either. Coffee and pancakes?"

"Sounds great."

Jim turned and headed into the kitchen. "Chief? You find that book up there after all?"

Mr Obfuscation had obviously collected himself because he called down, his voice betraying the slightest hint of exasperation, "No, damn it! I thought you said you left it here."

Jim was facing away from Joel so he could afford a smile. "Leave it for later. Your breakfast is getting cold."

He heard feet on the stairs and turned around to find Blair coming towards him, mouth stuffed full of pancakes, a tiny gleam in his eye that had been missing for far too long. "I've got mine already, thanks." Without batting an eyelid, Blair sat at the table, murmured a hearty good morning to Joel and attacked his juice and coffee with such gusto, Jim was sure there's be indigestion pains later.

Well, better those than some other pains.

Christ, what a long night! Amazing what a little hope can do, injected into a dire situation.

He brought the food to the table, told Joel to dig in then set about eating while he read through the files. He was on his second pancake when Blair interrupted, looking up from his own pile.

"Jim? He lied."

"How?"

"This says here that Nick was born in Pasadena - but he told me he was born in LA. And this birthdate here makes him two years older than he told me. And ... and he said his father was still alive but here it says he only has a brother alive. He never mentioned a brother to me."

Jim frowned, "Anything else?"

"Yeah. All of it. It's all wrong. Every single detail." Blair looked up, that gleam all gone now. "Everything he said to me about his background - all of it was lies!"

"You know, Blair," Joel filled up their coffee mugs before pulling another file open, "there's something else you should be aware of. I did a check, just because, well, it struck me as being a little strange, the whole thing."

"What did?"

"The coroner's report noted internal injuries from two bullet wounds some years old. The scars were hidden by what looked like a tattoo that had been removed."

"How old?" Blair asked.

"How did you get to see the coroner's report, Joel?" Jim asked.

"Well," Joel tilted his head, "The wounds were at least five years old - and I had a minor accident with Detective Warner. Made the devil of a mess with the files he was carrying."

Jim chuckled, "It was a good move getting you out of the bomb squad, Joel."

"Any more of those pancakes left?"

"Help yourself."

Blair leaned forward, his voice betraying some vague hint of excitement, "Jim, I know about that tattoo mark. Nick said he'd had it done as a teenager, when he was running with a rough bunch in LA. And all these dates and details being so wrong and everything ... doesn't this sound a little strange to you? A little familiar?"

"No, it sounds very strange and all too-familiar. I'm going to call Simon."

Jim got up and was on the way to the phone - when it rang. He snatched it up, "Ellison."

"Jim?"

"Simon, I was just going to call you. We need to talk."

"Probably - but right now, I need you to bring Blair down to the station."

An icy edge of foreboding gripped Jim's stomach and he took a good long breath before he replied, "Why?"

"Because the Feds have just walked in and claimed ownership of the case and they want to question our suspect."

Why did he get the feeling there was more? "And?"

"And a search on Blair's office has turned up one of his shirts covered in Nicholas Lansdowne's blood. Unless you can tell me you're on your way now, the Feds are going to come to you - and they won't be nice about it."

"Okay, okay. We're leaving now."

He hung up, paused, then turned to face Blair. He knew already, as though he was the one suddenly delivered of sentinel senses. Jim could smell the fear from where he stood. He didn't linger over the moment, "The Feds are claiming jurisdiction and want to talk to you. And one of your shirts has been found with Nick's blood on it - at your office."

Blair snapped his mouth shut, pushing his chair back so he could stand. "Well, that about wraps it up, doesn't it?"

"Joel," Jim didn't pause, "I need you to contact Blair's friend at the University, Jack Kelso."

"The CIA guy?"

"That's the one. Tell him as much of the situation as you need to. Tell him Blair needs his help. Ask him to find out what he can about Nick Lansdowne, most of all, find out what his real name is and what he was doing before he came to Cascade. Can you do that on no sleep?"

"Sure I can - now that I've had breakfast and some strong coffee." Joel came to his feet and turned to Blair. "Don't worry, we'll get to the bottom of this."

The moment he was gone, Jim went over to Blair, wanting to hold him, but not daring to just yet. "You're not giving up, are you?"

"The Feds only get involved in something like this if it's a witness protection thing."

"Well, there are other circumstances."

"Sure - but if you're right and it was a contract hit, then it all makes sense, doesn't it?"

"Yes. So, having the Feds in is a good thing."

"Really?" Blair looked up at him, not even a little mollified. "The evidence still all points to me - and now there's more of it. This isn't a good thing at all, Jim. And I thought I was in trouble yesterday."

Jim was suspended. He knew it, Simon knew it - but neither of them said a word about it. Instead, they sat at the table in Simon's office and waited. The Feds had taken Blair into an interview room and shut the door. Not even Warner was allowed to observe.

The waiting was killing Jim. Four hours so far and not a single word except a request for coffee. If this went on much longer, Jim knew his senses would start playing up - and without his guide around they would both be in a lot more trouble.

"How was he last night?" Simon grunted, resting his chin on his hand, elbow on the table.

"Okay, I guess."

"Really?"

"No."

"But he was okay this morning."

"He's scared. Wouldn't you be?"

Simon glanced aside at him. "You get much sleep?"

"No."

"I've got work to do."

"I'm not stopping you."

"No."

Jim got up from the table and paced a few steps in front of the window. It was a grey day outside, the kind that usually left him with a headache. With any luck, it would rain later. The streets could do with a spring clean.

When had he first noticed this terrifying need to protect Blair? It hadn't been immediate. Sure, he'd looked out for the man in those first few weeks they'd ridden together - but there hadn't been this... driving force inside him urging him along. That had come later, as the first bonds of their friendship had been formed.

Blessed Protector. Blessed and cursed in his own way.

"When did he tell you?"

The question emerged from the silence, bringing Jim back from the grey void. "Tell me what?"

"About his relationship with Lansdowne."

"A few months ago, not long after it started."

"And you were ... okay with it?"

Jim smiled at the window. Looking back now, he knew he'd not been okay with it at all - but Simon didn't need to know that, didn't need to know why Jim understood it so much better now, after the fact. "Yes. Wasn't really my business."

"No, I suppose not. But ... well, weren't you surprised?"

"I guess. A little. But you can never really know everything about another person - even if you live in the same apartment."

"But you're sure he didn't kill this guy?"

"Yes."

"Have you asked him?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I'd never betray him like that."

"And you say you were okay with him going out with another guy."

Jim turned slowly until his gaze met Simon's. There was something open and bland about those dark eyes, something a little ironic but not challenging. "You know," he stated flatly, no question, no hesitation.

Simon shrugged, "Sure I know. It's you not knowing that surprises me. Or has it taken all this for you to see it?"

"No," Jim began - but didn't go any further. He'd been unable to define exactly what had happened between him and Blair this morning - and some part of him had resisted trying to. He had to force himself to remember that nothing had really changed, nothing concrete except that it seemed they had agreed to ... what?

Support each other through this?

Yeah, that was about it.

Would that be enough? In the end? Could he, in the long run, be the friend he'd wanted to be at the outset and let Blair go if there was no chance for anything else?

The terrible truth was, he didn't think he could.

Whatever it was that had happened that morning had made them both feel good - even if only for a few minutes. To ask for more at a time like this was silly. To talk about it to Simon was impossible.

"This isn't really a good time, Simon."

"No problem." Simon waved a hand, "Just as long as you know."

Jim turned back to the window. "Damn it, what can be taking so long!"

"Jim?"

"What?" He whirled around - but Simon wasn't looking at him. Instead, he was looking through to the bullpen where Joel was hurrying towards them, followed by Jack Kelso and another man Jim didn't recognize. He stormed to the door and pulled it open, ushering all three men in.

Joel started off, "Sorry it took so long, Jim. This is Dustin Wayfield. He's a law professor at Rainier. He's offered to act for Blair."

Jim shook the man's hand, "I sincerely hope you won't be needed - but I'm glad to see you."

"My pleasure. How long has your partner been in with the Feds?"

"Over four hours."

"Time to get him out, I should think."

"Please. Simon? Will you..."

"On my way. Professor, follow me."

Jim waited until the door was closed behind them before taking a seat and facing Jack. "It's good of you to help out. Please tell me you found something."

The other man raised his eyebrows and pushed his glasses back. He reached into his chair bag and pulled out a file, placing it on the table but not pushing it towards Jim. "Something very interesting. You guessed correctly, Detective, Nicholas Lansdowne was under the witness protection scheme. His real name is Malcom Kremer. He was involved with the accountant with one of Boston's biggest crime figures. When the Feds were closing the net, Kremer was approached and offered protection in return for delivering evidence on his lover and various associates. He took the offer, the Feds put the man away for twenty years and Nicholas Lansdowne was born. He was relocated to Cascade, given a new name, identity and allowed to keep sufficient funds in order to start his import business."

"Well," Jim leaned back in his chair, eyes dropping to the file. "That answers a lot of questions. So what went wrong?"

"Lansdowne did. He couldn't keep his fingers out of the till. He started up a little sideline."

"In what?"

"I don't know. All I can tell you is that four weeks ago, information was received by the FBI that Lansdowne wasn't keeping to the deal and getting involved with illegal activities - a big no-no when you're a protected witness. Of course, an order was put in to check it out."

"And?"

Jack pushed the file towards him. "An agent by the name of Fredrick Holmes was sent in to get close to Lansdowne and find out what he was up to, preparatory to closing him down. Take a look at the file, Detective."

Jim opened it. Before him was a photo, eight by ten. Close set brown eyes, dark, straight hair.

He swore.

"What?" Jack asked, glancing at Joel for clarification.

Jim sprang to his feet, "I think this could be the man Blair saw at Nick's place. This bastard is a Fed! You think they're trying frame Blair to cover their tracks?"

"I don't know. It all depends on what kind of illegal activities Lansdowne was involved in. I couldn't get any more information without making my presence known in the system. But bringing a case against the FBI would almost be impossible."

"I have to tell Simon about this. We have to bring this guy in."

"Detective, wait!" Jack held up his hand before Jim could go any further. "You can't use this as evidence. I can't tell you how I got it - and you sure can't go walking in there with this photo in your hand. There's no suggestion that Holmes was ordered to kill Lansdowne - only that he investigate. If Holmes is the killer, chances are he acted on his own. This just tells us who the bad guy is - you'll have to find a way to catch him yourself."

Jim clenched his jaw - but there was enough here to be moving with and that was the best news he'd had all day.

Well, okay, almost the best news he'd had all day.

"Can I take this photo? I want to show it to Blair. We need to be sure it's the same guy."

"Yes, but don't let anybody else see it."

"Right. Joel? Can you get Rafe and Brown to run through all Lansdowne's known associates for anyone with a record - or even an arrest. We need to know what it was the man was up to. At a guess, I'd say he was importing something illegal. Considering most of his goods came from Africa, we could be looking at drugs, gold or diamonds - though diamonds are the most logical choice."

"Why diamonds?"

"Smaller, lighter and the sniffer dogs can't find them. Then I suggest you go home and get some sleep. Jack, I can't thank you enough for this - but it might be a good idea if you make a quick exit in case our federal buddies see you."

A short knock at the door and Rhonda popped her head in. "Jim? Simon has taken Blair to the conference room. He said for you to join them when you're ready."

"Thanks."

"And Jim? If there's anything I can do?"

"Yeah," Jim could afford a smile. "Could you make sure Jack gets out of the building safely and into a taxi without meeting up with our guests? And ..."

"What?"

"I sent some samples down to the lab. Serena said she'd rush them through for me."

Rhonda nodded, "I'll see how she's going."

Jim shook Jack's hand. "I'll be in touch."

"Soon, I hope."

Blair paced. It was about the only exercise of freedom he had at the moment - and even so it was curtailed. But at least he could do it near the conference room window and try to lull his subconscious into thinking there was a world out there he could return to any time he chose.

His head ached. His throat ached from talking so much, from repeating the same answers over and over. His eyes ached from having to look at that dumb bastard across the table from him and his gut ached, knowing, just knowing they were going to pin this on him regardless of what he said, what he did, even what Jim did.

It was just damned good timing that Jim no longer needed a guide with him any more. At least if he did go away, he'd know that Jim would be able to keep operating with his senses.

Naomi would be shattered, though. And she'd probably blame Jim and Simon. He'd have to write her a letter. Tonight. Something that explained how and when ... and Jeez, she didn't even know about Nick or anything and ...

He should have just killed Nick in the first place. At least that way he'd be going to prison for doing something wrong - instead of simply being involved with the wrong person.

Where did it end, this web of lies and betrayal? And why had he been so blind to it all in the first place? God, even Patrick had felt Nick couldn't be trusted. So, had he deliberately shut his eyes to it all? Had he wanted something lasting so much that he'd shut his eyes and ears to the subtleties others had picked up - because, if that were the case, then he really couldn't trust himself, couldn't trust his own wants and desires, his own instincts - for they, it seemed, were betraying him as well.

Hope had forced its way past good sense - and here he was, paying for it.

He only stopped pacing when the door opened. He turned, ignoring Simon and Dunstin sitting at the table - and focussed solely on the man who strode towards him with defiance in his eyes. As though the others in the room didn't exist, Jim just kept coming until he could take Blair in his arms.

His soul leaped at the touch and the close confines of a warm human who cared, really did care what happened to him and he held on, using that warmth to break the ice of interrogation a little. No matter what else happened, he couldn't deny that this felt good.

It was a little he could hold onto. Just a little. Something small and fragile in the tumbling waste of his shattered self. If there was only one reality he could keep constant, he would want it to be Jim.

He knew he was shaking and hoped that Jim would know it was from anger rather than fear. But Jim kept his silence, simply holding him and letting him regain his balance, whatever balance he could. And slowly, the shaking stopped and Blair looked up, an apology ready for the others - but they were alone, door closed, the world shut out for a moment.

Jim let go a little and looked down at him. For a brief moment, he saw something of anger in Jim's eyes - but then it was gone. Jim shook his head a little then leaned down and kissed him once, soft and gentle. Just once.

Blair frowned, something inside him rebelling, "Jim, I ..."

"Don't worry about it, Chief." Jim tried to smile a little. "That wasn't for you - it was for me, okay?"

Yeah, it was okay - so Blair smiled in reply, feeling the movement sharp in contrast to what he was feeling. "I can live with that."

"How did it go?"

"Huh." Blair steadied himself with a sharp breath and stood back, needing some space, needing for reasons he didn't have time to think about now, to have that space, now, with all these other things going on. It seemed Jim understood and made no move, no gesture to stop him. "They've pretty much decided I'm guilty. They pulled out every little detail about my relationship with Nick and turned it into some disgusting thing a rat would be ashamed of. Things like how many times a week did I sleep with him and whether we were into anything kinky - or illegal. Some of the things they said made me want to throw up - but you know what?"

"What?"

"It was almost fun playing the game with them. It's amazing how easy it is when you know you're telling the truth."

"Maybe we should see what your lawyer friend says about it all." Jim went to the door and called Simon and Wayfield back in. Once they were all seated, Blair turned to Dunstin.

"Well? How bad is it?"

Wayfield was a heavy set man with eyebrows grown grey and bushy with age, lending his face a serious and determined aspect in keeping with his business here. He puffed his cheeks a little, eyeing the file he held in his hands. "The evidence is mostly circumstantial - and although the shirt has the victim's blood on it, it has no skin cells on it apart from that - which means it was a clean-washed shirt, no doubt taken from that bag just before Nick gave it to you. All the other evidence I've seen can be argued in court along the same lines. I think there could be enough framework to place a reasonable doubt in the minds of a jury."

"What framework?" Blair glanced at Jim and waited for his answer.

Wayfield pulled a notebook out of his pocket and flipped it open. "For a start, the record of your fingerprints is explainable considering your relationship with Nick. So far they've been unable to locate the taxi that took you home - but even if they did, it doesn't prove you didn't kill Nick before you left. We could have some trouble for Detective Ellison however, in that because he was the one who took you back to get your car the next day, there's a possibility they might try to charge him as an accessory."

"Oh, great!" Simon said this, slapping his hand on the table.

"Don't get too excited, Captain." Wayfield looked up over his glasses. "If the FBI believed that there was any kind of intimate relationship between Detective Ellison and Blair, they would try to pin the murder on both of them."

"With what motive?" Blair bounded to his feet. "God, Jim was working that night!"

"And spent more than two hours on his own. It only took about three minutes to kill Lansdowne, Blair. They'd reason that Jim could have arrived minutes after you - saw the two of you together and killed him, threatening you to keep your silence."

"But ..."

"Chief?" Jim reached out a hand and caught Blair's arm, gently urging him to sit back down. "He says that's not going to happen, okay? Let's focus on what we've got."

"Right, right, okay. Sorry. Go on." He bluffed it, made it look like he was calm - but only because he knew there was more and it was going to be worse. But hell, he'd destroyed his dissertation - three years' work - in order to protect Jim. The last thing he needed now was to have the man up on charges of his own!

Jesus ... Not that. No way. No, he'd confess before he'd let that happen.

Wayfield picked up where he'd left off, "You have some things in your favour - your exemplary record here and the simple fact that, after spending three years working with the PD, you'd be a lot more clever about hiding a murder if you chose to commit one."

"I should hope so," Blair snorted - though he didn't feel the joke inside.

"I don't want to get your hopes up, Blair. They do have a case - it's just not air-tight. And the bad news is," Wayfield sighed, "that the Feds are handing the case back to IA. They're satisfied that Blair had no connection to Lansdowne's prior identity and that it was indeed, a crime of passion."

"Why is that bad news?" Blair murmured.

"Legal-speak for throwing you to the wolves," Simon supplied. "It means they're not looking for another killer, either. The investigation, for what it's worth, is over."

"Great." Blair tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice. "Anything else I should know about?"

"Yes. They'll push for an early trial."

"Any particular reason why?"

Jim answered for the lawyer. "They have something to hide."

Blair sat there as Jim related, in a cold, hard voice, all the facts, harsh and brutal. Nick and Boston, his real name, his real business, his real ... whatever.

Real. Relatively speaking.

And he watched Jim's face, watched the play of light across those eyes and wondered how it had happened that they had ever met up, how fate had thrown them onto the same path, travelling in much the same direction. An insatiable curiosity on one part and a desperate need on the other. It seemed ridiculous to think that something so incongruous could possibly have had so many deep and horrifying repercussions.

And oh, how Nick had lied. And gone on lying. Had there been a single word of truth spoken in that entire three months? Could he even believe the tender words spoken with affection, the passion, the man's response to love-making?

No. Never call it that again.

Sex. That's what it had been. That's all Nick had seen it as - and Blair couldn't stomach any other term any more.

And when he was done talking, when Jim had finished unwittingly tearing to shreds the last remnants of his self-respect, he took a photo out of his pocket and held it up so only Blair could see.

He did see. All too clearly. Only now when it was well and truly too late, did he finally get it.

He took his gaze away from the photo and got to his feet. The window beckoned him, drawing him closer until he pressed his forehead against it, his palms flat on either side. He could see down to the street, cars, buses and people. People who were just as fooled as he'd been - only they didn't know it yet.

His voice came out sounding quite normal. Blair Sandburg, trained observer and experienced police consultant. He was good at impersonation. "Nick was importing something illegal through his business. The FBI sent in Holmes to investigate. Holmes killed him and used me as cover. Now they've got evidence to convict me, they're happy to step back and leave IA to do it. On the bright side, the Feds won't want to talk to me again."

"Chief, I don't think the Feds have any idea about Holme's involvement with the murder - that's why they grilled you for four hours."

"Yes, I suppose so." He was tired. He needed some sleep. About two years' worth. "But then again, we can't prove Holmes was there. We can't prove he put that bloody shirt in my office and we can't prove he picked up that lamp and cracked Nick's head open. In fact, we can't actually prove anything, can we?"

It was odd the way science and police work operated from opposite ends of the reasoning spectrum. In his academic life, he'd been taught to form a hypothesis and then to gather evidence to support it. His life's work, his dissertation had been exactly that. In police work however, the evidence was gathered first - and the conclusion drawn later. Only problem was that by the time the conclusion was drawn, there was no arguing the evidence.

So what was he, a scientist, doing in this police world?

"Simon," Jim's voice floated to him, reminding him that there were other people here, other people who had put their reputations on the line, people he could trust, it seemed. Only now, as ungenerous as that sounded, trust seemed an awfully empty word.

He was glad they were here, regardless of how empty he felt.

Jim continued, "I need to go back to work."

"I'm not sure I like the sound of this."

"I need to get a look at ... Nick's house."

Blair frowned. Hadn't they done that last night? Hadn't they found ...

"And what am I going to tell Warner?"

"If he's got all the evidence he needs to convict Blair, why should he object? Make something up, Simon. I need a legitimate reason to go and take a look."

Ah, so he can 'discover' the blood specks in glaring daylight and maybe a shirt with gun oil on it? Fine. Good, in fact. What else?

What else?

Blood specks would only show a type - not a specific identity. They could only get that from DNA testing - and Holmes would deny them a sample - with every right. So? What else? Nobody had seen him put Blair's shirt in the office. The rest of the evidence was very real. His fingerprints all over Nick's things, his self all over Nick's house. He'd been there, he'd talked to the man - and even though he could pick Holmes out of a line-up - why should the agent submit himself to it in the first place? The police had to have probable cause to pull something like that.

So ... what else?

Trouble was, it was sickeningly obvious - and he was sickened. He only hoped Simon - and Jim would understand.

He let his hands slide down the glass and he turned back to the others, his face impassive he knew, because he'd lost touch with whatever it was inside him that drew facial expression. "Dunstin, I want to thank you for coming down. It was very good of you and I really appreciate your help. Please, thank Patrick as well for me, will you? It was great of him to speak to the Dean for me."

Dunstin picked up his file and shook Blair's hand. "Let me know what happens today. I'll get in touch with Warner and get the rest of the case files from him. If this does go to court, I'll get my entire legal class to work on it if you don't mind."

"No, no, not at all, man. Glad to be of some use."

"I'll call you later."

Blair nodded and watched the older man leave. He and the law professor had had more than a few outright arguments at Patrick's place over the last couple of years - and the truth was, he'd never really considered them friends. Or perhaps, his criteria for friendship was much more narrow than Dunstin's.

You live and learn.

Once the door was closed, he turned to Jim. "What do you mean, you want to go back to work?"

"Jim's on suspension," Simon replied, taking the heat. "We had something of a disagreement over procedure yesterday. However, today, I'm in agreement with him so, yes, he's back at work."

But Blair hadn't taken his eyes off Jim. "You didn't tell me."

"I guess I forgot." Jim shrugged, "Does it matter?"

"No." Matter? Sure, why not? Friends told each other stuff. Important stuff. Like I'm bi and hey, I got suspended today because you've been arrested and yeah, a lot of this shit is because I love you and no, that's okay if you don't love me back because I can live with that and no, I don't mind the possibility that I might get charged as an accessory because I'm your Blessed Protector and maybe they'll let us share a cell, huh? And if I can get you out of this, we can go back to normal, can't we, and maybe you'll love me because I did all this for you ...

"Chief?"

Blair sank his teeth into his tongue until the sharp pain stopped him. Self pity wasn't the prettiest thing even when only viewed from the inside. He had no right to think any of that - none at all. But knowing that didn't make him feel any better.

"Yeah, I'm okay," he said, nodding, moving back to the table and taking a seat at the end of it. He laced his fingers together and lifted his face, letting them see how calm he was, letting them know that as far as things went, he was in control. It would be interesting to see who was the most fooled. "I take it we can't use any of the information Jack got for us?"

"No. But that doesn't mean we can't go chasing after it, ourselves." Jim replied with a faint smile, as though he knew what Blair was thinking.

"Can we do that?"

Simon grunted, "Like we have a choice. Like I have a choice. Half of Major Crimes is already involved."

As though those words had been prophetic, a quiet knock on the door heralded the arrival of Rhonda with a file in her hands for Jim. She gave Blair an encouraging smile and left.

He'd never had an encouraging smile directed at him before. Normally, it was him giving them out. Odd to be on the receiving end for a change.

"Yes!"

Jim's hiss drew him back to the business at hand and he took a good look a the file Jim slid across to him. Jim's finger pointed out two important pieces of information. Yes, there had been two blood types in the bathroom and ...

"Simon, you have to get Warner to let me into the crime scene." Jim got to his feet, prowling the room like the caged panther he was. "Nick was involved with diamond smuggling. He was using a well known fence in Seattle. We'll have to get the local boys to pick him up. We've got records of dozens of phone calls over the last year, coming in three-monthly bursts. At a guess, I'd say that's when the shipments came in. By the look of it, the last would have been ..."

"Just before he died," Blair finished, slapping the file shut with something akin to satisfaction. Well, it made a difference when there was some actual physical evidence backing up your protestations of innocence. "Holmes killed Nick, took the diamonds and blamed it on me. Very, very neat."

"You think you can find something to connect this Holmes to the scene?" Simon said, "Something strong enough to counteract the evidence against Blair? The man's a professional - he didn't even leave a fingerprint. Any other evidence we can gather on him would be so circumstantial, Warner would laugh in our faces."

Jim shook his head, "Then we'll have to set him up."

"Set up who?" Simon was frowning in confusion. "Warner or Holmes?"

"Holmes. But how we go about it is ..."

"Jim?" Blair stared down at this hands - largely because he could feel the sudden thumping of his heart in his chest and he didn't dare let them see he was walking so close to the edge.

"What?"

"Did you ever tell Simon what I wanted to talk to you about yesterday? When he came to pick me up?"

"No. Why?" Jim spoke with a kind of pale confusion, forcing Blair to take a deep breath.

"Well," he turned to Simon then, meeting the man's gaze as openly as he could. "I'm sorry, Simon - I didn't want to get Jim into trouble and he only did it because he thought he was doing the right thing."

Jim came around the table and sat down again, frowning now in complete bafflement. But it was Simon who asked the question - largely because Jim must have thought he knew the answer.

He didn't.

"Okay, out with it."

"Well, two days before Nick and I split up, he got some new stuff delivered from South Africa. I thought a couple of the statues were worth more than he'd paid for them. He hadn't really unpacked them properly so when he wasn't looking, I took them, planning to get them valued at Rainier and give them back to him as a surprise."

"Two days? Why didn't you ... Oh, shit, Sandburg! You're not telling me you ..."

"I still had them." Blair continued as though he were giving Simon a round up of his day teaching. "I knew they'd look pretty incriminating if the loft was searched, so I asked Jim to hide them somewhere safe. I don't know what I was going to do with them afterwards but ..."

"Chief?"

"But if you can find a way to let the FBI know about them, then hopefully, Holmes will come after them, believing there to be more diamonds in them."

"But why would he?"

"Because we've now got all this evidence. Nick's connections - anything Jim can find at the scene to prove somebody other than me was there. It's enough to make the FBI wonder if they do have a rat in the woodwork. If I come out and say there's these two new statues in amongst the latest shipment and Nick didn't know I'd taken them, then Holmes will have to come after them to cover his tracks. If we place enough doubt in the minds of the FBI, they'll be the ones gunning for him - we won't need to do a thing."

"Chief?" Blair turned then and saw Jim's eyes on him. He couldn't deal with that right away however. Instead, he continued, "I know it looks like Jim was concealing evidence pertaining to an investigation, but he didn't know what they were. I just said they belonged to the university and that I didn't want them found. I didn't want anybody getting the wrong idea. Jim believed me because ... because he trusts me. I'm sorry, man. I really am. I didn't know Nick was ... well, that all this ..."

Jim's gaze might have been hard - or it might not have been. It was impossible to tell.

Simon groaned and climbed to his feet. He took out a cigar and stuck it between his teeth. "So you want to set this up so Holmes goes after the statues, right?"

"Well, it seems like ..."

"Yes." Jim nodded and turned to his captain. "Can you do it?"

"That depends. Where did you hide them?"

Jim blinked a minute. "I put them in a box and sent them in a taxi to Stephen's office with strict instructions that he was to put them in his safe and give them to nobody but me."

"Right. So we'll have to give Holmes the night to retrieve them." Simon was nodding. "It'll be tight - since there'll be moves to get a search warrant. And, if Holmes doesn't come after them, they'll only add to the evidence against you."

"I know that." Blair nodded. What did it matter? The statues were a figment of his imagination anyway. It was more important to keep the blame firmly away from Jim. "Can you do it?"

"I think so."

Jim nodded approval. "Let Warner in on it - but only at the last moment. I don't want any interference."

"Yeah, yeah. Just catch the bastard, okay?"

"I'll do my best."

"Fine." With that, Simon turned and left, obviously none too happy with anything he'd heard in the last hour.

"Chief?" Jim said the moment the door was closed. "You've got some explaining to do."

"Yeah," Blair nodded, not looking at him. "But can we do it outside?"

The promised rain had come and gone sometime between the morning and afternoon. The pavement was still damp underfoot, the air still singed with faint traces of ozone. Jim had tried to make it a habit to go out and enjoy the clean air for the first few minutes after rain stopped - but he'd not had much of a chance to do anything like that for the last weeks.

He tried to buy Blair a hotdog in the park, but the younger man just shook his head, pushed hands into his jacket pockets and waited for Jim to get one for himself. Then they wandered to their usual table and even though the wood was damp, Blair sat on the bench seat, facing the park. Jim stood beside him, eating in silence until he could throw the trash away. He cleaned his fingers and regarded Blair steadily.

"You were thinking about those two statues that used to be on the mantle at Nick's weren't you?"

"Holmes probably already has them - but he won't know that. I doubt he'd have had time to check the manifest to see if he had everything he needed." Blair leaned back against the table and shrugged, his blue eyes as grey as the sky. "It seemed the most logical thing to do. Why, did you have a better idea?"

"No, but you didn't exactly give me a lot of time to come up with one."

"Time is something I don't have a lot of at the moment."

This was not the man who had withdrawn yesterday in response to a series of disasters in his otherwise-peaceful life. This wasn't even the fighter who had helped Jim out so many times in so many ways. This man seated before him was hard, grim and determined - and Jim could only just recognize him.

Jim took a seat beside Blair, deliberately sitting close enough so his shoulder pressed lightly against the other man's. It wasn't intrusive - just meant as a reminder that he wasn't alone.

The gesture appeared to have no affect.

"You okay?"

"Fine. You?"

"Fine."

"You going to call Stephen and warn him?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"He'll probably find some excuse to be there. I don't want any more bodies to worry about than absolutely necessary."

"Okay."

Grim, determined - and way too quiet. Not even a question about tonight. Nothing. It was as though Blair had bricked himself in and wasn't letting anybody near, as though he needed to do this in order to keep breathing.

As though this morning had never happened.

A small part of Jim was hurt - but he could understand it. Blair had been running along the edge for too long now. So many things going wrong and then more wrong and now his entire life was hanging by a single thread. This was survival mode - and Jim knew all about that.

But that was the problem - he did know and he knew that Blair had a better chance of surviving if they worked through this together, if they leaned on each other as they always had in the past. What had Blair called it? A symbiotic relationship?

Give and take, take and give. And perhaps ... perhaps this morning he had taken more than his share. Perhaps what he needed to do now was give a little in return, a little space.

He sighed and stretched out his legs. "I suppose Simon's spoken to Warner by now, about me going over the crime scene. I'll do it on my own - I can't see Warner being too happy about you going in there."

"No, I suppose not. Jim?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm really sorry you had to do that. I mean, going through Nick's stuff, his bedroom and everything. It must have been ... well ... awkward."

Jim was shocked to find his face reddening a little - but Blair wasn't looking at him so he could afford to glance away and hide it. "A little."

"The master of understatement." Blair shifted a little, drawing his jacket closer at the front, warding off the cold afternoon. "I think maybe it would be a good idea to call Stephen and warn him - he could put something in the safe to make it look like this box of statues."

"He won't need to."

"Jim, if Holmes manages to get past you, if he gets the safe open he'll find ..."

"All your sentinel research."

"What?" Blair bounded to his feet, spinning to face Jim, his eyes wide in shock. "You ... you ..."

Jim shrugged, "How could I just destroy it, Chief? That's three years of your life - three years of my life. I couldn't just throw it all away on some chance."

Blair shut his mouth, turned away and said nothing for a moment - but Jim could hear that heartbeat - and it was pounding. Eventually, a grated voice came to him, "I don't fucking believe you, man! The FBI get a search warrant and Holmes fails to turn up on schedule and everything about your senses will be in their hands! Damn it, Jim!" Blair turned around, his eyes as cold as the day. "I told you to destroy it. You promised me you would!"

Jim got to his feet, facing Blair's fury with calm - even though inside, there were things shaking at this, shaking that Blair's reaction was so strong. He'd hoped to give the man something good to think about, something positive - some shred of his former life to hold onto. "I figured it was just as easy to send it to Stephen as it was to destroy it. If I'd burned your journals, it would have taken hours - and they would have found the ashes in the fireplace when they came to search - assuming I could have finished by then."

"Then why give Simon the real location?"

"Because the moment the Feds knew I'd sent something out of the loft, they would have checked up. They would have found the taxi driver and the address - and I would have implicated my own brother in it. Stephen really doesn't know what's in the box - and I want it to stay that way. If I get him to move it now, he'll be implicated."

"I can't believe you're doing this." Blair stared at him, shaking his head, backing away. "I can't believe I am. I ... I just ... this is just ..." He was breathing hard now, chest heaving with the effort.

Jim tried to reach out but Blair slapped his hands away.

"Don't!" He snapped, a myriad of expressions flitting across his face. Disgust, horror, fury and self-loathing. He looked up at Jim with eyes of daggers. "I trusted you, man. You promised to destroy my research and you lied. I don't care why you did it - you gave me a promise and you went back on it. I was trying to protect you and now ... now ... you ... Just stay away from me, okay? Just stay away!"

With that, Blair turned and walked off, leaving Jim alone in the park.

Easy.

Easy and deft.

Even after all these years, it was easy to do this. Easy to push back, to hurt, to think about hurting. Easy to live with it, easy to roll with it, easy to incorporate it into a larger life.

So very easy.

It took years for some people to get the idea. Others never got it. But he did. He understood, totally, thoroughly and completely.

There was no such thing as trust. There was only hope. The difference between certainty and possibility. To trust meant to know where knowing was impractical. How could one really know what was in a man's heart?

Had he known what was in Nick's heart? No. He'd trusted and been wrong. He thought he'd known but he'd only hoped. Hoped that the man he made love to, the man he welcomed into his arms actually felt something beyond simple physical desire. He'd hoped and wanted and felt and trusted. In the end, he'd known nothing at all. Not even the man's real name. For three months, he'd held a lie in his arms.

For three years, he'd lived a lie.

Jim Ellison, a man for whom loyalty and honour were second nature. A man who protected those dear to him with his own life. A man who asked so little and yet demanded so much. A man who would take from him and never give back what was needed, would only ever get close to it, would only ever need in return.

All of it was a lie.

And did he know now, why it was that Nick had dumped him? Even with all that he knew now about that stranger - did he at least have an answer? Was he any closer to easing the pain of rejection? No. And now he would never know. Nick had died with the knowledge still within him.

But Blair could guess. Blair could poke at the thing, make it hurt more. He could assume all the ills of the world and take them onto his own shoulders - for what choice did he have? Nick had dumped him because he wasn't good enough, wasn't interesting or enticing or exciting enough to last longer than three months. Good enough to chase after, yes. Good enough to have sex with, certainly - but not good enough to trust, to love, to keep.

And if it had been just one man's opinion, it wouldn't have mattered as much. But for all Jim's insistence, there was as little trust between them as there would be between complete strangers.

Sure, Jim had saved the research because he wanted Blair to keep it, didn't want him to lose something so important - but Jim hadn't trusted Blair enough to believe he wanted it destroyed. And he did. Now more than ever. He wanted it destroyed before it could destroy Jim. Christ, already every part of his private life had been laid open to the Feds - how much more investigating would they have to do to find out that his thesis had nothing to do with closed societies?

Damn him!

Naomi had taught him - and taught him well. Trust was the key to successful relationships. Without it, there was no future. There as only that dark centre to being alone - even when there were people around.

But not even Naomi trusted him. She who constantly second-guessed him, claimed to know him better than he knew himself, still, after all her claims to the contrary, wanted him to fit whatever image she had of the perfect son.

Time was revealing. Within and of itself, clasped in hands no longer chained by blindness. It simply wasn't safe to trust.

The building was quiet by the time he got there. The cloudy sky hid whatever sun had risen that day and now hid it as it worked its way west. It would be dark all too soon. Would Jim come back for him? Would Jim want him there, at the end?

Blair let himself into the loft with a key that seemed permanent in his pocket, as though a magic hand kept returning it there no matter how many times he threw it away. He placed it on the table as he walked past, his flat palm urging it to stay put. He went to the bathroom first, washed up, combed his hair and pulled it back.

He returned to his room and changed his shirt and shoes, putting on something that was dark and comfortable. He then chose a jacket from the hooks by the door. Something bulky and warm, dark coloured with the necessary big pockets. Then, after a moment's careful listening - he climbed the stairs to Jim's room.

He knew where it was, of course. He also knew how to clean and load it. Jim had insisted on showing him after that incident with David Lash.

So ... it was just an ... incident now, was it?

Okay, so it wasn't just an anything - but Jim had been so wired after that, he'd shown Blair where he kept his backup gun, showed him where the bullets where, showed him how to fire it. Blair had tried to argue for the first few minutes but even he had seen the wisdom of at least having the knowledge. Nobody now expected him to carry a gun - though he'd had to shoot one on a couple of occasions since - but here, if the situation ever arose, he knew he had some line of defence.

He sat on the bed to do it. He pulled open the second drawer down and took out the leather case. Unzipping it, he extracted the weapon and felt the cold hard weight in his hand. He then reached under the bed and pulled out a cardboard box. He popped the clip, refilled it from the spare shells and pushed the clip back into place. He heard the snip with satisfaction.

Putting things back where he found them, he stood, straightened the bed and went downstairs again. He collected his dictation recorder and put that in one pocket. The gun he slipped into a plastic bag and put into his other pocket. Then, to steady his hands, he drank half the remaining apple juice in the fridge and stood there listening to the lift rise through the building.

He was okay at waiting now. It had taken years to perfect it, but he had it good. Time slipped into gear as he heard a key in the lock, watched the door open and Jim's solid frame enter. Pale blue eyes glanced about - then locked on him.

"I called. You didn't answer."

"Only been back ten minutes."

"It's all set up. I finished at Nick's house. Serena has some new samples and a shirt I think has gun oil on it and everything's ready at ..." Jim paused, shrugging a little. "Chief, I ... I don't want you to think that ..."

"Well, you wouldn't, would you?" Blair walked up to him, stood very close. "But that's the problem, isn't it? You don't want me to think - but you knew I would. That didn't stop you from lying to me, that won't stop you from doing it again."

"That's not what ..."

"What happened?" Blair pushed his hands into his pockets, feeling his weapons and taking strength from them. He needed it. "Are you honestly going to tell me that when you made that promise, you had every intention of keeping it?"

Flinty blue eyes blinked twice. "No."

He should leave it at that. He should just head out the door and leave it at that, but there was something else sitting within him, some other shred that required expression. "Do you think I can trust you?"

Jim didn't answer - and that shred grew. Blair took a step closer, lifted his head and touched a kiss to Jim's lips. A cold kiss, one of death. He placed his gaze back into Jim's and repeated, "Do you think I can trust you? When you say you love me, do you have any idea what that means? Do you have any idea how much it will cost you to love me?"

"I do love you."

"Yes." Blair murmured, stepping back. "And that's why I can't trust you."

"Blair ... I ... " Jim swallowed, glanced down at his feet. "I didn't mean it to happen this way. I know I can't take it back but ... we could have worked it out ... found some way to stay friends ... "

"You were just trying to help, right?"

Jim just shrugged - an admission filling his shoulders.

Blair turned and put the apple juice away, closing the fridge with a finality he wished he really felt. "You taught me a lot about friendship. A lot about respect and identity. But I remember reading once that being in love is when you like who you are when you're with a person. I don't think we'll ever be in love with each other, Jim. And to be honest, I don't think you love me anywhere near as much as you think you do."

He rinsed his glass out and placed it by the basin. He turned then, found Jim's gaze on him and shook his head. "Are we going?"

"Yeah," Jim nodded, defeat in every line of his body. "Why not?"

It wasn't like he hadn't expected it. It was just that he hadn't thought about it.

So many times he'd accused Blair of thinking too much, of working a problem so hard that it started to wear thin. He'd never considered that he relied so heavily on Blair doing that kind of thinking that he'd somehow lost the habit of doing it himself. But he hadn't thought about it - certainly not enough.

But would thinking about it have stopped him from taking that first step, from taking those kisses that hadn't belonged to him? Would any amount of contemplation have revealed to him the pit he was about to fall into?

He should have known the man well enough to guess what his reaction would be. The action was akin to rape in that he hadn't given Blair a choice, one way or the other. He'd simply assumed that because Blair was bi, it wouldn't bother him. It had simply never occurred to him that such a small thing would be exposed as a breach of trust.

Nor that one breech would lead to another and another. What he'd wanted in the beginning was so far removed from how he felt now, it was getting hard to remember. He thought he'd tried hard to do what was right - but really, he'd just been acting on instinct, hoping it would be right in the end. For some reason, he'd trusted that Blair would know, Blair would understand - that Blair would make sense of it and clear away the confusion for both of them.

It had never occurred to him that he would only make it worse. It had never occurred to him because he hadn't thought about it. He'd only thought about what he was feeling and whether Blair would feel that way too.

Blair accused him of not trusting - but the truth was, he'd trusted too much. Trusted somebody other than himself.

And now he was paying for it.

Paying with silence. Blair sat beside him in the truck, saying nothing. There were no gifts of enlightenment his senses could hand him, either. No raised pulse, no hitched breathing pattern, no scent of fear. Blair was a blank now, forcing him to reach for other signs, other ways to predict what he was feeling. But to pursue those other paths, he had to think about them, think hard, delve into all he knew about his partner, his best friend. And he had to do this because if he didn't, he'd lose this man forever.

The idea was simply unthinkable. Even though there was no relationship, couldn't be, though he could never give Blair what he needed, wasn't there still room for him to be the good friend? Some place where he could give that much without having to risk the intimacy of something more? Couldn't they do that much?

The carpark was almost empty by the time he pulled in, hiding the truck behind a utility shed where there was no light. Darkness was still a few minutes away so he took a moment to check in with Simon, making sure that all the employees were out and that the stake-out team hadn't seen anyone of Holmes's description enter the building yet. They were all there: Rafe, Brown, Taggert. Warner was due to arrive any minute.

Jim turned to Blair, "If I ask you to stay in the truck, are you going to?"

In answer, Blair simply got out. Sighing, Jim climbed down as well and headed towards the building. The company Stephen worked for had built this place last year, equipping it with the latest technologies for security - but Jim knew that no technology, no matter how smart, could keep a single man out if he really wanted to get in.

They entered via a back door. The security guard checked their IDs then directed them to the stairs. Stephen's office was on the third floor at the end of a long corridor filled with plush salmon-coloured carpet. The door was locked but Jim could see through glass walls. The lights were off. A desk and bookcase sat close to each other, a short safe stood behind them.

"You really should wait in the truck," Jim tried one last time. "If Warner finds out you're here, he'll go ballistic."

Blair didn't answer, the silence a wall of memory between them, growing taller by the minute.

"Come on. We have to get back far enough so he doesn't see us when he comes in. Simon has an office picked out down this way."

He led Blair along another corridor where the walls were half-glass. He turned into an office and found Simon and Taggert just settling themselves on the floor, hidden by a desk. A casual glance into the room would reveal nothing out of place. It was a good spot. By peering over the desk, it was possible to see straight into Stephen's office with only two layers of windows between. The door was hidden, but everything else was visible. Jim was satisfied and settled down to wait.

The silence drew out. Blair had his own spot, behind a filing cabinet near the door. Simon and Joel kept their own thoughts, leaving Jim the opportunity to open his hearing, to focus it on the corridor outside. Carpet or not, he would hear Holmes if he approached. He would smell the man, matching it to the scent he'd found at Nick's house. The trap was set. There was only the prey left to spring it.

It grew dark and a little cold. Jim was glad Blair had worn such a thick jacket otherwise he would have his teeth chattering by now. He wanted to glance over and check how his partner was doing but he didn't dare lift his concentration for one moment. He couldn't risk Holmes coming in unobserved.

"Jim?" He looked up and found Simon glancing at his watch. "It's been three hours. I'd say we have one more before the Feds get their hands on a search warrant and come in here. I left it as late as I could - but the moment I told Warner, I knew they'd find out soon after."

"We'll wait as long as it takes."

Simon nodded and Jim resumed his surveillance. Silence filled the empty office once more and Jim opened his hearing further, counting off all the catalogued noises he knew belonged to this place. He ranged out from their hide-out and down to the next floor, then the one below - and that's when he heard it.

He focussed, hard and swift. There they were. Tell-tale noises of somebody moving through the building carefully, checking spaces before entering them. If Holmes thought this was a trap, he wouldn't be here. He must have been waiting for the search warrant to be approved to make sure the information was real.

The door to the stairs opened and soft footfalls pressed against the carpet. Jim stiffened, pulling out his gun. He kept track of the noises, knowing Simon and Joel would understand his readiness and be ready themselves.

Slowly now, Holmes made his way towards Stephen's office. He paused outside the door, obviously checking to make sure he was alone. Then there was a series of clicks and the door swung open. More footsteps which stopped again - probably before the safe.

Jim waited, trying not to hold his breath. Slowly, he turned and peered over the desk, focussing everything now on his sight, on making out the clear image of the man from the photo. Holmes stood there a moment, reaching into his pocket. He brought out some device Jim couldn't identify and placed it against the safe. Three swift turns of the dial and the door came open, softly and silently. Jim brought his gun up and aimed, ready to stand and make a move - but there was suddenly something in the way - something he hadn't seen or heard.

"Shit!"

Simon and Joel scrambled up beside him and looked - but he kept his attention and his aim on the room, coming slowly to his feet.

Damn you, Sandburg!

Blair had crept out of their hide-out, had scrambled along the corridor and had entered Stephen's office without anybody - not one of the real professionals - noticing. He now stood facing Holmes, a gun held between two hands, elbows straight and steady.

Jim didn't move, couldn't afford to. Any distraction and the moment would be lost. Instead, he kept his gun on Holmes and listened.

"Hands where I can see them," Blair said, his hoarse voice level, his breathing regular but forced. The trip of his heartbeat was almost erratic and Jim had to stop himself moving forward, moving to interfere. Blair was walking a tightrope and the smallest thing might make him fall.

Holmes raised his hands in the air and turned to face Blair. Jim could see a flicker of recognition there and if he'd had any doubt about whether they had the right man, it vanished in that moment. Holmes knew exactly who Blair was.

"Ah, the rejected lover." Holmes took a breath and steadied - but didn't make any silly moves. "So, you gave the cops false information so you could draw me into the open, eh?"

"No," Blair replied, "The information was real. Why would I lie?"

"Why tell them in the first place?"

"So they would know I was telling the truth."

"Were you?"

"I told them I saw another man at Nick's place. They didn't believe me. It didn't take long to work out what Nick had really been up to - and why somebody might want to kill him."

Holmes smiled and Jim's skin crawled. "Come on, Blair, you can't tell me you didn't want to kill him when you found out he was sleeping with me."

The gun never wavered from it's aim - but Blair's fingers gripped and re-gripped, as though he were debating within himself whether he should just pull the trigger. That tiny clutching movement clutched at Jim's stomach. "What did you do to Nick?"

Again Holmes smiled, "You think I'm going to admit that I killed him? Hah! I'm here on official business. I'm investigating a lead on a murder ..."

"Then show me your search warrant."

Holmes lifted his chin. He didn't have one. "I'm investigating the murder of a protected witness - a murder which you committed. You'll never get me to say otherwise."

"I never expected you to. I mean, why on earth would you tell the truth?"

"Exactly. I'm glad we understand one another."

"So what did you do to him? To make him dump me?"

Holmes appeared to be enjoying himself, totally unworried by the gun pointed at him - nor the minutes ticking by. "Maybe I was just better in bed than you. It was remarkably easy, you know. I just played hard to get. My orders were to get close to him, find out what he was up to - so I had to get him to trust me. If I'd just jumped into his bed at the first opportunity, he would have been suspicious. So I strung him along. Believe it or not, but the first time I slept with him was about an hour after he dumped you. I'll admit, it was distasteful - but it was all in the line of duty. Still, he seemed to enjoy it."

Jim couldn't see Blair's face - and he wished he could, wished with all his heart because it was necessary. He couldn't tell enough of what the man was thinking just by listening to his breathing, his pounding heart, scent the sweat of fear drifting on the air to him. It wasn't enough.

Blair released the safety catch on the gun, his arms shaking a little now. Holmes's eyes widened - but then he shrugged.

"You expect me to believe you'll kill me?"

"Why not? You thought I was ready to kill Nick."

"But you didn't."

"No. You did."

"So why should I believe this now?"

Blair's voice dropped, "Why is it that we're so quick to assume that your average, ordinary human being, well-adjusted and reasonable, would never have the capacity for cold-blooded murder?"

"Jim!" Simon hissed, "End this now!"

But Jim didn't move. He couldn't. He understood too much of what was going on here. But if Blair ... if Blair killed the man then Jim ... Jim would ...have to ... He kept his gun trained on Holmes, swallowed his fear and held on for dear life.

Simon came close, his voice a hissed demand. "Ellison, shoot the damn gun out of Sandburg's hands! Do it!"

Jim kept his aim steady, but his voice came out a tumbling whisper, filled with dread and terror, "You .... want me to shoot Blair? Are you serious?" Serious? Was he? Would he really do it, if there was no other choice?

A cold hand gripped his mind, forcing his concentration onto the moment, freezing all other thought.

Simon fell silent and Jim turned his attention back to the others. Blair brought the gun up until he could sight along the barrel. "What did you do with the diamonds?"

"Does it matter?"

"No, not really." Blair came around the desk then, changing his grip on the gun until it stood out in his right hand only, the barrel only inches from Holmes's head, too close to miss, too near for the other man to risk hitting it away. Jim could see quite clearly, the finger tightening on the trigger and the action mirrored the ache in his guts. He wanted to close his eyes, pretend this wasn't happening, that the man he loved wasn't about to commit murder - but he couldn't do that, couldn't desert Blair now, of all times.

But Simon was ready and prepared. He lifted his gun and aimed it at Blair. Jim took one step to his right and barred the way.

"Jim!" Simon's anger split the silence, giving away their position. "Damn it, Jim, you have to stop him!"

But it was too late. Holmes had seen them, his eyes wide with apprehension. "You're not alone, are you?"

"Oh, yeah. Aren't you?"

Holmes turned back to Blair then, suddenly not so sure his life wasn't about to be ended.

"Get it now?" Blair murmured. "I can kill you, you know. The effort required is far less than you took to kill Nick. You beat him up a little beforehand, didn't you? Was that to make up for the fact that you'd had to have sex with him - or because he wouldn't tell you where the diamonds were? I wonder what you would have done if I hadn't so conveniently come along to give you a cover, somebody to blame the murder on."

"But you did - and you were a fool."

"Oh yes, I was a fool, all right," Blair paused, his voice, his hands, his whole body shaking, reacting to things Jim could only imagine. Silently, he held on, hoping, just hoping that he was right, that Simon was wrong, trusting, yes, trusting that he knew, just knew Blair well enough to know - but it was hope and he knew it. If he was wrong ... dear gods, he couldn't be wrong ...

"Yes," Blair continued as though gathering the same thoughts himself. "I was a fool - but not as big a fool as you think I am." He raised his voice a little. "You got him, Jim?"

"Yes!" Jim yelled, stepping out from behind the desk, shoring up the relief flooding through him. He would have time for reactions later.

Keeping his gun trained on Holmes, he made his way along the corridor until he reached the open door. He stepped inside leaving room for Simon and Joel to come in and cuff the man and relieve him of his gun. Only then did Blair lower his weapon - but he wasn't finished yet.

He stepped closer to Holmes and pushed him hard, making the agent stumble against the door. "You bastard! You're going to pay for what you did ... you are just .... Just ..."

"Sandburg, let me ..."

But Simon's admonishment fell on deaf ears as Blair shook his head raggedly. "You really think I'd be stupid enough to kill you?"

Holmes grunted, "Fuck off!"

Blair went for him then - but Jim was faster, grabbing his partner and holding him back. Blair didn't struggle. He just stood there and watched Joel hustle the man out of the office and down the corridor. Jim could feel waves of heat and fury radiate from Blair and he let go, wanting to give him time to calm down - if there was that much time left in the world.

Simon ignored them both for a minute as he radioed Warner to give him a run down of what had happened. He then turned and faced Blair again. "Sandburg, I'm going to have your hide for this! Hand me that gun!"

Blair gave it to him - then reached into his pocket and pulled out a small tape recorder. He gazed down at it for a moment, then pushed it at Simon. "Here, take this. He doesn't actually admit that he killed Nick - but he doesn't deny it when I accuse him of it. He does say that I didn't do it however. That, together with his presence here should be enough to clear me"

"And you think that's going to be enough to save you from me?" Simon towered over the younger man, forcing Jim to take a step closer, in case intervention was required. "Your ride-along status is revoked as of now. Tomorrow morning you will sit down and tell me what the fuck you were thinking of - and where you got a gun without a permit."

"Simon," Jim tried to interrupt - but Simon didn't care at the moment.

"Later. Right now I want those statues out of that safe and I want Sandburg gone before the Feds get here."

"Simon, there are no statues."

The captain turned to Jim, total confusion warring on his face. "What do you mean, no statues?"

"Blair never had any to begin with. What he asked me to do was to destroy all his sentinel research before a search party could find it. I sent it to Stephen for safe-keeping." I did what I thought was right - only the problem was that I should have done what Blair thought was right instead.

"Fuck, I just don't want to hear this, okay? Get the stuff out now and do something with it. I don't want to know any more about it. But I do want you both down at the station first thing tomorrow and you'd better have your stories straight or I will have you both up on charges! Do I make myself clear!"

Jim nodded - and so did Blair. Simon took that as his cue to make a stormy exit.

Waiting until the other man was gone, Jim tried not to look at Blair, tried not to think about him, about what he'd seen and known and believed. The air was cold around them, empty and vacant and he knew that words were required to fill it - words that wouldn't tip Blair over that edge once and for all. He took a careful breath, "I didn't smell the gun on you."

Blair was still watching the corridor - now empty. His voice was leaden, damped down and sound-proofed. "I put it in a plastic bag."

He'd thought it all out, hadn't he? Knew Jim well enough to plan around his senses - had even known that Jim would be too focussed on Holmes to notice his partner sneaking up.

Shaking his head, Jim made for the safe. He took out the box he'd sent his brother and kicked the door shut. He pulled out a pair of gloves, removed the safe-cracker and put it into an evidence bag. When he was done, he handed the box to Blair. "There, all yours again. Come on, move. I want to go home."

Concluded in part five.