Author's webpage: http://internetdump.com/users/angiet

Author's notes and disclaimer can be found in part one.

More and Less - part two
By Jack Reuben Darcy

It took so much will-power to keep his hands to himself, Jim was amazed. He'd worried that he might not be able to manage it, that somewhere during the game he'd betray his desire to the entire bar by pulling the young man to him and kissing the life out of him.

God, just seeing him there ... just knowing he was so close ... Finding him there after a week full of wondering and regrets and stuff he couldn't begin to think about right now. And he couldn't afford to think about them now, about promises broken not once, now but twice. Of dangers and senses and insanity.

No. Time for something else.

So much will-power.

But he had kept his hands to himself. And he'd followed some minutes behind - but finding Blair leaning back against the wall like some ... wild and wanton hooker was almost the end of him.

They walked in silence. Jim didn't trust himself to speak. All that will-power was channeled into keeping his hands off the man until they were safely inside. He was a cop - and there were laws against such behavior. For the first time he understood why.

The journey to the door seemed endless though. Cold air wrapped around his heated face but he felt little of it. Instead, he kept his concentration on where he was putting his feet, turning when Blair turned, going up steps and into the building, climbing three flights of stairs and waiting while Blair got his keys out, unlocked the door but then, then he lost it completely.

And he wasn't alone.

Before they'd even closed the door, Jim grabbed Blair, pulling him close, feeling strong hands hold him and then their mouths joined and flavours exploded against his awareness, bright and delicious and this time, rather than shrink from them, Jim explored, savoring each one, allowing his senses to rise to the occasion and not minding at all. Deeper and deeper the kiss dived as coats were stripped off, shirt buttons threatened, as hands struggled to get the first touch of flesh.

Giddy and desperate, Jim gripped Blair's ass, grinding their bodies together like a madman. How could he get enough of this? How could he have stayed away for a whole week? How had he done any work at all, damnit? Blair's mouth was hot, steaming up his reasoning, frying his logic. All he knew was that he wanted this, needed this. But was it Blair? Or was it just ... suppressed sexual tension or the male thing or ...

But questions paled as Blair tore his mouth away, gasped in needy breathes, held Jim's face between his hands. They were both already way too hard for this to last more than five minutes. Christ, had the kid been feeling the same thing all week?

Dusky blue eyes gazed at him, pupils black with desire, "Jim?"

"Mmmn?"

"Can you let me go?"

"No, Chief, I don't think I can." Jim laughed a little and Blair's eyes danced.

"Just long enough for me to close the front door?"

With a guilty glance, Jim released him. Blair smiled and shook his head. "Don't worry, man, you're not on your own here." He pushed the door shut then turned back to Jim, keeping a foot or so distance between them.

No, he wasn't as beautiful as Jim remembered - he was more so. In sudden wonder, he raised a hand, his fingers drifting down the side of that amazing face with a gentleness that surprised him.

Seven long days and nights. So many hours spent cursing his inability to forget. But it wasn't so simple any more. It hadn't been for a long time. And ... should he try to explain it to Blair? To the man who stood before him now, wanting clear in every line of his body?

No. But neither could he afford to do this again. After tonight, he would just have to stay away. He'd promised, hadn't he? And wasn't he a man of his word? It was just too damned dangerous, too . . . wrong . . . and if he didn't, then . . .

"Jim? Is anything wrong?"

"No," he shook his head, focussing completely on what he had before him, while he could. "Been thinking about you."

The look that filled Blair's eyes then shocked him to the core, made him, for a few moments at least, desperately want to forget his promise.

He'd never seen a look like that before. Ever. He would have noticed. It was, after all, the kind of look every human being wanted to see in someone's eyes at some time in their lives.

But he said nothing. Instead, he leaned down and kissed the man, using his mouth to direct the questioning, guide the conversation, explain, in simple gestures, how much that look meant to him.

Blair melted into his arms, the terrible urgency abated for a moment. Instead, this was sweet and tender, just as he'd dreamt it would be and his insides did a flip. Blair's body felt so good against his, so natural. Blair's scent was busy creeping into his awareness, flipping his memory back to last week and their first time together. Blair's voice held him in the present, promising so much more.

The kiss anchored him. His senses were sharpened yes, but in no danger of flying off and away.

When he could, he took Blair's hand and let himself be led, not to the bedroom but into the living room. Steering him to the couch, Blair pushed him back, making him sit. Then, his gaze steady, Blair sat astride him, settling onto his lap. He put his arms around Jim's neck and proceeded to kiss him again, this time allowing the heat to build between them slowly.

Jim's hands were free - but not for long. They roamed over Blair's back, reacquainting themselves with the feel of him, the strength of him and the determined presence of him. Then down further, to run his fingers along the seam of his jeans, and more, down to his legs to feel firm thighs. Up again then, as Blair took one kiss after another, feeding the flames. Up to brush thumbs over the hard heat in the front.

Blair paused, looking at him and Jim swept his thumbs across that hardness again. Blair's eyes closed a little and he took a deep breath, as if trying to contain himself, then proceeded to undo the buttons of Jim's shirt one at a time. As Blair's hands slipped into to caress his skin, Jim's own hands continued moving, inside Blair's shirt to tease nipples too long away from his touch.

Blair moaned softly. The sound was like music to Jim. He'd missed this their first time, missed taking Blair these places slowly. Blair had had no experience with men - and there was so much Jim wanted to show him, wanted him to experience, wanted to share with him the joys of male sex. He wanted to do that now, wanted to make the most of this second - and last - time. So he peeled the shirt away, slipping it from first one, then the other wrist. With Blair still attached to him, he deepened the kiss and let his hands fall to the jeans. Once again he let his thumbs press against that hardness, scraping his nail across the denim to feel Blair shudder. Then one button at a time and the fly opened. Without pausing, he dipped his fingers inside to brush against heated flesh.

Blair's thighs clenched at his touch. He broke away and sat back a little, to gaze steadily at Jim.

"Stand up," Jim whispered.

Blair stood. Jim leaned forward and pulled the jeans down, waiting as Blair kicked off shoes and socks, unable to stop himself drinking in the sight of that body. Then he pulled the man back onto his lap, letting his hands at last feel the naked skin he'd craved so much over the last week.

"Tell me if you get cold, okay?"

"Uh huh." Blair was watching him, his gaze a little unsteady, arms once more around Jim's neck.

With a faint smile, Jim reached out and let his fingers trace the shape of Blair's testicles, fondling them gently, pulling them a little, reaching behind just enough to make Blair hiss in air. Then his hands moved up, sinking into the rich hair, all the while their eyes never leaving each other.

Yes, he would do this slowly. For both their sakes.

With a happy sigh, Jim leaned forward and lapped his tongue across the nearest nipple. A shiver ran down Blair's back but vanished the moment Jim took that ready cock in his hand. His thumb collected the drops of moisture from the head, and he used it to lubricate his slow pumps.

Blair moved on his lap, tiny hitching involuntary thrusts to meet what Jim was doing. He could see it was taking some degree of will-power for the man to keep so still and as reward, he suckled the other nipple.

With Blair breathing heavily now, he rested back, bringing one hand up to touch Blair's face again. He sent a single finger across those perfect lips and they opened before him, sucking his finger inside, making Jim shudder with his own need. Blair sent his tongue all over before Jim withdrew. Again, his eyes firmly fixed on Blair's, Jim moved his moist finger behind Blair, brushing it over his virgin opening.

Blair shook. Once. Just once. His pupils dilated, his mouth stayed open in anticipation and Jim knew it wasn't from fear or discomfort. Another brush and Blair was stiff in his arms, unable to ask for what he wanted, hoping Jim would give it to him anyway.

He pressed the finger to the pucker, exerting the smallest amount of force. Gradually, slowly, it gave way to his invasion until he was buried to the first knuckle.

"Okay?" he whispered. Words seemed an intrusion - but he needed to ask.

"Uh huh," Blair nodded, eyes closed, face tense with expectancy. Carefully, Jim pushed his finger in further, easing it slowly, letting Blair become accustomed to it.

Blair shook once more as Jim's finger slid home inside him. Jim found he was holding his breath and only released it when Blair leaned forward once more, kissing him again, showing his readiness.

Happy now, Jim withdrew his finger and eased Blair from his lap. He stood up. "Lie down."

The naked Blair did as he was told and Jim grabbed a spare cushion. He dropped it on the floor then knelt beside the young man, stealing tiny kisses before moving further down. His finger once more teased the opening. Blair spread his legs, propping one knee up against the back of the couch, letting the other hang over the side.

So open to this, so trusting. Once again, Jim was filled with gratitude that he'd been the one to show Blair these pleasures. He knew how much he wanted to do this carefully, making sure that it was a pleasure. His own introduction to male sex had been anything but and it had taken him a long time to undo that damage.

His finger entered Blair's hole again and this time, he pushed in further, easing out before pushing in again. He leaned forward and placed small kisses on the flat stomach, drinking his fill of Blair's responses. "You ever had this before? Done it to yourself?"

"No," Blair murmured.

"You like it?"

"Oh, yeah."

Jim could only smile. The young man's face was flushed, his eyes wide and everything about him screamed a need Jim knew he could fulfill. Taking a breath, he ducked his head and sent his tongue along the length of Blair's cock.

"Oh, Jim!" Blair's hands flew to his head, holding him there. Without pausing, Jim opened wide and took the cock into his mouth, sucking gently, teasing a little before sucking again. He pushed his finger in further, searching for and finding that little button he knew was there. When he touched it, Blair almost exploded off the couch, almost choked him.

Carefully holding down a hip with his free hand, Jim proceeded to finger-fuck Blair, enjoying the feel of the silky channel, sucking on his cock with a rhythm demanded by his need. Slow and slow, a little faster, then slower again, every now and then, allowing the faintest touch of his teeth to be felt.

God, this cock tasted almost too good. Jim's own erection strained against his jeans and he let his hand free only long enough to undo his fly to release himself. Almost instantly, Blair's hand flew to him, just touching, just feeling and Jim returned to his task.

When Blair began to moan, his voice husky with want, Jim sped up the action, his finger brushing that prostate again and again as his mouth worked at the over-heated shaft. The cock was continuously leaking pre-cum now and he drank it down, greedy again, ravenous. He would have it this time; this time he would taste this man in all his glory.

Blair thrashed about on the couch now, his hand jerking Jim's cock, bringing him dangerously close himself. And then suddenly, without warning, Blair bucked into him and the first shot of semen hit the back of his throat. Thirsty, Jim drank and drank. As the taste flowed into him, he pushed into Blair's hand and his own climax ripped out of him, firing all his neurons with a single shattering explosion.

He hadn't realized Blair's cock was still in his mouth until he tried to talk. Giving it a last dizzy swipe with his tongue, he released it before looking up to see that beautiful face.

Hair stuck to a wide forehead sprinkled with sweat. Blue, glazed eyes regarded him with something bordering on awe - and Jim almost burst out laughing. "That good, huh?"

"Man, you are... C'm'ere."

Jim climbed onto the couch, spread himself out along the sated body and drank again of Blair's taste. Kissing this man was a sweet luxury, a privilege and again, there was the same solemnity in it as there had been the other times, a place touched inside him that had been too long in the dark.

A week ago he'd known this could become addictive. And he'd been right. This mouth, this body, this man had so quickly got way too deep under his skin. Giving him up now would be almost impossible.

But he had no choice.

"Jim?"

"Mmmn?"

"If you take your clothes off and come to bed with me, I promise to make it worth your while."

"You want more?" Jim asked in mock horror.

Blair simply laughed, the sound something Jim had longed to hear over the last week. "Come on, you great lump. Get off me before I suffocate."

"But you're such a comfortable little bed."

"Hey, them's dangerous words! I could make you pay for that-"

Jim chose action instead of words, kissing that mouth into submission. Only when things warmed up again, did he decide that perhaps Blair was right and he did indeed need to get a little more naked.

They moved slowly together, almost gently, naked flesh teased with silky sweat and desire too full for urgency. Blair's free hand caressed Jim's chest, feeling the heavy muscle, the strong heart beating beneath, the delicious twist of flesh at each aroused nipple. With each thrust inside Jim, he felt the man almost shift closer to him until they seemed in his mind, to be one body, one person, one creature lying on its side, writhing so slowly together, no words spoken, none needed.

He could feel Jim's arm move beneath his, felt the man turn his head awkwardly for a kiss which Blair was desperate to give. He wished he'd left the light on because he wanted to see that look in Jim's eyes, that need clear in the pale blue, wanted to see that hand stroking his cock as his ass was being fucked - but he couldn't stop and put the light on so he dropped his own hand to let his fingers feel out what Jim was doing to himself.

And all so slowly, so carefully, as though neither of them wanted to miss anything this time, as though each push forward into Jim was a new experience, as each withdrawal was the first time.

He loved the feel of Jim's cock, loved the taste which still lingered on his lips.

He could hear himself moaning, deep in his throat. The effort to move, to fuck almost seemed too much but he was driven by his own need for completion, this ass so welcoming and hot, this body so beautiful, this man so perfect ...

And he wanted this, wanted the cock beneath his fingers to be doing this to him, wanted to be lying there as Jim fucked him slowly, as Jim held him, as Jim kissed him. Wanted to watch Jim fucking him, to see that need in his eyes.

Wanted Jim to see his own need.

Jim took his hand and placed it over his cock, urging his touch. As Blair felt the solid shaft beneath his fingers, Jim's hand reached behind, catching Blair's hip, bringing him closer, deeper inside. Then the long arm reached further, caressing Blair's ass and the words almost fell from Blair then, almost, would have if his body hadn't demanded so much then, if the movement hadn't driven him so close.

Slowly, slowly he crept to the edge, stayed there, hovering, waiting for nothing but inevitability. Even as he fucked the man, he knew this was a gift, that this was something Jim hadn't done not only for a long time - but not often before this. So it was special - for both of them. Special and beautiful and careful and slow and easy, so very easy being here, pleasuring each other, taking and giving that pleasure.

He heard the quick intake of air from Jim, deliberately angled his next thrust to make the most of it. But then Jim groaned, saying his name out loud and that was too much, way too much and the low, sexy noise sent Blair away, blasting his climax out of him in sweet slow-motion, sending it into Jim in the same way, and he felt the other man join him, felt his hand covered in sweet cream and still they moved together, slowly, so slowly.

At 3am, it was cold - as he'd expected. Cold and quiet.

He moved silently in the dark night, hoping to let Blair sleep as long as possible - but it seemed the young man was too attuned to his movements, too aware of the other presence in his bed. He'd barely sat up before a hand brushed down his arm, a sleepy voice murmuring into the darkness.

"Jim? You okay? Something wrong?"

Oh yeah, more than I can say.

Jim squeezed the hand, trying to keep the regret from his voice, "I can't stay tonight, Chief. I have to get going."

"Oh."

Jim was glad it was dark - he wasn't sure he'd be able to leave at all if he had to see the disappointment which came out with that word.

As he rose from their bed, a familiar pleasant ache reminded him of what he was walking away from - but he'd resolved to do this and choice, that greatest of freedoms, simply wasn't his.

Hadn't been for a long time.

This . . . this adventure had been an interlude, no more. He'd known that in the beginning, knew it now - would feel it the more harshly later.

He had no choice at all.

Jim got up and found his jeans. He pulled them on then slipped his feet into his shoes. As he cast around for his shirt, Blair switched on the lamp. Jim closed his eyes for a moment but determined not to look around yet.

"You have to work?"

"Now?" Jim found his shirt and shook his head. "No."

"But you have to go?"

"Yes."

A moment's pause - then, "Why?"

Jim clenched his jaw, clenched everything inside him down to where he could cope with it. "I just have to. I'm sorry."

"I ... um ... Will I see you again?"

Jim's movement came to a halt. For long seconds, he said nothing. Words, reasons, promises and so many other things fled though his mind but none of them would work, none of them would make a difference to that hopefully tentative note in Blair's voice.

Inside, he was screaming.

Yes.

Please.

Yes.

Then he was suddenly tucking his shirt into his jeans, doing them up blindly. "No."

Blair sank back onto the bed and Jim heard the sigh, heard so many things that weren't being said between them.

The silence was all the condemnation Jim needed.

He was dressed and no longer had an excuse to keep his back to Blair. But when he turned, he saw the one thing he'd hoped vainly would be missing from Blair's face.

Hurt.

The young man was trying to hide it, of course, keeping his gaze firmly on the ceiling - but his hands gave him away as one twisted the sheet into a hard knot.

Without thinking, Jim moved to the side of the bed, knelt down beside Blair and reached out to stroke the hair back from his face. Blair flinched a little but didn't move.

He couldn't help it. It seemed he had no choice about this either - so he gave in and kissed Blair's lips, feeling resistance for a moment before Blair moaned softly, turning towards him, opening, saying goodbye in his own way. It was the kind of kiss that left scars on a man.

Finally able to tear himself away, Jim sat back a little, "Chief?"

"What?"

"I ..." What? What did he want to say?

What could he afford to say?

"Hey, Jim, if you have to go, go. It's cool." These words came out evenly, but the ease was forced and all those things inside Jim knotted together as if they were the sheet in Blair's hands. "And if, you know, if that's it, well . . . I understand."

"Do you?"

Blair sat up on his elbow, pushing his hair back, his gaze searching out and latching onto Jim's. The blue there nearly stole his resolve away. "Yeah, I get it. I, um, guess ... being a cop and everything ... can't be easy being gay. Closed societies and all that, right?"

"Yeah," Jim nodded, his reply distracted not only by what he was seeing, but by what he was feeling.

This wasn't supposed to feel like this. Wasn't casual sex supposed to be just that? Casual? No ties, no emotions, no questions and no answers...

But if it had been so damned casual, why the hell had he come back for more, knowing full well what he would find?

Wanting exactly what he knew he would find.

This had stopped being casual about five seconds after he'd first walked into this apartment a week ago.

Blair was searching his face again, looking for something he didn't name. Then his face clouded over a little, "Sorry, I guess I'm assuming here. I have a bad habit of doing that. I just really enjoyed this and I guess I hoped you'd ... you know ... want to ..." He twisted up his face, trying to make a smile - and managing something like that. "But, that's cool. You better go, right?"

For every moment they'd spent together, Jim had uttered a silent prayer, grateful that Blair had this inability to hide how he felt - but now it served neither of them. For every attempt Blair made to understand drove another spike through Jim. Every attempt Blair made to hide, only made it worse.

Jim sat back on his haunches, keeping his hands to himself. "Chief," he began carefully, "if I had a choice ..." God, was there any truth he could tell the man? Anything to stop this?

"Jim, don't." Blair sat up, shaking his head, "Like I said, I understand and you've got your career and everything and look, you know, I'm a student, it doesn't make any difference to my life but I'm lucky, much luckier than most other people and I do understand, Jim and if that's it, then I'm cool with it but I really don't want to know that you would see me again if you could because really, that wouldn't help, you know, especially if you didn't really mean it and .... well - "

"I'm married." The words were out before he could stop them, driven by a need he'd been a slave to the moment he'd met this man.

Blair stared at him, eyes abruptly wide. With a sudden groan, he flopped back onto the bed, "Oh god."

Jim could only sit there and watch, having done so much that he'd promised himself he wouldn't do - but at least, at the very least, Blair would know some of the truth, however small, that it wasn't some sort of sly excuse but something real and solid and shameful - but at least it was Jim, not Blair.

For long seconds Blair just lay there, saying nothing. Then abruptly, he rolled away and climbed out of bed. He grabbed a robe and hurried out of the bedroom and Jim saw a light in the kitchen snap on, heard a kettle placed on the stove, a mug snapped down on the bench.

Moving slowly now, Jim grabbed his jacket, pulling it on. Then, ignoring how he felt, ignoring the fact that his feet didn't want to move - he went into the hall and stopped in the kitchen doorway.

"I should have guessed," Blair grunted, his back to Jim. "The best ones are always married or gay - only in your case, you're both, right? And still I can't win."

"Blair, please..."

"What? You didn't expect me to be angry? Why not? If you'd thought for one minute that I was okay fucking a married man, why didn't you just come out and say right in the beginning? 'Hey, wanna go somewhere, oh and by the way, I'm married. I hope you don't mind.'"

"Blair ..."

The young man poured water into the mug but instead of drinking, he just gripped the bench, his anger making his hands tremble. "Oh, come on, Jim! Give me some credit here. So, I was just the convenient fuck on the side, fine. You want to betray your marriage vows, that's your responsibility, not mine. But to be honest, I'd really rather not know how you can go from my bed to hers in the space of an hour, okay?"

Jim took a deep breath, "I haven't been with Carolyn for almost a year."

"Oh?" Blair gave a harsh, bitter laugh. "Yeah, well, so what am I supposed to say to that, eh? Jeesh, Jim, just ... just..." He gulped in air then, holding onto the bench. Jim just wanted to hold him. "Just get the fuck out of here!"

"Chief," Jim couldn't stop himself. He moved up behind the angry man, placing his hands on rigid shoulders, the touch doing little to ease the pain inside him. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to lie to you ..."

"Didn't mean? Oh, man! You are so full of shit! I know it was a one-night-stand and tonight was a kind of bonus lay, right? Like, I didn't go to Barnie's tonight hoping to see you there or anything."

"No?" Jim's voice came out soft as somewhere inside him, the urge to communicate something of value surfaced. "I definitely went there hoping to see you."

"Why?" Blair whirled around. "You've got a wife at home! You're making me into some kind of home-wrecker - and you know, I've always promised myself I'd never do that, never! And that's not fair because I didn't know and I thought we had ... I thought there was something happening here, something good ... But I didn't know and you did and you still put me in this position, so come on, Jim, explain it to me! Christ, I know I'm probably way over-reacting here, but I can't help it okay?" He grabbed Jim's shirt with one hand, the other reaching up to touch his face, voice catching, softening. "I can't help it .... She has you - but I want you!"

Jim almost broke then - as Blair sucked in a breath of horror that he had revealed so much and even as a part of Jim rejoiced, the rest of him sank further.

"I just want to know why," Blair whispered into the silence. He needed to know, needed to be sure that whatever had happened between them wasn't just him.

"Why?" Jim replied, his voice betraying all he was trying to hide. "Because for the last week, I've been able to think of nothing else but making love to you again."

Blair closed his eyes and shook his head in mute refusal. Jim's whole body resisted his leaving, fought against every message he gave it to just turn and walk away. His skin itched, his guts churned, his head pounded and his eyes burned. But the only sight he had to ease him was Blair's face, closed to him now - just as he deserved.

Dropping his hands, he turned for the door - but paused, not looking at Blair, not wanting to see. "Chief ... I didn't know ... that this would be so... that you ... I wish I could ..."

"Just get out."

He hadn't known - but he should have considered the possibility.

Without another word, he turned and left, closing the door quietly behind him.

Blair sat on the floor by his bedroom window, gazing out into the darkness. In his hands he held a mug of cocoa, cooling as a wisp of steam rose before his eyes.

He'd tried to get back to sleep but from experience he knew that with so many things rattling around inside his head, he didn't have a hope. So he gave up and instead, showered, dressed, made a drink then found himself sitting here, not quite able to get up and move.

In an hour it would be sunrise and his day would begin. A visit to the library to take back some books, coffee with Elise then class at eleven - he'd better remember to take last week's essays back. Then some phone calls to a few of his informants in the hope of word of a full sentinel then back to the library for some late study. If he had time, there was a Greenpeace meeting at the city hall he really should go to.

A full day.

He sipped his cocoa, savoring the sweet flavour.

The sweet flavour.

He'd acted like a child. So Jim was married. So? It wasn't like they'd gone to bed with whispered promises of a bright future or anything. Christ, they'd not even had a proper conversation before they'd gotten naked.

It was just sex, that's all. Never meant to be anything else.

Oh, hell, it was just because Jim was his first guy, right?

Right?

Yeah, that was exactly it. He knew much better than to fall for someone over a tumble in bed. And sure, if things had gone on then maybe, you know, maybe the wonder would have died off a little and the big goodbye would have been welcome. Hell, with his track record with relationships, he'd have probably been the one to kick Jim out so-

So okay, so maybe this was all for the best. He'd had a great lover for his first times with a guy and for that, he should count his fortune. And the rest? Well, the rest was nothing but foolishness and it would wear off, right?

Right?

He got to his feet, took his cup into the kitchen and poured the rest down the drain. He had work to do, a sentinel to find and if he felt like shit for the rest of the week, well, he only had himself to blame.

Part Two

Is it thy will thy image should keep open,
My eyelids to the weary night?
Dost thou desire my slumbers should be broken
While shadows like to thee do mock my sight?

Sonnet 61
Shakespeare

Joel grunted as he held the box steady between his hands. Jim held up his end but he would rather have done it alone than risk Joel dropping it. The lift seemed to be taking an eternity to get to the seventh floor so all he could do was hold on, give the older man an encouraging smile and hope it would be enough.

With a final whine, the lift came to a halt, the doors opening slowly. Jim stepped sideways and backed out first, the heavy box held before him as Joel followed. From there it was a simple case of dodging people as they walked along the corridor until, gratefully, Jim could lay the box down beside the other man's desk.

"Thanks for that, Jim," Joel smiled, nodded and pulled out a handkerchief to wipe the sweat from his forehead. "Roberts swore the trolley was downstairs but I couldn't find it anywhere."

"No problem, Joel. Can you manage from here?"

"Sure, sure. Now I just have to go through all this stuff. Thanks again."

Jim nodded and wheeled away to his own desk. He'd been caught on his way back from lunch and although he'd been biting heads off all week, he'd never been able to find it in himself to be so sour with Joel. On the street, the older cop could be as tough as necessary - but with those he called friends, Joel had a very soft underbelly too easy to wound with a careless word.

Suppressing a sigh, Jim slid back behind his desk and began sorting through the files he'd managed collect over the last week. More than a few of them could be sent back downstairs - and usually he did that the moment he was finished - but this week, well this week hadn't exactly been one of his best.

Nor had the last, or the one before that.

It was a slow slide, that's what he'd always been told. Slow but inevitable. How many days did he have left before something happened where others could see it? So far only Carolyn had any inkling that something was wrong and her reaction had been . . . well, predictable to say the least.

Thank god Blair hadn't ever seen it.

Shit!

No, not again. Don't go there again. Just don't! Can't afford to think about him.

It was over, finished, kaput. Even if he was in a position to do something about it, Blair wouldn't even consider having an affair with a married man . . .

Married. Yeah, right. Like Joel was married.

Not.

Jim's gaze rose, almost involuntarily as a familiar scent caught him. Beyond the glass wall of the bull pen he could see her, tall and proud, stubborn. His wife.

Hard to remember now that there'd once been a time when he'd said that with pride. Hard to remember a time when it had been the truth, where marriage hadn't been something for convenience, when things hadn't been kept going on the outside for the sake of image while the inside was hollow and empty.

His skin crawled with the lie, the pretence, the blatant chicanery the two of them displayed on a daily basis. She had drawn him down to her level and he remained there, entrapped, a fly in her spider's web.

Married, right. Like Cain and Abel.

"Ellison?" Simon's voice cut through his fog. "My office."

Jim climbed to his feet and sauntered into the captain's office, closing the door behind him. Simon waved him to a seat and he sank down, unable to gather any enthusiasm for whatever Simon could say.

"How's it going?" The taller man grunted, his gaze on various bits of paperwork in front of him.

"Bellini's almost wrapped up. Just waiting on some files from the DA. Haven't got the autopsy report back on Deakin but it should be through some time this afternoon."

"Fine," Simon nodded, then looked up, a fresh cigar between his fingers. He leaned back in his seat and chewed on the tobacco. "But what I meant was, how are things with you?"

"Me?" Something inside Jim cringed a little, hoping this was a wild stab in the dark.

"Yeah, you. Look, Jim, I don't want you to take this the wrong way but . . . are things okay between you and Carolyn?"

Jim couldn't help it, his jaw clenched on reflex. "What do you mean?"

"Well," Simon said slowly, "for a long time there, I thought things were looking pretty grim and then a few weeks ago, you looked okay, you know? Pretty happy, like it was all getting better - but since then, you've been like a bear with a thorn. Not to put too fine a point on it, Jim, but I want to know what the hell is going on with you." Simon gave one of his grim, 'answer me or else' smiles, sat back and waited.

Jim pulled in a breath and turned to look out of the window. Okay, so it wasn't some question about his other strange behavior. Fine, so things weren't that bad yet. Still . . . he didn't really want to be . . .

"Everything's fine, Captain." Hell, the words didn't even sound convincing to his own ears.

"Sure. All the same, Jim. Is it Carolyn?"

"Why would it be?"

"Well, I thought perhaps the fact that she's put in a formal request to have another forensics officer assigned to the cases you're working might be something of an indication of trouble?"

"What?" Jim frowned, turning back. "When was this?"

"Yesterday. Landed on my desk this morning. She didn't say anything to you?"

Jim just closed his eyes and shook his head. He was tired. So tired of all this. So tired of everything escaping him no matter how hard he tried, how hard he held onto it, how hard he chased it down the hill.

"You know the department offers counseling . . ."

"Yeah, fine, Simon, counseling, great. Like that's going to make a difference." Jim sat up, shaking his head, "Look, the truth is, perhaps this is a good idea, you know? Might make things a bit . . ."

"Better?"

"Easier. I mean . . ." Jim would have gone on. He really would have . . . but it was happening again. Noises he shouldn't hear. Things that just weren't real. Voices from far away, two babies crying, mothers soothing them, car doors slamming, laughter, paper rustling . . .

So fucking loud it hurt.

Jesus . . .

It's not real. It's not real. It can't be real. There are no babies here. No mothers. Seven flights up I can't hear a car door close. It's not real. Can't be real.

Jesus . . .

"Jim!"

He blinked, stared up at Simon's face which was suddenly looming above him. "Yeah?" His tone came out belligerent, like he had done nothing wrong, but fuck fuck fuck, he was going crazy, down down down into the well never to come back up and what was that he could hear now? That thumping noise . . . good god, it was Simon's heartbeat . . .

Gotta get out of here.

Jim sprang to his feet and would have left except that Simon reached out and grabbed his arm.

"What the hell is going on with you?"

"Nothing, Simon, I'm sorry. Just lost track for a minute there. Trying to work out why Carolyn . . ." Jim formed the fake words like a conjurer performs one trick after the other. Lies he was too used to speaking, hiding, doing anything to avoid people knowing the truth, from seeing how weak he'd become. "I'll go chase up that forensics report and er . . . thanks for telling me about Carolyn. I'll talk to her tonight."

Lie, lie lie, Jim. You don't talk to Carolyn any more. She doesn't talk to you. You communicate through notes and phone messages. This isn't a marriage, it's a joke.

Simon let his arm go, his frown only shifting a little. "You sure you're okay?"

He was - now. "Yeah, honest, Captain. Can I go back to work now?"

With a wave of his hand, Simon turned back to his desk. "Just go see the counselor, okay?"

"I'll think about it."

Think about it, right. One more lie on top of the others. Fine.

Back at his desk, he sat and stuck his elbows on the surface, hiding his face for a moment while he got the remainder of his fear under control.

Too often now. It was happening too often and each time it happened it got worse, took longer to go away. Seven times today. Seven occasions when his senses had decided to play tricks on him, making him think he could see, taste and hear things that couldn't be there.

Doctors had told him there was nothing wrong with him physically. So if it wasn't physical, it had to be . . .

"Jim? Would you like some coffee?"

"No, I don't want any damned coffee!" Jim bellowed - and only then looked up to see the stricken look on Joel's face.

"Okay, Jim." Joel backed away, his eyes wide and in a second he was gone, way too quickly for Jim to form an apology let alone speak it.

Jim glanced around at the rest of the bull pen - to find faces quickly averted. Fine. Great. Now he was putting on an exhibition for the rest of them as well.

Fucking fantastic.

With that thought in mind, Jim pushed away from his desk and stalked out, heading for the lab and his autopsy report.

The light was on in the spare bedroom by the time he got home. He barely glanced through the curtained doorway as he made his way into the kitchen, dumping a bag of take-out on the bench. There were dirty dishes in the sink as usual, but at least this time Carolyn had wiped the bench down and put away her leftovers. It had been a long time since they'd bothered sharing meals and back then, she'd always been quick to clean up afterwards. Now it sometimes seemed she left the mess deliberately because it would annoy him.

He didn't get annoyed. He just waited until she wasn't around and dealt with it. It simply wasn't worth the trouble saying anything - and he'd discovered that leaving the mess where it was bothered him more than cleaning it up did. Besides, the last thing he wanted was to live in an atmosphere where they were constantly sniping at each other. There had to be things he did that bothered her - and she didn't snipe either. They'd both made compromises to make this pretend life together bearable.

"You're late," Carolyn breezed out of the bedroom and headed towards the bathroom, fixing a bracelet around her wrist. "Anything big happening?"

"No, not really," Jim replied, pulling out a plate for his take-out Chinese. "I heard you weren't feeling well. You came hone early."

"Oh, it was just a headache that wouldn't shift, you know. It went away after I lay down for an hour."

"You going out?"

Carolyn returned and stepped into what had become her bedroom to collect her jacket. "Drinks with some friends from college."

"Didn't know you still kept in touch with your college buddies."

"Well," once more she came back, standing before the island while putting her jacket on. "Haven't kept in touch exactly, but every now and then we get together, catch up, that kind of thing."

It was the first he'd heard of it - but maybe she'd just started doing this over the last year. How would he know? This was as close as they got to having a conversation.

"By the way," Carolyn picked up her purse from the table. "Those papers from the bank arrived today. I've left them here for you to sign. I put the amount in already but you can check it from the latest statement if you want to. Half to me, half to you, as we agreed."

"Right," Jim spooned fried rice onto a plate, trying to keep the abrupt irritation out of his voice. "Not even divorced and already we have the property settled. Very efficient."

"Oh, come on, Jim, we agreed about this. Why shouldn't I have my own accounts?"

"You say that like they were my accounts rather than ours."

"But . . ."

Jim held up a hand, "Look, I'm not arguing, okay? It makes sense that we keep our finances separate. I'll sign the papers." They'd never had a problem with money. Never. Not a single raised eyebrow. But just lately, Carolyn had been all fired about keeping separate accounts, keeping their salaries separate, contributing equally to all bills.

The irony seemed to have escaped her entirely.

He piled the rest of his meal on his plate, grabbed a fork and pulled up a chair at the end of the table. Carolyn didn't leave immediately however. Instead, she slipped the strap over her shoulder, folding her arms as though for protection.

"Jim, I thought I should remind you about . . ."

"What?" Couldn't she just go out? So he could relax at last?

"Next Tuesday. My father's birthday. We're going out for dinner, remember?"

"Oh, Jesus," Jim breathed, put his fork down and sat back. "No. Look, I'm sorry. Tell them I'm working or something, okay? Just . . . no."

"But Jim, if you don't go, they'll . . ."

"They'll what? I'm a cop - they know I have to work sometimes." Jim kept his voice even and level. He was in no mood for an argument.

"And the last time you used that excuse Daddy found out. Please, Jim, it's only for a few hours. I thought you liked him."

"I do - but that's not the point and you know it."

"Oh, come on, Jim!" Carolyn's whined. "Is it so much to ask? All you have to do is sit there and be fed and . . ."

"Pretend we're still happily married and fend off questions from your mother and sisters about when we're going to start a family when you and I both know our marriage ended a year ago." Jim shoved his chair back and stood, his appetite suddenly gone. "Please, Carolyn, can't you just tell them the truth? Let us both out of this . . ."

"What?" Carolyn was staring up at him, eyes hard and uncompromising. "What? This . . . nightmare?"

Instantly, he held his hands up, moving towards her, soothing her anger. "I didn't say that."

"No, but that's what you were thinking." Carolyn drew herself up. "We agreed we'd stay together. We agreed we wouldn't have affairs and that we'd stay married. We agreed . . ."

"You insisted and I agreed, Carolyn. Not the same thing at all. And I only agreed because I didn't want to push you into something you weren't ready for. I wanted to give you time." He came to a halt before her, putting his hands on her shoulders, "This isn't a nightmare, Caro, but it's not the best kind of life, is it? Neither of us are happy. We're incompatible - that's what you said a year ago when you decided to sleep downstairs. And I agreed with you. We were finished and I wanted and end to it as well. But now we're stuck in his no-man's land."

"And what, you want to go back on that now?" It was more than obvious to him that she had no desire to listen to reason.

Jim shut his eyes and pulled in a deep breath, urging patience into him from somewhere. "I just want to know - are we going to do this forever? Are you ever going to tell your family that we've broken up?"

"Are you?"

His eyes snapped open and he turned to look at her shrewd expression. Hard now with anger she would never see, he nodded, "I'd tell my father in an instant - if I could be bothered speaking to him at all. But you and I both know we keep up this charade because you're too afraid of what your father will say, how your family will react, how your friends will think you're a failure. Never been a divorce in the Plummer dynasty - and you don't want to be the first. It doesn't seem to bother you that our marriage has ended."

Parts of her face were twitching with barely suppressed fury. "You agreed."

"And I'm not going back on it now - but I just want to know we're not going to be doing this forever. God, we don't share anything any more. Not even bank accounts. I have my life, you have yours. . ."

"Mummy and Daddy have slept in separate beds for thirty years - and they're still together."

Jim frowned, but he did his best to hide the worst of his horror. "And that's the kind of marriage you want?"

At that, Carolyn lifted her chin, her gaze unflinching. "You promised."

The sheer stubbornness in that gaze drilled right into him then. "And what if you meet someone?"

She half-laughed, shook her head and shot back, "So, it's the sex is it? Your balls are turning blue and you want someone to warm your bed at night. Typical man! Well, if you want it that badly, go buy yourself some relief. I'm going out."

With that, she turned and stalked out, slamming the door behind her. The loft was abruptly vacant of the acrid scent of deceit and Jim slumped a little, his hands reaching to the chair back for support.

There was no talking to her. No words of reason he could think of to get through to her that he wanted out. He couldn't even go and start divorce proceedings on his own without her consent - or he'd be breaking the promise he made that they'd stay together.

Which would make two promises broken. He'd already betrayed her once, and in the process, he'd hurt Blair.

Sweet, beautiful Blair. In the three weeks since he'd last seen the man, Jim had thought about him every single day.

And night.

Why in god's name had he made that promise to Carolyn?

Because, in reality, he had still cared for her, hadn't wanted it to be too hard on her. Because even an amicable divorce could be tough.

But even back then, a year ago, these terrible, strange things with his senses had started happening and he had known, even then, that he couldn't bring himself to inflict his oncoming madness on anybody - especially somebody he loved. He'd wanted to spare her that - but she'd made him promise to stay.

So he'd said yes and chained himself in this prison, lost himself in this void to the point where he was no longer certain of anything.

Carolyn would never let him go. Her pride insisted they did have enough of a marriage left - at least enough for the outside world to recognize - and that was all that mattered to her. As long as the rest of the world thought she was married, she was content to forget that it was a lie.

With a sigh, Jim picked up his plate and emptied it into the trash. He washed the dishes, leaving the kitchen as he always did, spotless and shiny. Then he headed up to bed, too tired now to do more than stretch out and let his thoughts fill with his favourite escape.

Blair. Beautiful Blair who had wanted him, who had made him feel valuable and important and sexy. Blair who had wanted to go on seeing him.

Jim stripped off and slipped under the sheets, pulling the blankets up to keep warm. He closed his eyes and concentrated, conjuring up the scent of Blair, the feel of his body, the texture of his skin, the soft sounds of his love-making.

He'd not taken Blair. He'd wanted to - god, how he'd wanted to - and he'd sensed Blair had wanted him to as well - but he'd not done it. Some small sense of pride, some final shred of decency had prevented him. Let that treasure fall to some man who meant something to Blair, who would not then turn around and dump him, somebody who deserved that gift.

But now, naked, in his bed, he was joined by his dream-Blair. The long curls, the blue eyes velvety with arousal. In his mind, Jim made love to this man, held him and cherished him and took him, joining them in an act so akin to love as would make no difference.

And when the fantasy reached its fulfillment, so did he, spending himself on his hand, on his sheets, everywhere but where it mattered. His seed scattered, he curled up, his body expressing the despair he could not afford to show anyone else.

Then, and only then, would his mind allow him some rest.

He woke, flushed with sweat, his heart pounding, hearing every single thud, every whistle of his own lungs, every rush of blood through his body. He tried to move but the noise of his limbs shifting was deafening, too deafening and in response, he curled up, his hands shoved over his ears.

It hurt. God how it hurt.

Don't want this. Don't want to go crazy. Don't want to live the rest of my life in an asylum. Want my life back.

Please.

The pain in his head filled him, sinking him, dragging him down to the bottom where he could hardly breathe.

No.

Please. No.

Blair paced across the front of the classroom, trying not to look at the clock on the wall, trying to keep still, trying to concentrate on why he was here, what he was supposed to be achieving. His students, probably unaware of his agitation, had their heads down, busily scribbling answers to a test he'd set them, probably thinking how useless the information was, how little work they needed to do in order to get a pass mark and move onto something more interesting, probably counting the minutes until he called out 'time' and they could get the hell out of here.

Hadn't he once loved teaching?

Like he'd once loved learning?

But the people in this room had become faceless to him, their personal stories seemingly designed to pull at his sympathy, to manipulate him into going easy on them and god, when the fuck had he become so damned cynical?

His feet took him to a window and there he determined to stop, his gaze drifting out towards the green, the people wandering by, the man mowing the lawns. What would it be like to work out there, in the real world rather than in this ivory tower, all pristine and connected to nothing.

Where did reality cross the line of academia? Or was there no intersection? Did anything that happened in here have any relevancy to that out there?

How was he to find out if he stayed here?

With a sigh, he turned back to his students, his eyes automatically going back to the clock. Taking in a relieved breath, he raised his voice, "Time. Pens down thank you, ladies and gentlemen."

Jim stumbled into the kitchen, squinting against the light so bright from above. He had no idea what time it was and frankly, no longer cared.

Every fucking night.

Without fail.

Something.

Jesus. It couldn't be long now.

His eyes stung, the flesh burning no matter what he did. Pupils open so wide even darkness seemed too bright. By feel alone, he reached under the sink and took out the medicine box. He fumbled as he sought out the eyedrops he was sure were here. But he had to be careful, couldn't mix them up, couldn't . . . Jesus. . .

"Jim?" Carolyn's voice cut across his attempts to be quiet. "What are you doing making all this noise? Do you have any idea what time it is?"

Jim ignored her. His hands identified two bottles that could be right - but he needed to see the labels and it just hurt so damned much. Turning for the best light, he held both up, opening his eyes enough to see.

"Jim! Answer me! What are you doing?"

Yes, this one. Blue label. Eyedrops. Good.

He unscrewed the cap, tilted his head back and squeezed into both eyes. For a moment, the cool liquid eased the pain and he let out a sigh of relief. Within seconds however, the affect had worn off and he was once again in pain.

Well, why not? It was all imaginary, right? Perhaps he should imagine a drug to make it all go away.

"I don't understand why you don't go to a doctor or something. If you've got allergies they can do something about that . . ."

"It's not an allergy," Jim managed, feeling his way around the island, aiming for the couch. He didn't think he'd make the stairs safely.

"Then what is it?"

"I don't know. Look, Carolyn, just go back to bed, okay?"

"But you have to do something about it." Carolyn followed him, despite her words, no note of genuine concern entered her voice. Rather, she sounded like he was doing this deliberately to inconvenience her. "Look, I'll call my doctor in the morning. . ."

"No." Jim reached the couch and sank down. He tilted his head back and kept his eyes closed. "I've been to a doctor and they couldn't find anything wrong. I told you that months ago."

"Then why is this still happening? If there's nothing wrong, you shouldn't be in pain."

Jim bit back a groan of frustration. Shouldn't be in pain? Oh, right, fine. Well, in that case, I can't be, can I?

"Jim, just go see my doctor, okay," this came out more as an order than a request.

"I said no," Jim snapped back. "Hell, Carolyn, just go back to bed and leave me alone!"

"Oh, I see. This is all some kind of sympathy thing, isn't it? To make me feel sorry for you? So I'll give you a divorce, is that it? God, Jim, sometimes you can be such a child!"

He could afford to ignore her words because after that, she turned and went back to her bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

He let out a sigh and breathed deeply again. Slowly, slowly the pain began to subside.

At least, the pain in his eyes did.

Blair sneezed as he drew another file box from the shelf, almost dropping it. He staggered towards the table, dumped it, then sneezed twice more for good measure. Once he'd recovered from the dust, he turned back to the shelf to survey what had been hidden behind the box. A large stack of grey papers tied together with string awaited him and with something of a smile, he reached in and pulled them out, shoving them onto the table beside the box.

How long had he been at Rainier? So why was it he'd only heard about this stash just now? Records taken some twenty years ago by the biology department. Data concerning heightened senses in humans and animals. God, this could be a goldmine!

Brushing the dust off with his hands, he poked through the string ties and took a quick peak at the files on top. The name on the first one however, made him come to a halt.

James. D.S. James.

James. Jim.

Jim.

Clenching his fist, he grabbed the box and without ceremony, shoved it back on the shelf where he'd found it. Then he took the pile of files and headed back up to his office.

Not going to think about him. Won't. Don't want to know.

Want him, yes. But don't want to know what . . .

The walk along the corridor was long with this weight in his arms. He kicked his door open and with deliberate care, placed the files on his desk. On then did he reach for scissors to cut the string binding them together. Again deliberately, he took the top file and shoved it under the bottom, where he wouldn't have to look at it.

Why did he still feel this way? It had been, what, nearly a month since Jim had . . . dumped him? No, couldn't be dumped 'cause that would imply there'd been some kind of relationship formed and really, all they'd done was fuck.

Yeah, that's right. Just sex. Casual, unattached sex, where were was no connection between them, nothing important but the sharing of bodies.

With balled up fists, Blair punched the top of the pile and watched as it slowly slid sideways until the files covered his desk. He sighed, the anger draining out of him again. He sank into his chair.

He'd had his share of one nighters, like most people. He'd even been on the receiving end of the dump line more than once but it had never affected him like this. This, this was getting annoying. All he needed to do was see a man with blue eyes and his head would poke up through the clouds for a bit of casual wool-gathering. Like now, seeing the name James on a file twenty years old and suddenly, his nice mood of discovery had turned into fury at the fates.

Fuck this. He couldn't be feeling this. He shouldn't be feeling this. Hell, he didn't even know the man! How could he . . . how could he feel . . . From two nights of sex?

"Blair?"

He looked up to find a familiar wrinkled face peering around his door. He instantly sat up straight, got to his feet. "Oh, hi, Professor, come in."

Peters pushed the door wide and came up to the desk, momentarily surveying the tangled mess of files Blair had rescued from the basement. "How is it going?"

"Oh, you know research," Blair grinned lamely. Truth was, he felt a little lame right now.

"And how is your quest to find a full sentinel going? Any luck yet?"

Blair had to do his best to stop himself biting his tongue. "No, not as yet."

"But you're still hopeful."

"That's right."

"I see." Peters glanced around the room for a moment, then turned back to Blair. "You might be aware of the fact that National Geographic does an annual section on work done in various universities throughout the country. At Rainier, we have had such an excellent reputation in our field, we've managed to place an article in that section every year for the past sixteen. This year, I'd like you to write the article for submission."

Blair's eyes widened, "Me?"

Peters smiled a little, "I'm glad you appreciate the honour you've been given."

"Sure I do, Professor! Thanks for the opportunity." Blair grinned. "Wow. Um, when's the submission date?"

"You have three weeks. I'm willing to give you some leeway with your teaching schedule so you can have enough time to do us proud. None of us would like to see this year as the one where Rainier wasn't good enough to get into NG."

"No, no, of course not." Blair's thoughts were already flying with this. "Um, any particular topic they're interested in?"

Peters nodded vaguely, "A few things have been mentioned here and there."

"Uh, I'm sorry, Professor, but none of my sentinel stuff is ready for . . ."

"No, I want you to steer clear of that." Peters turned back to face him, folding his hands together. "I'd like something clear and sharp and on the cutting edge of anthropology."

"Cutting edge?"

"That's right. I want something new that nobody else has done before. So new, that you have three weeks to do the research in."

"Three weeks?" Blair's voice went up a notch. "But . . . but . . ."

"Oh, I don't expect you to begin a whole new field of expertise - but you've done some serious work on closed societies, haven't you? How about you get yourself ensconced in some closed society for the next two weeks and then put that together."

"But . . . Professor, I'd be writing an article about data I wouldn't have had time to fully analyze. How could I make any serious observations in that space of time. I mean I . . ."

"Keep the field narrow, Blair and you'll have all the time you need."

Blair sank down on to his chair. Narrow. Right.

"You can do this, Blair," Peters stood a little closer, his voice full of confidence. "If I didn't think you could, I wouldn't have asked you. You're one of the brightest students we have here - and as such, the toughest challenges land at your feet. Your ability to rise to the occasion is a testimony to your brilliance."

Looking up, Blair could only nod, "Yes, Professor. But three weeks . . . to find a research subject, formulate my questions . . . I want to do a good job on this and I'm afraid . . ."

"Well, you would have had more time but the Geographic changed their dates without warning - and I'm afraid we have to live with them. Look, I know somebody in the Cascade Police Department. I could get you in there this afternoon. That would give you all morning to formulate your questions - and let's face it, an article on a metropolitan police department would stand out quite clearly against the indigenous backdrop the other universities are likely to submit."

Police. Jim.

Oh this day just got better and better.

"I'll go and call my friend. I'll let you know where to go and who to see."

"Yeah, fine, thanks," Blair said to empty air as he realized Peters had already gone. He stared vacantly at the door for a moment then shook his head. Nah, the chances of him running into Jim were so slim as to be ridiculous - and even if he did, what did it matter, right? They'd had their moment and now it was over. Things back to normal.

Besides, he had work to do, an article to research and write in three short weeks. No time left over for speculation or . . . or . . .

Resolutely, he got to his feet, pulled the files back together and found some new string to tie them up with. If nothing else, it would certainly be interesting hanging around the Cascade Police Department for the next three weeks.

Jim stared down at the collection of pastries laid out on the trolley and found none of them even remotely interesting. Instead, he just ordered a cup of coffee and took it back to his desk. He placed it down where he could reach it and once more, tried to distract himself from the myriad smells which assaulted him.

It wouldn't bother him if they weren't all so damned strong. And some of them were impossible. Yes, he could just stretch his imagination to consider that some one, somewhere inside this building was baking fresh bread, but he couldn't believe for one second that anyone in their right mind would be shoveling horseshit. Not with a spade.

So why was he imagining all this? What horrible disease had he picked up that would make him think he was smelling things and hearing things and god, the things he could see some days it was just . . .

Hell, he'd been so successful shutting down so many other things he felt, why did this have to happen as well?

He sighed, moved to pick up his coffee - but suddenly, that smelt too . . . too metallic all of a sudden. He tried to take a mouthful but the odour was too strong. With another sigh, he stood and took the cup into the breakroom, pouring the black mess down the drain.

It was getting to the point where he could hardly eat or drink now. The last four weeks had been a nightmare. Things he couldn't eat one day, were fine the next. He'd lost track of the last time he'd had a full night's sleep and . . .

No. Actually, he could remember exactly the last time he'd had a full night's sleep.

It was just getting to be too much. If it didn't stop soon, he'd have to take a leave of absence or something, maybe just get away, maybe just . . .

"Jim?"

He turned to find Rafe coming into the break room. "What?"

"The Captain's looking for you. Um, I think you might be getting Joel's caseload."

"Why? Where is he?"

"Off sick. Suspected ulcer. Could be a few weeks."

"Oh, hell!"

"We've got a card everyone's signing if you're interested. In the meantime, you know he was working on that Fed case, don't you?"

"Yeah, yeah, the one with all the files to go through. I know, I helped bring them up here." Jim cursed once more then headed for Simon's office. Just what he needed. Something really fascinating to take his mind off his senses and . . . and Blair and . . .

That was it, really. His senses and Blair - for when thoughts of one made him too restless, thoughts of the other would creep into him, stealing his breath away with regret and some faint memory of a happiness he'd thought was only a myth. But then the other memory would slip in behind them, presenting him with a picture of Blair that last night, the anger, the confusion, the hurt.

In so little time, the man had left an indelible mark on him that he doubted anybody else would ever remove. Not that he could afford to try, mind. Not while his brain was busily going down the tubes.

Some days he just wished it would and get it over with.

Just outside Simon's door, he paused, drew in a breath and got his thoughts in order.

He opened the door.

"Ah, Jim, come in." Simon stood and waved a hand at the man sitting before his desk. "I'd like you to meet . . ."

Blair. Blair Sandburg. Student at Rainier. Studying anthropology. Writing an article for National Geographic on closed societies. Doing the university a big favour having him here. The PD will be mentioned in the article. Only for a few weeks. Decided to put him with the best. He can tag along with you, Jim. Shouldn't be any trouble. Just here to observe, ask a few questions. No trouble at all.

No trouble.

Dear God!

Jim absorbed all this information through his skin. His eyes didn't once look away from the picture that stood before him. Soft curls pulled back neatly, the way he'd first seen them. Gentle mouth open slightly in surprise. Devastating blue eyes wide, regarding him with wariness, a little fear (oh, he remembered that fear so well . . . their first night . . .). Square shoulders wrapped in faded checks, legs draped in equally faded denim, sturdy boots. Curves and shapes he remembered so well, had touched and caressed.

Oh god.

Glasses. Blair was wearing glasses which made him look, god, made him look like a kid, like some innocent and Jim had made love to this man, had held him and wanted him and god, he still did, he did want him and . . . shit . . .

"Blair, this is Detective Jim Ellison. One of Major Crimes' best. Mostly, he works alone so you won't be in anyone's way. I'll get all the paperwork through by the end of the day. Make sure you don't leave without your observer's pass or they won't let you in tomorrow."

Like an automation, Jim stuck his hand out for Blair to shake it, like they'd just met, like they didn't know anything about each other.

Well, maybe they didn't.

The touch of flesh was brief but telling. Blair's palm was hot, damp, the hand trembling a little - but on his face, nothing much was revealed but that suggestion of fear. The surprise was long gone. Simon wouldn't have noticed anything at all.

"Jim, you know Joel's off for the next week at least?"

"Yeah, Rafe told me." Act like everything's normal, Jim. Just pretend. You're good at that now.

Good at hiding the pit of heat rolling around in the middle of his stomach, the trembling inside him, deep, where he existed. He shouldn't be reacting like this. He should be angry or something. Concerned that this whole thing was a setup. But nothing like that rose in him. Nothing like that at all. Instead, he just felt something strongly akin to . . . relief.

"Don't worry, I'm splitting his caseload up. You however, get the Macklin case."

All those files.

Yay.

Jim couldn't even muster a sigh let alone a complaint. "Okay."

Simon raised his eyebrows at this, but obviously didn't want to say anything in front of the . . . observer. "Sorry, Jim, but you need to go through every one of those files and make sure we have everything we need to give the Feds on Macklin. I'm sure Blair won't mind giving you a hand."

"Me?" Blair looked up from where his gaze had been studying the floor.

"Sure, why not? It'll give you a good idea of exactly what we do here."

"Uh, okay." Blair's voice had a soft, husky tone to it, as though his own surprise was way too close to the surface for him to risk more animation.

"Thanks, Captain," Jim had to get out of here, had to make an exit as fast as possible - but there was no escape as Blair was following him. He got as far as his desk before he turned around, saw those eyes on him, that mouth open to speak. Before it could, he held up his hand. "Just wait a minute, okay?"

Jim glanced around, wondering where it would be safe for them to talk - then remembered that Joel had set out all his files in the second meeting room, on the big table. Crooking a finger at Blair, he turned and headed straight for it.

It was empty. Jim ushered Blair in, closing the door behind him. Deliberately, he made straight for the table, hoping Blair might just decide that nothing really needed to be said between them - but when Blair did remain silent, Jim was forced to look up.

He caught Blair studying him, his head tilted to one side, the backpack that had been on his shoulder, now sliding to the floor. Blue-grey eyes instantly darted away as that beautiful face flushed a little, heightening the cheekbones.

In his turn, Jim felt his own colour rising. "Look, I . . . um. . ."

The younger man almost flinched, then pursed his lips, shook his head a little and let his gaze drop to the chair in front of him. One hand idly toyed with the wooden back before he spoke, his voice quiet and gently hesitant. "You, er . . . don't need to worry, man. I mean, I'm not here to make trouble for you or anything."

"I didn't think you were," was all Jim could say.

"I promise you, this wasn't my idea," Blair continued, his gaze still down as though he expected Jim to suddenly start shouting or something. "It was sprung on me this morning. I have this deadline and . . . for this article you know, and Professor Peters . . . well he knew somebody and the next thing I knew, man, I was on my way here and I . . . I had no idea that you'd . . . I mean . . ." Blair paused here, and Jim had to clench his fists against taking the man in his arms and quelling his doubts. Then Blair seemed to gather himself, his gaze rising to meet Jim's, his shoulders squaring a little. "I . . . Your Captain seems like an okay guy."

"Yeah, he is."

Blair paused again, biting his lip, "How are you?"

Jim pulled in a breath and swallowed hard. This was hard. Fucking impossible, in fact. It was way too dangerous for him to be around this man, wanting him as he did - and yet, for the life of him, he couldn't bring himself to say so - not even to hint as much. Instead, he formed a reply, letting it slip out into the silence. "I'm fine. You?"

"You don't look fine." Blair frowned a little. "Jim, look, if you don't want to do this, it's okay, you know. I'm sure if I go and speak to the Captain I can get him to put me with somebody else. I mean, I'd still be around but we wouldn't have to talk or . . ."

Jim held his breath a moment, to still himself, to hold on to whatever control his life had left him. Now he knew how the rope felt in a tug of war. Every muscle in his body strained to get closer to the man, every ounce of reason he had shrieked at him to keep his distance, physically and emotionally.

"Blair, I'm sorry."

Blair's face screwed up a little at that, "No, it's me that's sorry. I behaved like a child. It was just . . . what it was, you know and I didn't have any right to . . . You . . . you have your own life and really I . . ."

"You didn't do anything wrong . . ." Jim came to a halt. There were so many thing he needed to say - but none of them held any weight. Even if he did mean them. "Look, if it's okay with you, I . . . I don't mind you being here. At least, I'd rather have you here than any of the others."

"You would?" Blair's eyes smiled, leaving the rest of his face behind - but it was the eyes that mattered right now.

Jim almost folded then - but pulled himself up in time. He gave Blair a brisk nod, "Sure. Besides, you said you'd help, didn't you?"

He got the full smile this time. "Sure, why not. Only I do have to interview people at some point."

"Is tomorrow okay?"

"Fine."

"Okay. Let's get to it."

It was true, Blair had been in some strange places in his life, but none so weird as this. Not that most people would see it that way - but this was just plain weird.

Naomi would have a fit.

But Naomi wasn't here, was she? Not only that, but Blair had never actually told her about his . . . adventure with a male cop. He honestly wasn't sure what her reaction would be to a) find him sleeping with a man and b) for that man to belong to an institution she'd protested against years before. So he'd said nothing.

But here he was, Ms Sandburg's anthropologist son, working at a long table, reading police files and leaving sticky notes on pages he thought Jim needed to look at. Only these weren't anthropology files - these were case notes going back a long time. Background for a case the FBI was building against somebody Cascade PD had helped arrest. So in reality, he was doing work he understood and in the process, getting a feel for the way things worked in a Major Crimes department.

But boy, was it strange to be here at all.

Not that they spent all day in the room with the files. Jim would get called out on some case or other, or have to go and interview witnesses or suspects or just talk to his informants and it was all so damned fascinating, Blair was totally hooked, almost from the first moment.

The application of research and analysis techniques while in the field. It was amazing and so like what he did and yet, so different.

Of course, he wasn't here to be amazed. He was here to observe - which he did constantly, making notes, asking questions, listening and watching. He hadn't started his interviews yet, deciding to get the feel of the place first before he started.

And that was just the first full day. By the end of it, he was exhausted.

But . . . but . . .

Happy.

He trudged into his apartment ready to drop straight into bed without bothering with food. Instead, he took a shower and curled up on the couch with a mug of cocoa. For a long while, he sat in the darkness, just processing, letting the thoughts and impressions of the day wash over him until the strongest impressions were left alone, like pebbles on a beach.

But there was really only one impression that mattered. Jim.

He'd nearly fainted when the man himself had walked into that office. For a single, desperately long second, he'd thought it was all some terrible joke - or a hideous conspiracy - but then Captain Banks had just rattled off the reasons Blair was there and all the could think about was how beautiful Jim was and how shocked he was and how tall and how wonderful it was to see him again.

The man was married.

End of story.

Married, yes, but there was something in those pale blue eyes, something which begged understanding from Blair. So, okay, if they couldn't have anything more, perhaps they might just get to know each other better, perhaps even become friends. The shadows under Jim's eyes certainly made it look like he could do with a friend. That was certainly better than nothing, wasn't it?

Even if, at times, he had to fight to keep his hands away from the man. And his thoughts. Jim was good company. Once he'd relaxed a little, once the initial surprise and shock had worn off, Jim's dry sense of humour had asserted itself. He'd answered every one of Blair's questions without once rolling his eyes or sounding like it was a chore having him there. And he just couldn't help the fact that he liked Jim. If things continued like this, he would start having some serious fun.

With a smile at himself, Blair finished off his cocoa and headed off to bed. His interviews started tomorrow and he wanted to review his questions before he went in.

Jim knew he was doing it, even though he also knew he shouldn't - but that didn't stop him from tailoring his day around being with Blair. He still got all his work done - but he wanted to keep the young man interested, wanted to make even the boring parts of police work seem intriguing. He didn't know what he'd do if Blair became bored with the whole thing. With Blair interested and distracted, Jim could observe him without being noticed - and every glance, every smile, every question fed the need inside him in a way he'd not thought possible.

He could live with this and this alone if he had to. Just seeing Blair every day would be enough. Just being close enough to hear that voice, the one which gentled him to the core. Just having those blue eyes light on him, soothing his roughened edges.

It would be enough.

It had to be.

So he organized his day, came in early and cleared away the nasty stuff before Blair arrived. Spent no more than an hour at a time on Joel's files and took every interview and new case he could to keep things running, to keep Blair engaged, to stop him drifting off to spend time with Jim's colleagues.

But it was the time in the meeting room, pouring over dusty files that Jim treasured the most, because there was just the two of them, sometimes sitting close. Jim could feel the warmth from the man's body, catch a whiff of shampoo, have a brush of cotton plaid trickle over his hand. An exquisite torture - but one in which he reveled.

And Blair was all he'd hoped he would be. So alive, so vibrant. As brilliant as he'd assumed. Sharp and incisive. Such a breath of fresh air. Everyone he came in contact with left him smiling.

Including Jim.

In his happier moments, Jim seriously considered clapping his handcuffs on the young man, and on himself, and never letting him out of his sight. Ever. Again.

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