Author's webpage: http://www.squidge.org/~theforest/legion/legion.html

Author's disclaimer: By now we allll know who owns them and who gets the money. It ain't me!

Author's notes: This story was initially conceived before I had seen TSbyBS, and for a variety of reason, I chose to leave it as it was rather than fit it into canon. Mostly because I haven't really gotten my head wrapped around that episode yet.

I'm working on it, I'm working on it.

This is also the story I was working on when my writer's block decided to stop by for a good, long stay, and, at one point, I simply pounded it out to have it done and out of my head so I could move on. I'm afraid that shows, too.

Many, many thanks to Vik and Owlet for the beta. If this thing flies at all, it's because of their help. Also, much gratitude to all those who listened to me bitch and moan during the block. I'm all better now, I promise!!

REMINDER! REMINDER! I don't do death stories. Trust me!

PATTERNS OF SHADOW AND LIGHT

Wearily eyeing the chaos on the street outside 857 Prospect Street, Simon Banks threaded his way past the clustered black and whites, ambulances, and forensic team vehicles to enter the building, making his way up to the third floor slowly. Outside of the door to 307, he stopped, only partly seeing the controlled confusion on the other side of it.

How long he would have stood there, trying to overcome the dread inside him enough to enter, he would never know. As it was, he must have done so long enough to attract the attention of one of the uniforms. The officer came over ready to warn him away, forcing Simon to reach into his pocket to pull out his shield. "Banks, Major Crimes. Two of my men live here."

Instantly the other man's face went carefully blank. Annoyance broke through Bank's fog, and he strode into the loft, once again the cop and no longer the friend. "I got a call that two bodies were found at this location."

Matching his demeanor, the officer, his nametag identifying him as Nelson, nodded. "Yes, sir. One of the tenants on a lower floor has a carbon monoxide detector. It was going off when he arrived at home at approximately 2am, and from the sound of the battery at the time, he believes it had been sounding for a while. He evacuated the rest of his floor, then came up here to do the same. All the apartments were empty, but he knew the occupants of this one were possibly home because he recognized their vehicles in the parking lot earlier. Since he knew that they were with the department, he informed 911 of that when he called for an ambulance."

"Who was first on the scene?" Simon asked automatically.

Pointing to a pair on the far side of the room, near the balcony doors, the Nelson said, "Denvers and Christopher. They opened the door forcefully and entered to find the residents in bed upstairs." For the first time the cop hesitated, looking more compassionate. "From what they've told me, sir, the bodies were already cold. Procedure is to call forensics even when it's obviously accidental death," he finished unnecessarily.

"I know that!" Banks snapped anyway. "Did they or the EMT's even try to revive them?"

Uneasily Nelson looked at the paramedics talking quietly with a forensics officer. "I haven't heard, sir. You'll need to talk with the men first on the scene."

"I'll do that!" Despite the ire in his words, Banks hesitated, torn between diverting himself with a legitimate duty, and doing the right thing by identifying the bodies. After all, it might not be his people. They could have loaned the place out for the night, or had guests. Before he did anything he really should be sure of his facts. Unwillingly he trudged up the steps to the bedroom, coming to a halt when he was far enough up to see into it. Blessedly it was empty of cops or anybody else, and he sighed, finishing his climb with the weight of two wasted lives on his back.

Steeling himself, he looked directly at the bed, having no trouble recognizing the still, still forms of the two men laying on it. Drawn now, he crossed to sit on the edge, careful not to sit too closely, not wanting to feel the coldness of a corpse instead of the warmth of a friend.

Both Jim and Blair were nude, obviously caught sleeping by the gas that killed them. Both were on their stomachs, facing the same way, and Jim was draped protectively over his smaller partner, leg over upper thighs, incidentally figleafing them. Though his head was pillowed on Sandburg's back, he had one arm stretched over their heads so that he could clasp the hand that Blair had curled up there as well. Jim had burrowed his other hand half under his guide's shoulder, not only to hold him close, but to link hands on that side as well.

As loving and intimate as the scene was, what Simon had the most trouble with was the expression on their faces. Composed of equal parts peace, love and happiness, he couldn't help but feel that if death had to come, it couldn't have chosen a better moment. Who wouldn't want to spend eternity secure in the arms of a lover who made you that blissful?

"Oh, no," he breathed sorrowfully, and hesitantly reached up to brush a lock of Sandburg's hair from his face, not caring if forensics had a fit over potentially disturbing evidence. "Oh, God, no." Tears scratched at the back of his eyes, clogging his throat, but he denied them, not yet ready to accept the truth before him. It would drive away the numbness he needed to get through the rest of the investigation.

Despite that, he lingered, insanely thinking that there was something important that he should say or do. "Jim..." he whispered, lightly touching the sentinel's cheek. Doing the same for Blair, he was surprised at the amount of grief the small sound of a man's name could carry. "This just doesn't seem possible."

Taking one more minute to say good-bye before going back downstairs to see how much damage control he could do, wishing that they had trusted him with this secret as well as Jim's sentinel abilities, Simon idly, uselessly, adjusted the pillow under Blair's cheek. "Just doesn't seem possible," he repeated.

A twitch from Jim's hand hit his, spooking Simon into yanking back. Shuddering, he stood, reminding himself that corpses often had spasmodic movements as the residual energy of the nervous system bled away. But even as he told himself that, Jim's lips trembled, a bit of pink from his tongue flashing as he tried to form a word. "Jim?" Simon questioned nervously, bending over, speaking at a level he was fairly sure only his friend could hear.

There was no visible reaction, and Banks straightened slowly, repeating the phrase 'wishful thinking' over and over to himself. Almost he walked away, ready to perform what last acts of friendship he could. But the thought of the nightmares that he would have if he didn't exhaust every possibility had him calling down to the people below. "Could I get a paramedic here?" Over the rail he could see the quizzical looks, but a whispered word from Nelson got an EMT moving.

Not bothering to watch him come up, Simon sat back down beside his friends, and whispered urgently. "I feel like a damned fool for saying this, but, Jim, if you're still alive, you'd better do something to let us know. The next stop is the morgue, and Sandburg won't survive an autopsy."

He held his breath, trying to keep his hope at a reasonable level, ignoring the approach of the paramedic until he was beside the bed as well. "One question," Simon snapped, not taking his eyes off the partners. Before he could think of a legitimate reason to have the man use his stethoscope to listen for a heartbeat, Jim mumbled loud enough for anyone to hear, ".ief..."

"Holy Shit!" the paramedic shouted, startling Simon more than Jim's attempt at his lover's nickname. Despite his obvious scare, the EMT hastily bent over the couple, fishing out the bell of the stethoscope as he did. A second later he was yelling for his partner and the medbox, hands already searching Blair's chest. Satisfied that something was being done, Banks stepped back, keeping a watchful, thoughtful eye on the proceedings.

Blinking repeatedly, and having no discernable results on either his blurry vision or his alertness, Blair moved cautiously, already recognizing the smells and sounds of a hospital. Erratically searching his brain for why he was back there again, he focused as best he could on the dark shadow at the foot of his bed. "Well, I'm not hurting any where in particular," he husked out, surprised at how dry his throat was. "So I haven't been shot. On the other hand, I have a headache that would swamp a whale, so getting hit on the head is a definite possibility. Who did it?"

Though it hadn't been that funny, Simon didn't so much as acknowledge it with a grimace, but came and sat in the closest chair, handing Blair a cup of ice water as he did. "No one," he said flatly. "Carbon monoxide poisoning. That's why the oxygen tube, so leave it be."

Automatically Blair fumbled his other hand to his face, belatedly feeling the small plastic tubing over his upper lip and the soft hiss of air into his nose. "Explains the headache," he mumbled after a small sip, setting the cup aside. "Man, and I thought hangovers were bad." His sight finally cleared, and he met Simon's worried gaze, suddenly blurting. "Jim! Is he...."

Before he could finish, Simon gestured toward opposite side of the room. "In the bed next to you."

Turning his head so he wouldn't jar the enormous pain in it, Blair spotted the sentinel and sighed in relief. Jim looked like he was sleeping peacefully, oxygen cannula and various monitors not withstanding, and Blair turned back to Simon. "Guess he smelled it and got us out, huh?"

Looking more inscrutable than he'd ever seen the captain, even on the day they met, Banks said blandly, "No, a neighbor had an alarm and dialed 911."

Puzzled, the younger man said carefully, "If you'll give me his or her name, I'll be sure to find a way to thank them. Whoever it was probably saved our lives."

"I'm not too sure Jim will appreciate it," Simon said darkly.

"Hey, the headache isn't that bad!" The quip was countered by a black glare, and Blair involuntarily shrank back into the bed.

"No, but being outed by having most of the police department and a rescue squad find you naked in bed with your lover is. The headache you've got now will be nothing compared to the one you two are going to get from the fall-out from this."

Way past confused at the comment, all Blair could do was stare stupidly at Banks.

Fortunately, that was apparently the right tack to take with Simon because the big man climbed to his feet to begin pacing agitatedly. "I know you and Jim were probably afraid that if I knew, as your captain, I'd feel obligated to enforce department rules about lovers riding together. Or maybe you thought it might put me in a bad place with the brass if they found out!" He stopped to shoot another angry glare at Blair. "But I stood behind the two of you when you started doing the sentinel thing, and I stood behind you all the times it got the pair of you in trouble, and I damn well would have stood behind you on this too."

Throwing himself back into his chair, he finished morosely, "Damnit, I thought I was your friend!"

Throughout Simon's tirade, Blair had been picking out the key words and turning them over in his mind and he finally understood why his friend was upset if not how Banks arrived at the belief behind it. "You are," he said simply. "We didn't tell you for a very simple reason."

"What?" the big cop said sarcastically.

"We're not lovers."

Not unexpectedly, Banks snorted in disbelief. "Yeah, right."

Evenly, sincerely, Blair answered, "Yes, right. We would have told you. Period."

Meeting Simon's stare was easy, but it took several minutes to completely soak through the accumulated pain before the big cop relented, reading the truth in Blair's expression.

"Blair," Simon began thoughtfully, "We found you two sharing the same bed, cuddled up against each other like long-time bedmates."

"I went to bed a little after 1am after a shower, by myself, in my own room, wearing boxers and a tank top, like I always have," Blair said definitely.

Alarmingly, once acceptance seeped into Simon's features, apprehension and concern quickly replaced it. "Damn," Banks swore softly, and he flicked a glance over to Jim's motionless form.

"Sorry to disappoint you," Blair said with some asperity, worry finally beginning to work past his headache.

"No, no, Sandburg, you don't get it." Standing, the police captain reached for a call button to summon a nurse. "If you went to bed in your own room, someone moved you, which makes it very unlikely that what happened was an accident. Which makes me wonder if it was carbon monoxide gas at all, which would explain why the both of you were mistaken for dead so easily."

"What?" Despite his best efforts to keep it at bay, reaction to Simon's news was beginning to set in, and Blair wiped a shaking hand over his face as he tried to assimilate yet another bit of disturbing information.

Visibly cutting off more swearing, Simon leaned over him, adjusting the pillows to make him more comfortable. "No heartbeat at all, no blood pressure, no respiration, body cold - they had reason to think you'd succumbed long before the alarm came in," he explained gently. "As it was, it was closer than I want to think about. The doctors told me that if had taken any longer for you two to get oxygen, it would have been too late."

He paused, obviously trying to think of an easy way to break the rest of it to him. "Jim's not out of the woods, yet. Because he's a bigger man, he was hit harder, but I wouldn't let them put him in the chamber they use to treat CO poisoning. I'm not even a sentinel and the idea of being put in a pressurized tank made my skin crawl. He hasn't shown any signs of regaining consciousness, so far, but his vitals are stable, at least."

That clicked into place, and Blair struggled to get up, intending to go to Jim's side, headache be damned. "Simon, you know he doesn't respond to chemicals the same way everybody else does. If we were drugged, there's no way of telling what's going on with him. What did the doctors say? Is he non-responsive, unconscious, catatonic, what? No, damnit, let me up."

With a large hand square in the middle of the younger man's chest, Simon shook his head. "No. You just came out of it yourself; it won't do Jim a bit of good if his partner collapses because he's running around when he should be recuperating."

"What good will me being healthy do him if he's dead or permanently disabled? Come on, Simon, let me do my job!" Blair snapped, distantly alarmed at how difficult it was to overcome such a small barrier.

Frustrated, Banks, growled. "I've got an idea. Hold still." It took another second of useless pushing before Blair subsided with a sharp nod of agreement, then Simon stepped back, surveying the two beds, separated by a nightstand and about 3 feet of space. With a grunt of satisfaction, he took the phone and several other items from the stand, then simply rolled it away to the other side of the room.

With it gone, it took only unlocking the wheels on the bed and a few good shoves to get the two beds close enough. Blair turned to his side and hitched to the edge of his own to lay a hand on Jim's upper arm, though their monitor lines were stretched to their max. There was no visible reaction from the sentinel, but something painfully tight inside of Blair let go with a whisper of relief.

A nurse came in a moment later, mouth pursing up instantly at the change in the furniture arrangement. "Sir," she started.

"We need to speak to a doctor, right now!" Simon barked, interrupting her. "I have new information that he needs to be able to treat my men!"

She looked doubtful, but at the combined impact of Simon's tone of command, and Blair's frankly pleading look, she turned on her heel, hurrying out of the room. When she returned, surprisingly only a few minutes later, she had a burly black man with her, one that would have looked as much at home on a football field as he did in his white coat. "New information?" he asked without preamble.

"Yes," Blair spoke up hurriedly, then flinched back at the look of disgust in the man's face.

Seeing that, Simon stepped protectively in front of the beds, forcing the doctor to direct his attention to him. Quickly, he filled him in, but Blair hardly noticed. While he had been on the receiving end of disdain, contempt, and even dislike a few times in his life, he couldn't remember ever disgusting someone before. Mystified, he tried to mentally step back and see himself from the physician's viewpoint, then flinched again as he realized that the man was probably reacting not only to the beds being repositioned so that two men were able to touch, but one was actively, well, petting the other.

Without thinking he snatched his hand away, but put it back again. The doctor could never know about the sentinel/shaman relationship. Whatever interpretation he put on their closeness was beyond his control, Blair decided, trying to be rational, but his own reaction was. Damned if he was going to let himself get spooked by a homophobe.

Whatever Banks said, the physician took him seriously, calling for blood to be drawn immediately. Becoming all professional, he re-examined Jim, stopping once to order another test. Then he did the same to Blair, which made the younger man uneasy, though he tried not to show it. When he was done, he stood for a minute, obviously thinking. "Mr. Sandburg, did you eat anything before you went to sleep? Leftovers, maybe? Or a dish that you thought your partner had left for you?"

"Uh, no." Realizing that the doctor was looking for how he'd been drugged, Blair quickly reviewed everything he did from the time he'd walked through the door until he'd gone to bed. "You didn't find any injection site?"

"It may be in a hidden place, such as under a fingernail." the physician offered.

"No, I'd feel some residual pain if that were the case, right?" Blair countered, still deep in thought. "Maybe it was gas, just not carbon dioxide?"

"That makes the most sense," Simon agreed. "If it were in the food, who ever did it would have no guarantee that either of them ate it, and if it were injected, too much of a chance that Jim or Blair would wake up in the middle and fight. Bruises or whatever from that would have tipped us off right away that maybe it wasn't accidental death."

Nodding his agreement, the doctor put his hands in his lab coat pockets. "Since they set it up to look like carbon monoxide, I need to look for drugs that have similar effects." Distracted, he wandered toward the door. "Hopefully a similar treatment will be effective, so keeping Detective Ellison on oxygen is not counter-indicated. And it's very unlikely to cause any harm. I noticed in his file that he has drug allergies; that would explain...."

Before Blair could question him about his partner's condition, the doctor wandered out, mumbling to himself in chemicalese. "Relax, Sandburg," Simon told him, going back to his chair and settling down. "Leave the medical stuff to the medical people; you concentrate on the partner stuff. And what you're doing right now is fine for that: letting him know that you're here, and you're okay."

It didn't feel like enough, but for the life of him, Blair couldn't think of anything else to do under the circumstances. Keeping a comforting hand on Jim, he talked desultorily to his unresponsive partner and to Simon until he slipped back into sleep.

It was angry voices that called him out of it hours later; voices that sounded larger than life in the darkened hospital room. Raising himself up on his elbow, he identified one as Simon's, and, after a moment's thought, the other as William Ellison, Jim's father. They were just on the other side of the opened door, trying to be quiet and failing miserably.

Automatically checking on Jim and noting that he had at some time at least rolled over to face him, Blair dropped back down to the mattress, and concentrated on their words, working to make sense of the fight. Absently he left the hand knotted in his partner's hospital gown at the shoulder where it was, hardly aware that it was there.

"Look, Banks," Ellison was saying in the tone of man who thought he was the one being reasonable and the other person was being difficult, "all I want to do is move him to a private room, with a private nurse, so he can get the best possible care. I don't understand what your objection is."

"I don't have one - as long as you move Sandburg in with him. Trust me; you'll be saving both of us and the hospital staff some Jim-sized trouble if you do," Simon said bluntly.

Disgruntled, Ellison shot back, "I don't need your approval. Jim is my son, and I'm doing what I think is best for him. Since he's obviously temporarily incapacitated...."

"Which makes me legally responsible for him," Simon butted in, "Providing Blair Sandburg isn't available to make medical decisions. Jim had that paper work done up a long time ago." Stunned silence answered that, and Simon went on a moment later, much more quietly.

"I'm a father myself, just getting past the adolescent years. Believe me, I know how rough it can be, but I'm telling you right now that if you go against Jim's wishes in this, you can forget any kind of reconciliation with him."

William didn't seem to know what to say to that, and they both stood there awkwardly, studying each other for clues as to where to go next. Finally he asked softly, "Then they are, uh, more than roommates?" He added defensively a moment later, "You know how rumors are, especially in the business world. Sooner or later, it all gets to the right ears."

Guiltily Blair loosened his grip on Jim and stealthily drew his hand back to his own bed. Anyone else could go hang themselves, but this was Jim's dad, and he wasn't going to cause any more tension between them than already existed.

"No," Simon denied flatly, as if he'd never had any doubts about it himself. "And before you hear about it some other way, they were found in bed together tonight, but it was a set up."

"Setup? Not monoxide poisoning?" William sounded startled and disbelieving.

"At the moment I don't know who's behind it or why it was done the way it was," Simon told him tiredly, "Which is why we have plainclothes officers watching the entrance to this hallway. In case who ever is responsible decides to finish the job.

"But we've got physical evidence proving that it wasn't gas poisoning. Along with the medical proof, we know that the furnace had been tampered with to look as if it were malfunctioning, expertly enough that it would have passed a casual inspection."

"That was very fast work," William conceded. "Will it be enough to keep Jim's reputation intact?"

Even from his bed, view partially obscured by Jim's larger frame, Blair could see Simon lose his temper.

"We were able to move fast," Banks said intently, "Because Sandburg, who I might mention had just regained consciousness after nearly suffocating to death, managed to give me a statement with the critical information we needed to move. And yes, enough people have been involved in gathering the evidence that the entire department probably knows the particulars on the case. Not that it will help Jim's reputation much; most of Cascade PD already thinks that he's got a target on his back because of his CIA connections!" Breathing hard, Simon broke off, backing away from the older man that he had been unconsciously crowding.

"I didn't mean... that is..." the business man stuttered, turning an ugly shade of red, obviously losing it himself. "Damnit, Banks, the man is a nobody, an unknown. And he obviously doesn't care what other people think of him or he wouldn't be walking around looking like an escapee from the 60's! And Jim is my son; of course I'm more concerned about him!"

Feeling physically ill at the older Ellison's opinion of him, Blair wanted to close his eyes and pretend he was having a nightmare, but before he could, Banks exploded.

Simon yanked William Ellison all the way into the room, cutting short whatever the older man might have had left to say. Shutting the door, he left all of them in a darkness relieved only by feeble streetlight filtering through a window. "You," he began calmly, the menace underneath it all the more powerful because of it, "are not entitled to either an opinion or a choice about Blair Sandburg. And if you never want to see Jim again, just repeat those words in front of him."

"Why?" The man's bewilderment under the word was painfully real to Blair, stirring pity through him even as he was moved by Simon's quick defense. For a moment he thought about speaking up to help clear the air, but before he could, Simon answered William's question.

"Because they're friends!" Simon ground out, his voice a deep, angry rumble. "Or is that relationship so mythical to you that you can't believe that it exists? Because they're partners, and partners take care of each other! I know that has to be an alien concept to you, but believe me, when you're trusting someone to watch your back and keep you alive, a closeness grows that only people who have lived it can understand."

To Blair, the huge police captain looked ready to shake William; despite the dimness of the room it was it was plain that the older man didn't understand. It was just as plain that his lack was making him uneasy, and in true Ellison style, he regrouped and charged back in.

"Some friend, some partner," William snapped. "Jim told me why they're working together, how they met. If Blair were really a friend, he'd be helping Jim get rid of those freakish abilities, not studying them, encouraging my son to use them!

"You can't tell me that Sandburg isn't out to use him, get what he can. He lives in Jim's apartment, rides with him on all those exciting high profile cases, gets to meet the right people while doing it. Which doubtless impresses all the pretty little co-eds!" Panting, William stopped, obviously daring Banks to defend the younger man again.

Later Blair would think that if Simon had answered anger with anger, William might have been able to keep up his pretense that he was right, that he was justified in his attitude. But Banks simply stared at him for a long, long moment, then breathed, "Oh, my, God."

He looked around distractedly, found a chair to pull up and sank into it, repeating, "Oh, my, God." Disconcerted, William stood by the door, shifting from foot to foot as if trying to decide whether to leave or not.

Conversationally, Banks said, "You have no idea, do you? You just have no idea." Before William could reply to it, he went on calmly, "You don't know who your son is, what he is capable of, why Sandburg or me or half of Cascade PD feel honored to know and work with him despite the royal pain in the ass he can be sometimes. How can you be so clueless?"

"I... I..." William looked around helplessly, found his own chair and dragged it over to sit in front of Simon. "No," he admitted, sounding old and tired. "No, I don't. He's a stranger to me, always has been."

"Your loss," Simon told him, not unsympathetically.

A faint vibration tore Blair's attention away from the pair by the door, making him look more closely at his partner. Jim was clenching his fist on the bed between them, clenching it hard enough to make his whole arm shake with the effort. A fast peek at his face showed that the sentinel didn't seem any closer to wakefulness, and, mystified, Blair covered the trembling flesh with his fingers, whispering Jim's name only loud enough for the sentinel to hear.

There was no visible reaction at first, but then the trembling stopped and Jim sighed so softly it could only be felt. It seemed to Blair that his partner shifted positions imperceptibly, but he couldn't be sure. He waited to see if anything else would happen, the conversation from their visitors filtering back into his awareness as he did.

"... Tell me?" William ended, with a faint thread of hope under the words.

"How do you answer a question like that?" Simon asked nobody in particular.

"What would you want to hear if you were asked the same thing about your son?" William suggested.

"Good point." Simon tilted back his head in thought, then said carefully, "Jim Ellison is one of the best human beings I've ever known. He once parachuted into a jungle filled with guerillas to save me and my son, Daryl, not even knowing if we were alive or not. Sandburg told me that he would have carried out our bodies if he had found them, just so we could be mourned and buried properly.

"The man is sullen and grouchy and loyal and honest and has a real problem with authority. He's a good cop who always tries to do the right thing, to see that justice is done."

Simon stopped, nailing William with a look that was sharp enough to kill. "He's a Sentinel who has never wanted to be one, accepted it because it was the best way for him to save lives, to do his job. I honestly believe that he would be either dead or insane if he hadn't. You didn't see him when his abilities woke back up here in Cascade. Hell, I had him measured for a rubber room myself. You can thank Sandburg that he didn't wind up in one."

"He was that much help?" William asked curiously.

"Blair is that much help," Simon pointed out bluntly, blissfully unaware of the young man's drop-jawed astonishment at the statement. "Jim depends on him to understand what he has to deal with on a daily basis, what to do when something is wrong, like now. Blair's been a combination teacher, psychologist, and personal guru, and for no other reason than because Jim needed him to, dissertation be damned. You don't put up the kind of grief that goes with that job for a few letters after your name.

"And it's not just the sentinel thing. Jim's solve rate has always been good, but since he's partnered with Sandburg, it's one of the highest in the whole damned country. In fact, my entire department is operating at a peak that has every other captain casually 'dropping by' to see if they can find out what we're doing right. I haven't clued them in that it's my civilian observer and consultant; they might try to borrow him and I don't trust them to give Blair back."

Simon stopped there with an air of expectancy, and William volunteered reluctantly, "I seemed to have misjudged the young man."

Blair lost whatever reply his captain made to that. Moving slowly so as not draw notice to himself, he curled into a tight ball, overwhelmed by too many conflicting emotions and his own physical weakness to deal with it anymore. Only the hand Jim held tightly remained outside of his self-protective huddle as he fought to calm himself.

By the time he turned his mind outwards again, Simon had left, and William was by the head of Jim's bed. Peeking through his lashes, Blair watched as the older man fidgeted, clearly not knowing what to do with his hands, but wanting to do something.

Before Blair could encourage him, he walked away to stand by the window, his back to the room and its occupants. "I was only trying to do what was best for you, Jimmy," William muttered. "Make it possible to protect yourself. Is that so wrong?"

Without waiting for answer, he walked out of the room, which was just as well. Neither Blair nor Jim had one.

In the warm light of full dawn, Blair's lashes fluttered up, his sight almost instantly dazzled by the brightness filling them. Not by the sunshine, but by the blueness of Jim's eyes staring into his with an intensity Blair didn't understand. Nearly nose to nose because they were curled up facing each other, all Blair could see was his partner's eyes, and they filled more than his vision.

He had looked into them many times, had stumbled through the shadowed and sectioned-off depths in search of understanding or answers. But this time they were clear, brilliantly illuminated, and Blair wandered through them, idly identifying what had once been hulking, unidentifiable shapes. Here was the survivor's guilt that the sentinel lived with, its weight growing with the death of each comrade in arms. Here was the seemingly endless parade of betrayal and lost love, stretching back to his childhood.

That Jim hadn't quit the human race entirely, or worse still, simply shut himself down until all that was left was a shell going through the motions, was a testimony to the man's spirit. That he was even feebly attempting to reach out for friendship and love was a show of courage that awed Blair, even as he accepted he'd always known that on some level.

Mindlessly content, he wandered through the radiance of Jim's gaze, not thinking to hide the thoughts and feelings that were showing in his own eyes.

A short eternity later, Jim abruptly looked away, face taking on the abstracted lines of 'listening.' Bemused by the journeying he'd just done, Blair didn't bother to ask what the sentinel was hearing, but rather waited for his partner's reaction to it. With a tired sigh, Jim gave his attention back to his Shaman long enough to smile, then his eyelids drifted down as his breathing evened out for sleep. He nuzzled onto the fist closest his chin, apparent unconcerned it was Blair's and not his.

That made the younger man smile, then he yawned and scrunched down into the mattress. More sleep was a good idea and exactly what the doctor had ordered. Before long the nurses would be by with the abysmal substance they called breakfast, and he needed tons more rest before he could face that.

Interestingly, it felt like more than a few hours since his first awakening when he resurfaced from dreams again. Simon was sitting by Jim's bed, the both of them quietly talking, and he wondered if that was whom he had to thank for the undisturbed rest. Without looking at him, Jim stretched out a hand to give him the remote control for his bed.

In Jim's other hand were a bunch of black & white photographs, the kind taken at crime scenes. While the motor ground its way into lifting the head of the bed so he could sit up, Blair craned his neck to see them, already recognizing them as shots of Jim's bedroom.

"... Teams have been back over it, but haven't found anything that could help," Simon finished.

"And the loft isn't being watched, nobody unknown calling up to check on the health of Detective Ellison and his partner," Jim stated rather than asked.

"Well, whoever it was might not know they didn't succeed. The call was for dead bodies, not emergency resuscitation. What I don't get," Simon waved negligently at the pictures, "Is why pose you? It's not like the scandal would do any harm to corpses."

"Because the idea wasn't to kill us; it was to kill our careers in the department," Jim said off-handedly, studying one image in particular. "We were helpless; if they'd wanted us dead, there are a dozen ways we could've been killed that wouldn't have turned up anything suspicious at an autopsy for CO victims. I think they underestimated how close we'd come and didn't take into account the EMT's being able to justify not trying to resuscitate gay men."

"What!" Blair said, trying futilely to get his hair out of his face.

"Discredit you?" Simon asked, thoughtfully.

"Yeah, all it takes usually is a whiff of being gay to hurt your standing with the other cops. That's why such a shoddy job putting together the set up; whoever it was didn't think there was any need to do better." Jim said, tossing one photograph to Blair for him to look at. "Look, where are the clothes that Blair usually sleeps in? Did they leave them in his room? Were any of our things moved so that it looked like we shared a bed regularly? Any supplies for male sex? Even a rookie could spot that this was a setup, but it wouldn't have mattered if it had been anyone besides us." Jim threw the rest down on his lap, fingers going up to scrub at his forehead.

"Yeah, we've had that rumor circulating about us off and on since I began riding with him," Blair agreed absently, attention mostly focused on the picture he held. "I've heard about every permutation possible. I'm gay and my dates are a cover, Jim's gay and hoping to seduce a straight man, we're both gay and seriously in denial, in the closet, in a love-hate relationship where we see women just to piss each other off.

"Given that it's already in people's minds, this," he said, gesturing with the photograph, "Is simply a confirmation of what they already half-believe and have already accepted."

"So who benefits by having you 'outed,' then?" Simon asked himself as much as anybody else in the room. "Maybe a case where your testimony could be suspect because of being gay? N0," he answered himself in the same breath. "A judge would boot a prosecutor out of the courtroom for bringing up an arresting officer's sexuality."

"Use it to get Jim off a case?" Blair suggested making himself put down the photograph. He didn't let himself think about the fact that it was a safe place under the blanket where Simon wouldn't spot it and gather it up with the rest later.

"Political suicide," Jim said calmly. "First hint that was the reason I was being pulled, I'd be on my way to an attorney's office to sue for discrimination."

"The deeper we get into this, the less sense it makes," Simon groused, chewing on his unlit cigar. He thought for a minute, then announced decisively, "I'm sending Rafe and Brown to see if we can answer the question on whereabouts of the clothes Blair was sleeping in, and if any of your personal belongings were disturbed. More sand in the rumor mill. I'll have Conner cast an eye over current and upcoming cases to see if this slant would be useful on any of them." He took out the cigar and stared at it balefully.

"And the plainclothes officer stays, Ellison," Simon added a moment later. "All of this is strictly theory at this point; murder could have been the goal and the person responsible could try again. And get lucky this time." This time Jim was on the receiving end of the glare.

All the sentinel did was shrug and close his eyes, forehead furrowing in pain. "Since waiting is the only thing I can do right now, sir, I'm going to go back to sleep and see if I can't get rid of this headache."

"Need me to get one of Sandburg's potions for you?"

"Hey," Blair broke in. "They work." His stomach gurgled loudly, but before he could defend himself as simply being hungry, Simon snorted.

"I'm sure they do, but it has to be a case of the cure being worse than the ailment. And your stomach obviously agrees with me." He stood, scooping up the shots of the loft. "I'll ask the nurse if she can bring in your breakfast now. Pretend it's one of your own concoctions and you shouldn't have any trouble forcing it down."

"Hate to admit it," Jim murmured, "but they do taste better than the hospital food."

Another loud gurgle sounded, and Blair said ruefully, "Right now, anything sounds good."

Walking through the door, Simon grinned. "I should hang out here and see if you're still saying that after the first bite," he called back over his shoulder.

"Can't be worse than raw grubs," Jim mumbled, nearly asleep again.

It was, but Blair hardly tasted it. He was far too absorbed in carefully looking over his filched photograph, glancing over at Jim occasionally to make sure he was asleep. Why he didn't want his friend to know he had kept this particular picture, he didn't know, any more than he understood why he was becoming obsessed with it.

From an aesthetic point of view, it was extremely good for a crime scene shot. In fact, it was nearly artist quality in Blair's opinion. The angle, along with the black and white format captured Jim's good looks perfectly, drawing the eye to his strong jaw and making a perfect curve of his cheekbone. Ignoring the part that held his own features, but almost feeling Jim's head cradled on his upper back, Blair tilted the photo this way and that, getting lost in the pattern of shadow and light that made up the image.

It was his friend's expression that held Blair's attention for the most part. There was something in it, something that reminded him of his first awakening this morning and Jim's unshielded regard. Reverently he ran his fingertip lightly over the image of his partner's lips, wondering why his chest felt cramped and achy.

It wasn't until the nurse came in to take away his dishes that he hid it again, and he did so carefully, to make sure it wouldn't be bent or wrinkled.

It never occurred to any of them that the person behind the setup wouldn't try again; the question was always 'when,' with 'how' following immediately behind. So when Simon came into their room a few days later as they were packing up to go home, both Jim and Blair knew why their captain looked serious and worried.

Without a word he handed a large manila envelope to Sandburg, and gently said, "One of your students brought this to me; he thought you should know about this now, before you go back to work. I've already got Conner checking on it, but the chances of finding anything useful are slim because of how easy the access to the university ISP is."

With a sense of impending disaster, Blair took in a deep breath, released it slowly, and then opened the envelope. Inside was four pictures, obviously made up on a computer printer. The caption at the very top read, 'Sweet Prince' and included a website url that indicated that it was housed at the Rainier University server.

He took only the top one out, not missing Simon's assumed professional detachment or Jim's quick intake of air. It was a variation of the crime scene photos of the loft, except this time instead of two men cuddling to sleep, it appeared that sex was about to take place. Blair was on his side, Jim spooned up behind him, though that was a hopeful guess on the Blair's part, based on an instinctive recognition of the hands cupping and touching him so intimately. Though his eyes were closed, the pose suggested it was from pleasure, not to sleep.

In the next, he was on his back, the back of a familiar head at his groin as if tasting him; the third he was on his stomach, the same long fingers from the first shot appearing to penetrate him. The fourth was meant to be him in the throes of climax, back arched as his seed spilled from the action of the hand on him, but even as his gut clenched sickeningly, Jim murmured, "It's been digitally altered." He tapped at the furious looking hardon in the picture. "This one hasn't been circumcised."

Not really wanting to look that closely, but unable to help himself, Blair double-checked, sighing audibly in relief. "No, that's not me." From somewhere he forced up a chuckle. "I'm better hung than that, too."

Unexpectedly Jim didn't so much as smile at the feeble joke; he sank on the bed, face as white as a sheet. "One of Blair's students brought these in, Simon?"

Nodding unhappily, Simon took the packet back from Blair's numb fingers. "He said that the site is being passed around, both by word of mouth and email by the kids on campus. Thankfully most assume that they're manipulated and not real, but it's a very, very juicy bit of gossip. And before you ask, we've already done damage control with the University's administration."

Looking both smug and triumphant, he confided, "Conner thought that the best defense was a good offense. By now she is thoroughly offending a good half of the powers that be at Rainier with words like libel, lawsuit, defamation of character, standard of conduct of students and liability of the administrators of the university's internet server."

"Oh, man, that is not going to help my relationship with the U," Blair moaned, sagging down next to Jim.

"Better that than you get kicked off campus on ethics charges or lose your teaching fellowship because of the morals clause in your contract," Jim said firmly, but he swiped tiredly at his face, head bowed.

"I shudder to think where more of these are going to turn up," Simon muttered, "and what's going to be in them. Best we can guess from the timing of the call and what we know of your movements that night, there was about an hour when you were both unconscious. A lot can be done in an hour."

"Simon," Jim started hesitantly, and Blair could see that the muscle in his jaw was in over drive. "When I woke up..." He stopped, stood and began gathering up the last of his things from the hospital room. "Nevermind. It doesn't matter."

Intercepting a glance from Simon, Blair nodded, then got up to zip his own suitcase closed. "When you woke up," he prompted, already fairly sure what Jim was going to say next, and hiding his own reaction under his concern for his partner.

Expecting a glare of annoyance, he was surprised when Jim only groaned in exasperation. "You won't leave it alone, will you? Not even if I tell you it really doesn't make a difference as far as I'm concerned, and won't help in any way."

Caught off guard by Jim's candor, Blair stopped to honestly examine his motives for prodding, then nodded. "It might not help us figure out who's behind all this," he started, gesturing to take in the world in general, "but if I walk past a billboard featuring you flogging me with a wet noodle, I'd rather have some advanced warning, you know?"

"Point," Jim conceded, then straightened to look Blair in the eyes though he spoke to Simon. "Could you get Dan to look over our charts from when we were admitted and see if there was any procedure done that would leave me... sore when I sit down?"

"Dear, God," Simon breathed.

Blair only nodded, knowing that everything that needed to be said between them on the subject would be covered in that single action. He was answered with a flash of well-remembered illumination from Jim's blue eyes and relaxed; they were going to be able to handle this.

Wisely Simon said nothing else, but quietly waited until the nurse showed up with the mandatory wheelchair to take them downstairs. They passed the time speculating on why hospitals required it, each theory getting more and more outrageous until even the nurse had to laugh at some of them.

Once home, Blair was completely unsurprised to see Jim take up his usual thinking spot by the balcony doors. He more or less stayed there for the next few days, leaving it only to rest, eat, or endlessly prowl the perimeter of his home, constantly checking the locks. It wasn't totally unexpected either; what was different was the way it felt to Blair.

Instead of being shut out by the walls Jim erected when he reverted to instinct, he included his guide inside those barriers, though Blair didn't know why he was sure of that. Silent, motionless, expressionless when on guard, save for the occasional grimace or blink, the sentinel still somehow gave the impression of being there, aware of Blair's presence and glad for it.

In return, Blair was content to wait for Jim to finish working through what had happened and revert back to cop mode. He had more than a small amount of processing to do himself, though for the most part he found himself either staring at the purloined photograph or recalling in tiny detail that first morning's awakening at the hospital.

It wasn't until the night before they were both supposed to go back to work that he shook himself out of his own introspection and decided it was time to get Jim talking. There was at least one thing that he wanted to say himself; something long overdue.

Waiting until night had fallen, Blair went to stand by his partner at the balcony, directing his own sight out to the harbor waters where the reflection of the city was broken and re-forged in the ever-moving water. Distantly Blair wondered what Jim saw when he looked at the same scene. Did he keep within the normal range for a human, or did he indulge his sentinel abilities and look into it? Did he see the shifting of each wave as separated then merged with itself? Or did he look even further, watching the reflection itself as it trembled and broke into glittering confetti?

Marking that as a question to put to his roomie when Jim was in a more mellow mood, Blair put his meandering aside and commented as if they had been talking all along, "The last time you didn't speak to me when your instincts were set this high, I wound up trying to grow gills. Do either of us really need another lesson that drastic to convince you to let me know what's going on with you?"

Slanting him a look, Jim pursed his lips. "Low blow, Sandburg."

"Straight to the 'nads, as a matter of fact," Blair agreed complacently, still staring out the window. "Seems to be the only way to get your attention sometimes. So are you going to talk?"

"You make it sound so easy," Jim said without any venom. "It's not. There aren't words for most of what's going on in my head. It's all just emotions, urges, sensory bits and pieces, all coming at me at random. They don't make any coherent sense and to try to use words to bring them into something resembling order is impossible."

"There has to be some of it that stands out, that you feel the strongest," Blair argued softly.

"Most of it is pretty irrational, Chief." Jim shifted uneasily, sneaking another glance.

"Irrational from the point of view of a cop living in a modern city? Irrational from Jim Ellison's personal mindset? What framework are you using here, man?" Keeping his tone mild, Blair tried to drive his point home with that very gentleness.

"They're all my opinions," Jim countered. "If I'm not comfortable with the impulses hitting me, isn't that what counts?"

"Jim, this is me. If you told me that you wanted to paint yourself with woad and shoot arrows at the moon, I'd be wondering how much Scottish heritage you had, and how sentinels would have functioned among the Celts!" Blair tried not to smile, but he was telling the pure truth, and Jim had to know it.

Sure enough, that half-shy, half-sheepish grin of his partner's peeked around the corner of Jim's tense mouth, softening the lines of it. "And I'd find myself driving around Cascade looking for an herb shop that sells it because you'd think it's a good idea to give into my primitive instincts."

"Isn't it?" Blair said intently, finally turning to face his sentinel directly. "As long as we both know that you're operating on primal urges, know that you're being compelled and why, we can control it and use it. It's only been when you've repressed or denied that it's been grief for us."

Hesitantly, carefully, Blair verbally kneed the big man again. "Remember when you didn't know what was happening between you and Alex Barnes? As strong as that was, as maddening as that was, in the end Jim Ellison controlled, not your genetic heritage, not your hormones. You did. Your best bet of using what's driving you has always been facing it, not shoving it down."

"And you honestly think," Jim asked carefully, "that no matter what it is, you won't have any problems?"

That pulled Blair up short, much as he wanted to give an automatic affirmation of how open-minded and understanding he was. To his relief, his hesitation reassured his friend; Jim uncrossed his arms and took Blair's shoulders between his hands. "I really need to know, 'cause, Chief, what I want is probably the last thing I should be asking for under the circumstances."

"It's okay," Blair said, emphasizing the last word. "Just ask already. The worse I'll do is say 'no', I promise."

Jim thought about that for a moment, his eyes automatically flickering out toward the bay. Then he simply gathered Blair into a hug, tucking him close to his own body from chin to knee. "I want to hold you, Chief. Just hang onto you for a while, okay?"

Dumbfounded, but already effortlessly fitting himself into Jim's long, hard form, Blair nodded, unable to think of a single thing to say. Belatedly realizing that Jim couldn't see a nod with him so close, he stuttered into verbal overdrive. "Yeah, sure, of course. Like, this whole thing has been a direct attack on your relationship with your Shaman, and the sentinel part of you has to reacting to that with major protective testosterone overload, and if I'm, you know, right here you know I'm safe. Well not safe, but safer, and...."

"Sandburg?" Jim laughed softly.

"... Definitely in a more defensible reach, so...." Blair made himself gain control over his mouth. "...And I'll shut up right now."

"You don't have to," Jim denied. "But if this is making you that nervous, we can stop."

"Not nervous," Blair corrected. "Uh, more like not sure what to do." Knowing his body was probably giving him away, he added truthfully, "I like this, Jim, and I'm worried that parts of me will like it too much."

"Trying to tell me something here, partner?" Jim asked curiously, without a trace of annoyance or concern in his voice, casually patting small, reassuring circles in Blair's back.

"Come on, Jim, you know Naomi." Giving into the comfort being offered, Blair relaxed, laying his head on his friend's chest." I wasn't raised to think in terms of labels like gay or bi. I've always been into people, though I'm the first to admit that girls tend to get my attention way easier than guys do. But that doesn't mean a man hasn't succeeded on occasion."

"How much success are we talking about here?" Again there was no condemnation, only frank interest.

"Not too much." Thinking that Jim was a better source of warmth than the fireplace, Blair tunneled his hands up under the sweater the other man was wearing, laying them flat in the small of Jim's back. "As I said, girls get to me pretty easily."

"I have noticed that, Chief." Jim sighed, then said reluctantly, "If we're going to keep this up, maybe we'd better sit down."

"Umm? I guess." Blair dug his nose into the knit covering Jim's impressive chest and made no other move. "Is there something I should know?" Secure in the circle of his sentinel's arms, he didn't have any trouble waiting for Jim to find the right words.

"Carol once accused me of being a repressed homosexual," Jim confessed slowly, obviously thinking as he spoke. "At the time it made me angry as hell; she meant it as a slur on my manhood, which is exactly how I took it, too. And for a while every time I screwed up with another woman, I'd hear my ex-wife hissing it all over again. Got to the point where I started wondering if it was true."

"Whoa." Blair shook his head minutely. "Carolyn has a serious mean streak."

"Divorce brings out the worst in people," Jim said philosophically. "I probably accused her of worse and with less cause."

"I take it you decided all those incredibly beautiful women attracted to you couldn't be that wrong," Blair said facetiously.

"I decided that I was too old and too set in my life to be changing my ways, but being with a man had a certain... appeal." Jim stiffened, as if expecting a blow.

All Blair had to say was, "I take it you've never gone farther than thinking about it?"

"Never been a reason to." Jim went back to petting, but this time he made a few subtle adjustments that made Blair feel as if he were being molded into the bigger man perfectly.

With a yawn, Blair muttered, "You were right; sitting down is a good idea. You give great cuddle, man."

As naturally as if they had always done it, they turned and walked over to the couch, Blair still snug into Jim's side. While Blair arranged things to his liking, the other man took a moment to build up the fire, then they slipped back into each other's arms, fumbling around a bit until they were in best position to stay in for a long time. They didn't talk; just watched the fire and dozed off and on during the night.

When Jim's alarm clock went off upstairs, they pulled themselves apart, automatically getting ready to go through their morning routines. Before Blair went to his bedroom for a change of clothes, he caught one of Jim's hands, holding it lightly between his own as he waited for his partner to look at him. "Jim, are you going to want to do more than just hang onto me?"

Smiling, Jim brought up his free hand to toy with a lock of his guide's hair. "You know, I thought we already had. When I first woke up in the hospital, I didn't know where we were or why; only that we were in bed together, and I was achy in an interesting place."

"Ohhhhh." An undefinable jolt of something hit Blair square in the middle, and all of his breath whooshed out of him at once. All he could think of how incredible it had been to wake that morning up with Jim so close to him, and how open and vulnerable the sentinel had seemed.

Then he frowned thinking of the reason Jim might have been sore, and threw himself at his partner, wrapping his arms tightly around the trim waist and burying his face on Jim's chest. "I hope to God it was me. And I think I might kill whoever did it otherwise."

Almost squashing him, Jim hugged back hard, but ordered, "You'll do no such thing. My honor, such as it is, isn't worth the dirtying yourself like that. I mean it, Sandburg."

"Then is it okay if I rough him up? He wouldn't even be able to scream police brutality." A part, but only a small part, of Blair was appalled by the fact that, joking as his tone was, he was also very serious.

"And make me bust you on assault charges? Give me a break here, Chief." Gingerly Jim unwound himself from the embrace, giving reassuring squeezes as he did. "Come on, we need to get to work."

Thankfully the morning routine kept them in motion and busy until Jim pulled to a stop in front of Hargrove. There habit broke down under anticipation, and Blair hesitated, sucking in a lung full of air as he stared at the students clustered at the door. A hand appeared on his shoulder, and he glanced over at Jim, trying to smile. "Guess its going to be harder to face them than I thought."

"Understandable," Jim sympathized. "Mind if ask you a question?"

"Shoot."

"If we were lovers and had just been outed, would you be ashamed?" Jim looked as if he already knew the answer to that, and he did, of course.

"No, no way." Blair answered simply.

"Are you ashamed of the beautiful body those pictures showed?"

That one was a bit tougher, but Blair could see where his partner was heading, and the beginning of a smile started on the edge of his lips. "Not even the part that wasn't mine. So since I'm innocent of any wrong here, and there's nothing to be ashamed of, and embarrassment is a way of life for me, there's no reason why I can't walk in there with my head up, ready to dish out as good as I get."

"I've got to do the same thing," Jim reminded him, grimacing slightly. "And I know from experience it isn't easy. But you've got the balls to do this."

"Not by the time the kids are done breaking them," Blair disagreed wryly. "And no head-breaking on my account, understood?"

At the stern tone, Jim answered flatly, "Yes, Brother Blair."

Flipping him the finger, Blair climbed out of the truck and bounced up the steps to his class, doing a good imitation of a man in a hurry and has nothing else on his mind. Taking a page out of Connor's book, he strode up to the front of the classroom, stood next to the podium, and pulled out the envelope containing his copies of the 'Sweet Prince.' As he'd thought would happen, the room with filled, not just with students, but with associates and fellow grad students, most of which were wearing either smirks or frowns.

Pulling up just enough of the top one so that his head could be seen, he got everyone's attention by waving it over his head. "I would like to thank," he said loudly into the sudden hush, "Whoever it was that put such a great bod under my head." There were several muffled giggles, and he gave his audience a moment to quieten again. "You have significantly increased my chances of getting laid. However, I do feel there is one thing I need to point out."

Barely holding in a grin, he let the tension drag on for a moment, then went on. "First, may I point out that my name is Sandburg. Let me emphasize that: SANDBURG. That's a good hint I might be Jewish, which is a better hint that I have probably had a close call with a moehl at some point in my life. I'll leave it as an exercise to the class to find out what that is."

Again he waited, this time to let the whispered explanations and choked laughter flow around the room. When it was relatively still, he concluded. "I do feel I have to warn the artist that the administration is not happy with you. Personally I think it's because I was picked and not one of them, but they're muttering things like inappropriate use of university resources and possible litigation."

As he had thought it would, that killed the majority of the smiles, and probably the ambitions of more than one copycat. With no more than that he went straight into his lecture, forcing everyone who should be in his class to scramble for pen and paper and leaving the rest of the spectators to filter out, their company clearly unwanted.

That was the attitude he kept for the rest of his day at the University. Business as usual with a liberal dose of humor tossed in anytime someone pressed the issue of the manufactured images. The closest he came to trouble was when one of the male students wouldn't let him pass the issue with a joke, asking loudly, "Are you a queer or not, Sandburg?"

Leaving the podium, Blair crossed to stand right in front of him, staying just far enough back that he didn't have to bend his neck to look into the guy's face. Loudly he said, "Why, Ray? Looking for a hot date?"

Under the cover of laughter, he added softly, "Give me a break, okay? After all, anybody could be this guy's next victim, including you." As he'd hoped, tossing the ball solidly into the young man's self interest shut him up, and he sat back down, face screwed up almost comically in thought.

By the time he was in the elevator on his way up to Major Crimes, he was completely worn out and worried about how well Jim was handling all the unwanted scrutiny. Propping a foot up on the wall, he leaned his head back, trying to brace himself for both a grumpy partner and more nosy comments. When the elevator stopped at the lobby level on the way up from the parking garage, his eyes popped open defensively, and for the first time that day had to stifle an honest burst of laughter.

Dressed in unbelievably flamboyant hot pink shirt, slacks, and white shoes, an excruciatingly thin and petite man swished in, everything about him screaming 'queen.' Idly Blair wondered if the pink nail polish the man wore had been mixed specially to match his suit, or if it had been pure luck in finding it. He had to admit, though, that the accessories - a white satin ascot and tasteful white hat - gave him a penache that few people could have carried off.

Fortunately the man didn't notice Blair's momentary lapse of tolerance. Apparently whatever it was that brought him to the police department was very worrisome; the gentleman was muttering under his breath, sounding very much like he was rehearsing something. When Blair shifted to plant both feet on the ground, his fellow traveler glanced at him quickly, decided he wasn't a problem, and went back to mumbling.

When the doors opened, the nervous man bolted out, screeched to a halt for a moment, obviously working himself up to the necessary emotion he thought he needed, then broke through the door of Major Crimes for a dramatic entrance.

Blair followed him at a discrete distance, by now wildly curious as to what the man was up to. To his dismay, the gentleman made a beeline for Jim's desk, arriving just as the cop crossed in front of it, coming back from the break room if the candy bar in his hand was any indication.

Looking very much like a pink poodle assaulting a great dane, the unknown man stormed up to Jim, slapped at him so lightly Blair didn't think the sentinel even felt it, and bellowed in a startlingly deep and resonant voice, "How could you! Oh how could you!" Tossing a handful of photos at the stunned detective, he went on, "Is this the reason you dropped me cold without even so much as a phone call to say goodbye!"

Granting the seemingly irate man points for dramatic presentation, but deducting a few for bad writing, Blair leaned on the nearest wall and watched the rest of the performance.

"I know I'm not in my prime any more," the questionable actor sniffed, drastically diving from anger to pathos, a move probably inspired by Jim pulling himself together and calmly sitting on the edge of his desk. "But what can this...." He stomped on one of the shots that showed Jim's face clearly, "... this... boytoy give you the kind of devotion and patience I've showed all these years? Does he..."

Jim took a bite out of his candy, munching on it noisily and derailing his quasi-visitor mid rant. Disconcerted, he opened and shut his mouth several times, then found his place. "Does he know how to take care of you the way you deserve? Does he know how to make you happy the way I do?" As Jim continued to chew, the delivery of the speech became more and more hesitant, each word getting weaker and weaker. "Don't you have anything to say?" he finished at last, nearly inaudibly, suddenly becoming uncomfortable aware of the ring of men, policemen, big relatively speaking policemen, forming around him.

Swallowing his current bite, Jim answered, "I'm trying to decide which role I'm supposed to take here. Big hulking Neanderthal cop who beats you to a bloody pulp or totally humiliated straight man who slinks off unable to look his friends in the eye."

Completely deflated, the actor's mouth opened and closed several times, then he inched nervously away from Jim, glancing uneasily at the other people in the room. Everyone stared at him, not even menacingly, but as if he were a very interesting specimen under a microscope. Nerve breaking suddenly and utterly, the man gave a very honest sounding squeal, hurled a package at Jim, and then ran at a breakneck speed for the door, dodging agilely between Connor and Banks.

With a thunderclap of conversation, the room went back to normal as the door shut behind the actor, and with a look, Simon sent Rafe after the man for questioning. One or two of the other detectives gave Jim a sympathetic shrug or grimace, then went back to what they were supposed to be doing. Acknowledging them with a rueful wave, Jim bent down to examine the package left on the floor, carefully not touching it.

Automatically Blair reached into his jacket pocket and took out a latex glove, handing it to his partner. Sticking his half-eaten snack into his mouth, Jim accepted it and put it on, then took a last bite before tossing the remainder into the garbage with his uncovered hand. "Want to bet this is the underwear I was wearing the night we were gassed," he told Simon as he picked the parcel up. "Meant to be 'proof' that I had been in a relationship with our visitor there."

"Having a set of your drawers hardly constitutes evidence," Jim," Simon began, then backtracked. "Unless of course there was a substance of an extremely personal nature on them, ala Monica Lowensky."

"Damn," Blair swore, then squatted to pick up the pictures off the floor. "Double-damn. Simon, these are ones we haven't seen before."

Trying not to be obvious about wanting to stare at the picture, Blair stood back up and held it for his partner to see. Though the cause couldn't be seen, it was very obvious from Jim's expression in the shot that he was coming, and coming hard. It was just as clearly an un-manipulated image, and a bizarre mix of lust and jealous fury hit Blair, though he stomped it down quickly.

Taking custody of them and the package with gloved hands, Simon grumbled tiredly, "How much more of this shit is going to happen? And why is it all so half-assed? Especially since the cover up has been so good. Want to bet that our visitor was simply hired by an agency, cash-exchanged by a go-between with fake ID.

"But then use a set-up a rookie could spot, scanned images obviously doctored, and forgive me Jim, but if you had come out of the closet years ago and didn't give a damn who knew it, I still wouldn't buy you dating that guy. Just not your taste! It's like who ever is behind this doesn't have a clue who you are!"

"And don't trot out the because everybody already thinks you two are sleeping together thing, okay? At this point if you went live on Springer and confessed all, nobody would believe it, okay"

Blair didn't think Jim heard Simon's last words. The sentinel had gone stock still where he stood, head up but vision turned inwards, taking on the expression Blair had come to associate with Detective Ellison adding pieces of evidence together and finding the answer. "Jim?" he asked hesitantly.

About to say something else, Simon stopped himself mid-word, noticing his officer's distraction. "What?"

"Sir, have you said that to me before - recently I mean?" Jim studied his boss intently, as if to find his last clues in the big man's face.

"Said what? The bit about you going on Springer?" Simon sounded confused, and Blair ran the last bit of conversation through his own mind, trying to spot what Jim had fixed on.

His heart double thumped, hitting his chest painfully when he mentally replayed "doesn't have a clue who you are!" but this time giving it the slight echo of the hospital room he and Jim had been in. "But you were unconscious," he blurted before he had time to censor himself.

Embarrassment tainted Simon's features, and he growled, "And you were supposed to be asleep, Sandburg."

"Damn! It wasn't a dream!" Jim's growl was softer than his captain's, but no less angry sounding.

Holding up a hand to forestall Simon, Blair asked his partner, "Dream, Jim?"

"I heard Simon talking to my dad, but thought it was more of the weird dreams I had while I was out." Jim looked around as if he wanted to escape the conversation, noticed the glove he wore and stripped it off. "The question is, how could I have heard them if I was unconscious?"

Excitement, no less heady for being familiar now, bubbled up through Blair, and it was all he could do not to bounce right out of his skin. "Okay, okay, I think I understand this. I remember reading a study about the kind of information people retain when they're unconscious. You never really are, you know. Your hearing, sense of touch or whatever doesn't turn off when you're asleep or under general anaesthetic; counter to survival, too dangerous not to have some awareness going on."

"Sandburg!" Simon broke in.

Reining in the stream of information flowing through him, Blair swallowed, then went on, lowering his voice to a very private level. "Your sentinel abilities are almost never off duty. I've seen you come out of a dead sleep, gun in hand, already focused on what alerted you. I don't think you had weird dreams; I think your senses were trying to override the drug you inhaled because we were in danger."

"Is that possible?" Jim asked incredulously.

"Yes it is," Simon volunteered, surprisingly. "Had a buddy once that was in a car accident, had a bad head injury. His family didn't know if he'd ever wake up, but they sat with him every day, reading the newspaper to him, and this murder mystery book. A week or so later he came round, a little out of it, but okay mostly. Thing is, he picked up the book to read - and turned it to where the last person reading it to him had left off. Already had figured out who did it, too."

"It's no stranger than remembering a phone message you didn't consciously listen to years ago," Blair argued softly, persuasively. He checked out the bullpen; too many people were very studiously trying not to pay attention to their conversation. "We can probably use the same technique to sort out what was real and what wasn't, but not here."

"Go take care of it," Simon ordered decisively. Hefting the nearly forgotten package and photographs he held, he added, "As entertaining as this has been, I want an end to it. We've got work to do around here, people!"

"Consider it done, sir." Jim reached for his jacket, snagged his partner's and tossed it at him.

Impatient as he was to start, Blair didn't bother Jim with any of the stuff racing through his head while they drove home. The sentinel wouldn't have answered him anyhow; he was shut down again, withdrawn almost totally into himself. But Blair didn't feel closed out this time, either, and that made all the difference. The ride passed in companionable silence while he made plans on how to guide Jim through his dreams to sort the true memories from them.

Preoccupied with that, he hardly noticed parking and climbing the stairs, but that only lasted until they were through the door to the loft. As soon as it was safely closed, Jim gently pulled Blair to him, giving the smaller man plenty of time to say 'no.' Which was the furthest thing from Blair's mind. He slid both arms around Jim's waist through the opened front of the jacket, and laid his cheek against his partner's chest. Sighing heavily, Jim leaned back onto the door, spreading his legs for balance, then dropped his head down until his lips were brushing lightly against the cap of Blair's ear.

Perfectly content to put off working as long as Jim needed to, Blair nestled against him, closing his eyes to better appreciate the simple pleasure of being held. Jim was solid and warm and good smelling and hanging onto him for all he was worth, a favor Blair gladly returned.

After a long while, Jim whispered, "I dreamed that you came up to my bedroom, no fanfare, no announcement, just walked upstairs and climbed into the bed. It was so natural for you to do that, I'd fantasized about it so many times, that all I did was wait to see what you wanted.

"You were naked, but not excited, and you lay down next to me, telling me I could touch and taste you all I wanted." Jim stopped, swallowing dryly, hands beginning to restlessly massage into Blair's shoulders. "Just hearing that made me so hard, so dizzy with want. You know how things can go on forever in a dream? That's the way it was; your skin was so soft on mine, and all those wiry little hairs of yours tickled and caressed. I loved the way you smelled and the way your scent crept around me.

"Then you spooned up behind me, putting your dick along the crack of my ass, and it started growing, getting big. Wanted it in me, needed it so bad by then. Tried to ride back on you, to take you into me, but I couldn't get the angle right or something. Kept losing the aim just as you started to go in. Could have screamed with frustration, but then you moaned my name. You sounded even crazier with it, and it made me come, that you wanted me that bad."

Jim's voice had gone husky and deep as he described his dream, and the solid ridge pressing into Blair's stomach told him that the erotic power of the dream hadn't faded. Nor did hearing about it second hand rob it of any of its impact. He was as erect and knew that if he spoke, his words would be thick with hunger, too.

Hands firmly on his partner's bottom, Jim pulled Blair even tighter into him, hard-ons meeting through the fabric of their pants. "Do you?" he muttered. "Do you want me that bad, Blair? Want to fuck me into the mattress, be fucked by me? Want to suck me and get sucked? Want my hands, my mouth, my cock, my ass. Want me?"

Blindly turning to find the lips tormenting him with nasty, needy words, Blair whimpered, "Yes," and kissed Jim, tasting his lover for the first time as he rubbed desperately against him.

Their explosion of release hit both of them moments later, leaving them collapsed onto the floor, weakly writhing over each other in their unwillingness to give up their first time together too soon. Panting, Blair finally turned his head aside, petting Jim's cheek with his finger tips to reassure his sentinel that they weren't done, yet. "Wait, wait." He shifted, putting more of his weight on his forearms, then rose away just enough to be able to look down into Jim's face.

The flushed, sated look his partner wore was enough to make Blair want to drag him upstairs and get him properly naked, but he only grinned saucily, holding his desire at bay. "You know I want to do this all night, don't you?"

"God, I hope so," Jim said fervently, reaching up to cup Blair's face, fingers idly trailing into the long hair on either side of it. "I'd like to make it to bare skin at least; see how the dream compares to the reality."

Sobering, Blair nudged a kiss onto the palm closest his mouth. "I want that very much, too. But I think that's exactly what we should do, first. Compare them."

"I don't want to, Blair." Jim stopped, eyes becoming distant for a minute, then he focused back on his lover. "If some of what I thought were dreams is the truth, I...." Abruptly he paused again, and Blair knew that he wasn't ready yet to confront his memories. He went on a moment later, his voice stern. "One thing, as far as I'm concerned I made love with you that night. I wasn't raped. You were the one touching and loving me, no matter what the reality was, okay? That's how it feels in here." He tapped his chest, then his head.

"Actually, I probably was the reality," Blair admitted. "Think about it. I did come upstairs without any warning, more than likely carried, I did come to your bed though I might have been put there. I wouldn't have been aroused at first because I was unconscious myself. If the poses they did of me being touched by you were done first, then you would have been all over me, dragged there for the shots. Then it was your turn for posing and my guess is whoever is behind it took advantage of our bodies, ah, natural physical reaction to intimate contact and let nature take its course. Which would explain why no complete penetration and your conviction when you woke up that I was responsible for your sore ass."

Looking thoughtful, Jim stretched up for a brief kiss, then urged Blair to his feet. He stood, grimacing at the mess in his pants, then kissed the smaller man again. "Makes sense."

"Time to tell me the rest," Blair ordered gently. "But want to clean up first?"

"And eat." Jim swooped close, nibbled on an ear. "And get naked."

Tempted, but working on his own instincts, Blair shook his head. "Uh, uh. I love the way you distracted me, but we need to get to this, Jim. Delaying tactics aren't going to change that."

There was a flash of anger on his partner's face, but Jim stopped himself, obviously looking inside again. "I know, I know. It's just...." He rubbed at his face, the said softly, sadly. "Oh, God, Chief, I want the rest of it to be just a nightmare."

"Man, must be bad," Blair muttered. On impulse he stretched up, winding his arms around Jim's neck and sealed their mouths together. Powerful hands caught him, lifting him up to make it easier, and Blair couldn't help but rejoice at having at his disposal the kind of strength that could lift his solid weight so easily. Breaking away only when the urge to moan was nearly overwhelming, he gasped, "I'm in a serious moral dilemma here."

Gently Jim put him on his feet, then nuzzled into the hairline at his brow. "Dilemma?" he mumbled.

"Yeah. I don't know whether to punch the person who's messing with our lives, or kiss him for putting me in bed with you," Blair joked.

Stroking and touching his face, Jim pulled back and asked seriously, "You wouldn't have come to my bed on your own?"

Not wanting to hurt him, but not willing to bullshit either, Blair shrugged uneasily. "No, I don't think I would have."

Jim didn't seem particularly upset or surprised at the answer. "Can I ask why?"

Grabbing onto the collar of the coat Jim hadn't gotten around to taking off, as expecting him to go away, Blair said quietly, almost to himself. "Because I didn't think you wanted me there anymore. You were trying to flirt with me when we first met, weren't you?"

Shame-faced, the sentinel nodded, then said, "Once I got past thinking of you as a necessary nuisance, it wasn't hard to notice how good looking you were, and that you seemed, ah, open to the idea. But you kept pushing me toward women and chasing them pretty enthusiastically yourself. I know a resounding 'no chance' when I hear one, so I stopped."

Answering his partner's next question before he could ask it, Blair said sadly, "I was trying not to go native, to get too close to my research subject. About the time I realized that was a lost cause, you weren't flirting any more. And you were beginning to treat me like your partner, for real, respecting my opinions, my ideas. I liked that, liked the idea of being able to come to you as an equal, if that makes any sense. It didn't occur to me then that it would mean that you'd stop seeing me as a potential lover."

"No, I didn't stop," Jim denied softly. "I just kept it out of our working relationship because I thought that was what you wanted. Like working with a married woman you're attracted to: you put a big 'hands off' on her in your mind and go on."

"Shit! No, Fuck!" Blair swore, bouncing his forehead off Jim's pec's once. "Now I am going to have to forgive that son of a bitch whoever he is, and that pisses me off!"

As he intended, that made Jim laugh, however weakly, and they moved naturally into separating so they could clean up and change. He was in the bathroom, Jim in the kitchen fixing a quick bite for them, when he heard a knock on the door. Curious as to whom it would be, he wrapped a towel around his still damp body and poked his head out into the hallway in time to see William Ellison follow Jim into the kitchen.

Wanting to give them privacy to speak for a few minutes, he took his time finishing up, grinning at his reflection in the mirror as he shaved because of why he was doing it. The sound of voices rising in anger penetrated his happy glow, and he dragged on his pants, stepping out in time to see Jim throw a glass in the sink, shattering it into pieces. "I don't care if they start making me wear a pink uniform and ban me from the men's locker room. No one is going to run me off!"

Not so much as flinching at the fury Jim was restraining, William leaned forward into his space. "It's not just that they can make the job a living hell," he said, words intent and focused, "and you know it. Late backup, no backup, people turning their heads the other way when the abuse gets physical. You're risking your life."

"In case you hadn't noticed," Jim bit out, "that's what I do for a living. I can handle it."

"But can Blair?" William laid out his trump card with the finality of a man who knows he's won the game and is waiting for his opposition to crumble.

Instead of capitulation, or even a weakening in his stand, Jim wheeled around to stare at his father, hand going to the small of his back where his gun lay in its holster, startling the older man into stepping back several paces. "Don't even think about threatening my partner." Cold, colder, coldest - the sentinel and covert ops soldier looked at his parent as if he were an enemy, not the man who gave him life.

Even as Blair saw his lover going into full protective mindset, he darted across the small space and laid his fingers over the weapon, preventing him from removing it. "Jim, you're over-reacting," he tried to chuckle. "Your dad's not the threat here."

"Yes," Jim said emphatically, "yes, he is. The nightmare was real, much as I wish I could dismiss it as the by-product of the gas."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," William said stiffly. He made as if to move forward again, and Jim backed up, putting Blair behind him with a sweep of his arm. "Jimmy, you're behaving irrationally." Ignoring his son's threatening attitude the elder Ellison took a single step forward.

Feeling the muscles tense in his partner's forearm, Blair said clearly, "Mr. Ellison, do me a big favor here, will you? BACK UP before he SHOOTS you, okay? Give me a minute to get to the root of why he's acting like this."

"Even if he hates me," William said firmly, "My son would never fire on an unarmed man."

Trying to edge past the living shield in front of him, Blair shot back hotly, "Your son is a soldier who knows all too well that a seemingly harmless man can be deadly. If you believed a word Banks told you about how we work together, Listen To Me and back up!"

Obviously torn, literally swaying in place, the older man studied his child carefully - and backed up two steps. The readiness drained out of Jim, but not the tension, and Blair eased into a position that would let his partner feel as though he were still protecting, but allow them to talk face to face.

"Okay, we were going to work on this anyway," he started calmly, trying to project confidence to both men. "But keep in mind that your subconscious mind was adding and subtracting images while it was trying to make sense of the information it was receiving, okay? The real stuff is mixed with garbage."

"No, I wasn't unconscious at first, though that's what I believed later. What I wanted to believe," Jim said shortly. "The gas only paralyzed me, and since my eyes were closed, I couldn't see anything. But I could hear everything." There was no forgiveness in the stare he turned toward his father, and Blair glanced in the same direction in time to see William stagger back against the kitchen block, hanging onto it for support.

"You were really surprised not to find Blair in my bed already, had assumed that he was my bedwarmer, I think was the politer of the words you used to the two men with you. Even more surprised to find the papers and books of a scholar, not the trappings of a kept man." Jim was the one closing the physical distance between him and his father now, the threat in his slow movements as relentless as the hard words he was stabbing into the other man.

"That didn't stop you from ordering them to 'do it' before coming upstairs to my bedroom. I didn't know what 'it' was; I had to lay there and listen to them strip Blair and pick him up, unable to protect or help or stop whatever was going to happen next, fighting my own body just to be able to do something." Hands clenching and unclenching, Jim stopped just inches from the other man.

"While they did that, you stood next to the head of my bed for a minute, then repeated the same garbage that you used to push me down and control me when I was a kid. 'It's for your own good, Jimmy. You'll see that I was right in the long run.' Then you just left; didn't even have the guts to make sure your orders were obeyed, that nothing went wrong."

Wanting very badly for William to deny Jim's words, wanting even more to wrap his arms around his lover and caress away the anger pouring off of him, Blair wedged himself between the two, keeping his back to the older man. Despite that, it was the elder Ellison he addressed, though his eyes were locked with Jim's. "Outing your son was for his own good?"

"If it got him off the police force, yes then it is for his own good," William answered passionately, speaking directly to Blair as if he were the one to convince. "How long do you think he can keep hiding what he is when he uses it daily? How long before some smart-assed reporter starts wondering how Detective Ellison knows some of the things he knows, gets some of the leads he gets. Maybe starts following him around? Or before one of his co-workers with a grudge notices something and starts doing some snooping?

"How long do you think you'll be able to work if they discover what you are, Jimmy? How far will you have to go before you'll be able to get another job, make a living for yourself without people whispering freak or monster behind your back? If any one would even hire someone they thought couldn't keep secrets from. If the government doesn't decide the best place for you is in some lab somewhere, drugged to insensibility." William broke off, looking stricken and showing a true fear for his child.

His worries were ones that had crossed Blair's mind more than once as he became more and more involved in Jim's world at the department. Reading his doubt, Jim said softly, anger banked for the sake of his guide, "I live with all that the same way I do with the possibility that I might die in the line of duty, or be crippled, or make a mistake that causes an innocent to die. By telling myself that the fear of 'what if' isn't as important as 'what must be done.'"

Blair knew his pride and understanding were shining clearly in his eyes, and he smiled, almost forgetting the man behind him. Smiling back for a second, Jim asked his father quietly, "What kind of man would I be, what kind of son would I be, if I don't use the gifts I was given to help?"

"A safe one!" William shot back. "And a wealthy one, if you would use your abilities in business. Then you could be in a position to help that wouldn't expose or endanger you. Wouldn't leave both of us waiting for the shoe to drop."

"Dad," Jim said firmly, some of his anger finally fading. "Hiding isn't the way to go. I know; I tried it your way for years. And I couldn't be a businessman. For me that would be another kind of death; it's just not who I am."

With a snort of derision, William turned away. "New-Age bullshit...a man does what he has to do. Pulling himself up, he stomped for the door. "Goddamn, all right then. It'll be on your head when it hits the fan. Don't come running to me for help!"

Fighting a sigh, Blair shook his head minutely. The man still didn't have a clue.

"One thing," Jim called after him, expressionless at his father's imminent departure.

Obviously expecting either an attempt to stop him from leaving or more argument, William snapped over his shoulder, "What?"

"Why did you do such a careless job of setting us up? That's not the precise, methodical business man I know you are." Apparently not caring if what his father would think of it, Jim draped an arm over his partner and hugged him close, not that Blair was complaining. He twisted enough to be able to see William, wanting to know the answer to that one himself.

"Oh." He sounded disconcerted, half reached for the doorknob, then said to it, "I didn't want to ruin your life, just get you out of harm's way. I didn't think the department would tolerate the suspicion you were gay, but whatever you wanted to do next, you'd have proof that it wasn't true. I would have used whatever influence, I have, too, to help you get a position or start a business or whatever. Part of me hoped you'd be willing to take over for me."

"I'm sorry," Jim said, the tone as empty as the word.

William Ellison just shrugged, opened the door and went through it, looking much smaller and older than when he had come in.

Jim watched, then listened, to him go without much of anything he might have been feeling showing on his face. The only clue Blair had was a minute tremor in the body next to him, a tremor that might have been a sob or a curse being suppressed. Reluctantly, but wanting to get everything settled, he asked, "You're just going to let him go?"

Woodenly Jim answered, "What evidence do we have, Chief? Drug-colored memories, a confession to just the two of us - unless we hit on something concrete, it would be our word against his, with us trying to dance around the whole senses issue. If we could even get the DA to try it." He fell silent, jaw muscle jumping. "Besides what good would it do? The only result would be headlines in the tabloids and more hard feelings." He glanced down. "Unless you want to pursue it?"

"No," he answered tiredly. "You're right; there's no point." Gently Jim started to move away, but Blair turned in his arms, hanging onto him stubbornly. With smile that he dredged up from somewhere, he asked sweetly, desperate to keep his lover with him, "You said something about naked earlier."

As he had hoped, his lover hesitated, then murmured a wordless acceptance of the comfort being offered. Taking him by the hand, Blair detoured to lock the door, then led Jim upstairs, not hurrying, but not lingering, either. Once there they both undressed with the unselfconsciousness of long time lovers, despite their newness to each other. But when they stood face to face for the first time, bare and exposed, only inches apart, wonder was born, and Blair reached out with a shaking hand to lay it tentatively in the center of Jim's chest.

For all the firmness of the muscle under it, it was the softest thing he'd ever touched in his life, and all Blair could do was breathe, "Wow."

Following his example, Jim laid his palm over the heart of the smaller man, the beginning of a smile easing the strain in his face and posture. "Pretty concise, Chief. Wow." Experimentally he wiggled his fingers, scraping the nails lightly into the chest hair. "Always wondered what that felt like."

"Pretty damn good, actually," Blair told him distractedly, inching closer.

"Yeah."

They flowed over each other, somehow ending up on the bed, hands everywhere, Blair grateful that Jim was the larger so he had more to touch. The big man curled around his lover, feet stroking carefully over calves and shins, stropping his face against curls, shoulder, chest. It felt good, and his tiny sounds of appreciation and pleasure inflamed Blair until he was panting, aching for release. Involuntarily rocking his hips, he mindlessly tried to find some relief.

In answer to it, Jim spooned up behind him, fumbling down to take Blair in hand even as he began his own restless rubbing into the crevasse between the sturdy thighs. "God!" he moaned. "Sorry... need to!... sor.. ahhhh, No!" Quickly his thrusting took on a frantic pace, and though he tried to keep in rhythm on Blair's length, he was too caught up in his body's demands to succeed.

It didn't matter to Blair; behind closed eyes he was seeing Jim's face contorted in pleasure, courtesy of the posed photographs. Seeing how they looked together, how their bodies matched and met and fit to each other, seeing the peace and love on Jim's face in sweet aftermath. That was enough to toss him over the edge into his finish, wailing his lover's name in a voice rough and dark with raw pleasure.

The echo had not died away yet when Jim followed suit, spilling in hot spurts over both of them, his groan a vibration in Blair's own chest. When he was done, he slumped against the smaller man, shaking violently. "Blair. God, Blair."

"You okay?" Too shattered to take a complete breath, there was no way he was going to be able to move enough to see for himself, but Blair patted at the hip closest.

"No," Jim gasped. He found a good chest full of air, then went on, the first word a half-sob. "No. I really am going to have to find a way to forgive that bastard. Someday. Shit. Shit."

"Just think of how he's going to react when he finds out that he literally did put us to bed together!" The chuckle that Jim gave him was weak but genuine, and Blair let go of some of his worry for his lover.

They lay together dozing contentedly after that, until the sticky feeling of drying semen became annoying enough that Blair knew he was going to have to get up and wash. Thinking he would grab some cheese and crackers after he did, and eat them in his room while getting ready for tomorrow, he slid to the edge of the bed and stood.

"Mmmhn?" Jim mumbled, reaching for him, eyes opening as he did.

Seeing the radiance lighting them, Blair bent over to catch and kiss the hand groping for him, heart full and swollen with what he felt for this special man. "Shhh, go back to sleep," he whispered tenderly. Touching his lips to Jim's brow, he added, "Sweet dreams. I'll see you in the morning."

He felt the light go out of his lover, felt the un-natural coldness that chased over the skin his mouth still lightly brushed. Drawing back he looked into the dimmed orbs, seeing all the shapes and shadows inside hulking threateningly, the way pain does in the dark. But all Jim said was, "You, too, Chief."

Concerned, Blair put one knee on the bed and hunkered down enough to be able to take the sentinel's face between his hands. "What? And don't say 'nothing,' I know better."

For a moment he thought Jim was going to lie, but instead he dropped his lids. "When will you come back upstairs?" he asked, trying for a neutral tone.

"Oh!" Blair knew what Jim was really asking, and swallowing hard, he admitted. "I'd rather stay up here. But is that the smart thing to do? The way our lives go, we could be caught in bed together for real."

He was saying more with his words than appeared on the surface, too, and Jim abruptly stopped being indirect. "There's a difference between being carefully discrete and dangerously paranoid. I'm not ashamed or embarrassed, I haven't done anything wrong, and I don't want to act like I have, especially in my own home."

Bringing up one hand to cover one of Blair's where it cupped his cheek, he added, "I understand if you're not comfortable with being up here, but we're going to have enough to handle without the stress of being constantly on guard, even in the loft."

Deciding he didn't need a shower that bad, Blair clambered up into the bed properly, stretching himself out on top of Jim. "Which side of the bed do you want? Besides, like Simon said, who'd believe it if we were outed now, thanks to your father's meddling. Another reason to forgive him, damnit."

The light grew back slowly in Jim's eyes, and he smiled, wrapping his arms around Blair to keep him in place. "In fact, we might actually have trouble convincing Simon we're not pulling his leg."

Remembering their friend's ire at the hospital when he thought they hadn't told him, Blair grinned widely. "Leave that to me. I know JUST what to say."

finis