Author's homepage: http://squidge.org/~theforest/senfic.html

Notes: This writer without betas is a very frustrated writer, so I grovel in humble gratitude to Kim, Shelagh and JoAnn for their input and/or corrections and butt kicking when I got too pathetic. Thank you! However, blame the punchline on the senslash IRC; their topic for the evening the last time I could drop in inspired me.

Quack
by Legion

Hell, Jim Ellison decided, jaw muscle jumping, isn't a never- ending stack of paperwork and no coffee. It isn't a pointless stakeout on a cold, snowy night with a warm lover impatiently waiting for you. It's being a bodyguard for some flash-in-the-pan, self-important, egotistical celebrity who has the mayor completely under his thumb with his money and his 'Hollywood' connections.

He had known from the start that stupid Cop of the Year award was going to be more nuisance than it was worth. Because of it, every time the brass wanted to pacify some hotshot with a minor problem, he got trotted out as the best of the best and put on display to prove they were doing their utmost for a big money man. It was to the point he was already counting the days until the next victim/cop was chosen.

"Jim," Blair's voice whispered tiny and electronic in his right ear, "are you trying to set a Guinness record with that tight jaw thing you've got going on there? Come on, man, lighten up."

"If this bigot makes one more sexist, racist or vulgar joke," Jim murmured, knowing the two-way would pick it up for his partner, "he isn't going to have to worry about stalkers. I'm going to strip him naked and offer him up for auction right here."

"Be sure you gag him first," Blair said dryly, not trying to make light of Jim's irritation. His tolerance was running thin after three hours of listening to Pearson, too. "Otherwise it'll be a no-sale. I wonder if any of his fans know what a jerk he is?"

"Probably not. Otherwise he wouldn't need protection, would he? He's not that pretty, I don't care what the teeny-boppers think. Frankly, all he needs is a professional babysitter, not half of Major Crimes waiting on him hand and foot." Wisely his roommate chose not to point out the mob at the entrance to the hotel they were in, or the trouble the uniforms were having keeping them in line.

Instead, with typical Sandburg left-field thinking, he remarked conversationally, "Actually, thanks to his last role, he's one of the few names in the business that has as many males as females after him. Wonder why a homophobe took the part of a gay man?"

"Probably some artistic reason," Jim snorted. Unfortunately, the sound was loud enough for David Pearson to notice.

"Finally got one, huh, Detective Ellison?" the tall, slender man asked with a false jocularity that would have set Jim's teeth on edge if they hadn't already been occupied. "And here I was thinking you didn't have a sense of humor."

Eyeing the man's all-American blonde good looks and thinking how very deceiving appearances could be, Jim said flatly. "I have one. I haven't heard anything funny."

His comment obviously baffled Pearson, and Jim went back to ignoring him as much as possible and scanning the room with sight and hearing. Of course, Pearson was main topic for both, but so far nothing threatening or even out of the ordinary for the circumstances. In his ear, Blair made an occasional comment, helping him stay focused.

As if he finally understood that Jim's attention wasn't on him, Pearson started to lightly punch the detective to attract it. At the feel of the air moving, Jim threw up a block, automatically going for his gun.

Backing off, but only a step, the actor enthused, "That's fantastic! You weren't even looking at me! What was it? Instinct? Peripheral vision? What?"

With a shrug, Jim tried to brush away the comment. "Experience."

"You know, my next film is a murder mystery. So far the director wants to play the cop as an on-the-edge loser, but I've been arguing with him that's been done to death. Maybe it's time to go back to a classic, like yourself." Carried away with his own idea, Pearson didn't see Jim's grimace. "Strong, stoic. A man's man, a cop's cop. Ex-soldier, ex-Ranger - bet you go through babes like socks, huh? And undercover - arms dealer, drug dealer, crime lord, right? Fast cars with beautiful women drooling all over you...."

"Jim, you can't kill him." Blair quipped, pulling Jim back from the edge of his temper. "Too many witnesses here."

Anger draining slightly, Jim managed to dredge up a retort of his own. "I could do on the way to the limo, during the elevator ride. Brown and Rafe are going to relieve me; after putting up with him last night, they'd cover, no problem."

"Letting him ride along on the job might be better," Blair shot back. "He'd die from boredom inside of 15 minutes, tops. And luring him into doing it wouldn't be hard; he's seeing you as the prime example of all straight, white cops everywhere."

For a second Jim listened to the other man, and, nearly gagging, tuned him right back out again. "Not even John Wayne could live up to that."

Before Blair could answer, Pearson, realizing he'd lost his audience of one again, waved a hand in front of Jim's face. "You're supposed to be protecting me" he grumped, apparently forgetting for the second he was currently admiring Jim. "Not daydreaming."

Not bothering to look at him, Jim gave a sharp shake of his head. "If I'm listening to you, Pearson," he said bluntly, "I'm not hearing potential trouble. Or seeing it."

"Really?" Pearson peered around, apparently still taken with the idea of using Jim as a role model for his next part. "What sort of things do you look for? How do you know when something's a clue or just garbage? Any idea how to say it with body language for the camera?"

For Blair's ears, Jim murmured, "This guy is as observant as a gerbil."

"That's an insult to gerbils, Jim."

"I'll apologize to the next one I meet." Louder, not wanting to get Pearson started on one of his monologues, Jim said. "You hunt for what doesn't fit."

Slowly Pearson pivoted on his heel, trying hard to give the impression that he was studying the room. Wishing someone would come over and start a conversation with the actor to let him off the hook, Jim hid his irritation - again - and waited for Pearson's verdict. "Looks like any other fund-raiser I've been to. Lots of Aspen tans, big baubles, and plastic surgery."

"You have to go past that," Jim told him tiredly. "Look, this is old money, for the most part, right? Or people trying to fit in with it. They might be titillated to death that you're here, but they don't want to gush like star-struck bourgeois commoners. So they don't approach you directly or stare at you. They peek from the corners of their eyes, talk softly about anything but you unless they can find a way to fit you into the topic - which they do. They drift in your general direction, waiting to bump into you, or see someone they know talking to you, so as to give the impression meeting you is no big thing."

"Yeah, so?" Pearson had the air of waiting to be impressed, but not sure it was going to happen.

"So if you're getting stared at too hard, or the conversation is too intense, or someone is making a bee-line in your direction - for this time and place that's wrong."

Pearson swept the room with another look, this time really trying to pinpoint anything out of place. "Hey, what about him?" he said happily, pointing to someone in a corner by the wall. "The guy with the computer; shouldn't he be, like mingling and stuff?"

Following the actor's line of sight, Jim bit down a huge grin. Pearson had just targeted his partner. Grudgingly he admitted, "Good eye. But maybe he's only shy." A muffled laugh echoed in his ears, one electronically, one carrying through the room to his sensitive hearing. "Anything about him that would make you think he's your stalker?" The last was said to tease Sandburg, but Pearson answered it seriously.

"Well, he's obviously not gay. You can always tell, you know. Probably someone's brat whose daddy said be here or no allowance this month, and the laptop is his way of thumbing his nose at the old man. The hair and the earrings are part of the whole rebellion thing. Besides, babes go for that look, and he needs every angle he can get."

"On second thought," Blair mumbled for Jim, "can I help you hide the body?"

Ellison was spared replying when a very elegant and beautiful woman nonchalantly backed into him. He steadied her, but she apologized to Pearson, and he held back, relieved that she was occupying the celebrity. Minutes later he heard 'are you sure this is going to work' with too much tension and worry in the tones to be casual conversation, and eased his way into a position to spot the speaker.

It was a short man, slight and dusky, nervously fidgeting with his cuffs. Beside him was an equally agitated blonde male, about the same height but much stockier, and Blondie looked around the room in a mild panic. "Not so loud! Look, it's a sure thing. We pull the alarm, wait until the bodyguard is about to step on the elevator, and just shove David to one side and get lost in the rush with him. He might get a bit worried, but as soon as he realizes we only want to talk to him privately, just for a second, he'll be okay. We're his biggest fans and have been since his first film. He'll appreciate that we deserve a little special treat."

"Sandburg, are you still lurking in those chat rooms devoted to Mr. Personality here?" Jim asked softly, not taking his eyes off the pair.

"Yeah - the net announced about three minutes ago that the PD was moving him to his rooms at 1am. Seems the hairdresser to one of the secretaries to the mayor's aide is a big fan, and got the info from her customer." Blair sounded a trifle smug; it had been his idea to use the phenomenal following Pearson had online to keep track of what his fans were doing.

"Think they might be able to ID some guys who consider themselves his 'biggest fans' and have been involved in his following since the beginning? If I gave you a description? Don't know if they're the stalkers, but I heard them plan a false fire alarm. If we wait until they pull the alarm to stop them, somebody might get hurt in the stampede. If we have their names, we can remove them with a minimum of fuss on some pretense or another."

"Tell me what they look like and give me a few." Quickly Jim filled his partner in, hearing him talk into a cell to Simon and the other officers. When he picked up the tiny click of the keys from the laptop, Jim left matters in Sandburg's capable hands and went back to keeping one eye on his suspects and one on Pearson.

A half-hour later he saw Banks slip through the door of the ballroom, Brown and Rafe at his heels. The partners came to relieve him - finally - but Simon went to speak to Sandburg, bending over him to give them a modicum of privacy.

"The Captain wants to move you to another hotel, sir." Brown said calmly, his distaste for Pearson carefully masked. "We have reason to believe your stalkers may be planning to gain access to you in a few hours."

Alarmed, the actor spun around on his heels to confront Jim. "You knew something? And didn't tell me?!"

Sandburg chose that moment to cross the room to join them, Simon discretely tagging after to spot the suspects himself. Worriedly Pearson stepped closer to Jim's side, nodding at the anthropologist at he approached. "That guy we spotted earlier, he's coming over here. What did I miss? He can't be gay, he can't be a stalker, maybe he's a jealous spouse?"

Resisting the urge to smack the man away from him, Ellison satisfied himself with a disgruntled frown and put his hand on Sandburg's shoulder when he got close enough. Using the hold to guide the younger man toward him, he put space between him and Pearson. Calmly he asked, "Got those names for us?"

Nodding, Sandburg handed a slip of paper to Rafe. "Yes, and Simon told me to plant the rumor that accommodations were being changed - giving the wrong hotel and time. We have to move now, though. Word's probably already spreading through that mess downstairs."

"You're a cop!" Pearson blurted incredulously.

"One of the best," Brown said flatly, preventing Blair from fessing up. Firmly taking the star by one elbow as his partner did the same on the other side, he and Rafe half-dragged, half-urged Pearson into motion.

Throwing a thoroughly confused look over his shoulder, Pearson asked plaintively. "Vice?"

Having heard that particular guess too many times before, neither Jim nor Blair bothered to respond to it beyond a single negative shake. "My partner," Jim told him bluntly, bringing up the rear with Blair beside him.

Banks was waiting for them at the elevator, head up and alert for any interference, and the five of them stepped inside it. All of them took a deep breath of relief, then the captain leaned over to punch the stop button. "Already been cleared with hotel security," he told everyone, pointedly looking over Pearson's head. "We wait here a few to let the party-goers upstairs notice you're gone and tell whoever they're going to tell. And for the rumor to circulate well enough that people start to congregate at the decoy hotel."

"How many people know your plans?" The actor ruined a manicure chewing on a nail while staring at the floor.

"Those present," Banks told him shortly. "An improvised first strike seemed the way to go. The management at the new hotel has a reputation for handling surprises like you with aplomb; you'll be comfortable. And safe."

Leaning back on the wall, Ellison pragmatically settled in for the wait, automatically drawing Blair close to his side. Pearson caught the action out of the corner of his eye, and he screwed up his face in thought as if it were a rare and painful past time.

Off duty now, confident of Banks' ability to handle things, Jim gave into a spark of mischief and deliberately draped his arm over Sandburg's shoulder. His partner looked up at him quizzically, apparently catching the flash of humor Jim felt dart over his own lips. Grinning devilishly himself for a second, Blair snuggled into the crook of Jim's body, one hand going up to knead the back of his own neck.

"Stiff from bending over the laptop?" Jim asked solicitously, taking his cue effortlessly and watching Pearson's eyes get round.

"A bit," Blair admitted, slanting a sideways look at the other cops in the elevator with them. Brown was hiding a smile; Rafe wasn't bothering. Only Banks kept his face impassive, but he did roll up his eyes briefly in exasperation.

"Having your hair tied back so tight can't be helping." Nonchalantly Jim undid the tie holding Blair's ponytail in place, carding the ribbons of curls through his fingers and innocently enjoying the soft slither.

"MMMmmmm," Blair agreed, and bent his head to bare the nape of his neck.

Inwardly Jim laughed at the submissiveness of the gesture, knowing from his roomie's lectures that Pearson would pick up on the implied intimacy without understanding where it came from. Outwardly, he massaged the tight muscles with a thumb and forefinger, sincerely wishing to alleviate the stiffness he felt there.

"You guys coming over to our place for poker tomorrow?" Blair asked off-handedly, head still down. Only Jim could tell he was peeping through the fall of hair to enjoy the sight of the actor's jaw slowly migrating toward the floor.

"Only if you promise not to sit in on every hand and give the rest of us a chance to win once in a while," Rafe complained humorously.

"Aw, come on guys, all donations to the Sandburg Higher Education fund are extremely appreciated. You have any idea how expensive books are for a grad student?" Blair defended himself.

"Come on, Ellison," Brown joined in. "Do something with the kid, will ya?"

"Cut me in for a percentage of your winnings and I'll distract him with some footsie under the table." At Jim's words, Pearson's jaw snapped shut and he inched away from his protectors, giving them suspicious glares.

"Hey!" Both Rafe and Brown protested. "I got a wife and kids to feed." Brown went on as Rafe added, "Elizabeth and I have an anniversary coming up; give me break here, Ellison."

"Gotta fatten the pension up somehow, guys." Jim informed them blandly, barely keeping from breaking up at the sight of Pearson's dismayed and startled face. "It's not like Sandburg and I are going to have kids to sponge off when we get old, you know."

Checking his watch, Simon hit the restart on the elevator before asking, "You making that ostrich chili again, Sandburg? My son asked me to bring some home with me."

"Hadn't thought about it, but I could." Tilting his head back, Blair smiled his thanks for the neck rub, and tugged playfully at Jim's bow tie. "Allow me to return the favor, man. Those things are always too tight."

"Thanks, Chief." Jim lifted his chin to allow his partner easier access. "Next time I'll try a jeweled button like yours. We got all the ingredients for the chili?"

"No - mind stopping on the way home?"

"Need beer, too." Ellison eyed his friends mock ferociously. "These bums always drink up what they bring plus ours."

"Just remember to stay away from Conner's Aussie beer," Simon warned them. "Remember last time? I still haven't figured out how she and I wound up at the zoo."

Their mutual shudder of horror arrived at the same time as the ding of the elevator door, and Jim left with Blair in tow. They both waved a goodbye over their shoulders and peeled off from the others to head for the parking garage. Dragging a goggle-eyed, thoroughly bewildered Pearson with them, the rest of the party went to sneak out the employee entrance to a waiting car.

As soon as they were out of ear-shot, Blair started chuckling, then escalated into guffaws that had him staggering. "Did... did ... you see ... that ass's ... face?" he gasped.

Shaking with painful, chest-deep laughter, Jim nodded his head. "Can... always .... tell a faggot!"

By the time they reached the truck, both had to lean on the hood for a minute, unable to look at each other without breaking into fresh gales.

Finally Blair dried his eyes on the palms of his hands. "Man, that was worth starting up the rumor mill again. Wonder which one of us they'll think is gay this time?"

Opening the door for his partner, Jim shook his head once. "Your turn, this time, I think. But who on earth would believe Pearson after hearing all of us complain about him? Did you know Brown offered to work holidays for the next year to get out of guard duty?"

Climbing in and waiting until Jim was inside too, Blair answered, "Only because Rafe's been talking about punching him out. And I was thinking more about those two taking our little act seriously. Simon knows us better."

"Well, if they don't know better, too, all we have to do is wait for it to die down again. What killed the gossip off last time? You seeing Sam? Or fixing me up with that teacher of yours?"

Philosophically Sandburg shrugged. "Who knows? You're right; Rafe and Henri will know we were jerking Pearson's chain." He was quiet for a few blocks, then asked, "Wonder if they'd start it up again if I asked? I got more dates at the department when the women thought I was gay..."

"Didn't I tell you from the start to get dates on your own; not to use me?" Jim teased.

"Hey, I'm not using you, per se," Blair defended himself, "merely taking advantage of preconceived..."

"Enough Perry Mason, enough," Jim interrupted, grinning despite it. "Home to change first, then shop? We could drop off the monkey suits at the 24hr place and not have to worry about them."

"Too organized for me. Besides, think of how noticeable we'll be to the ladies at the store. And I still have to move my bed and stuff back into my room; those repairs on the fire escape should be done by now."

"Couch getting to you?"

"Hey, I'm not as young as I used to be!" He flashed a wicked grin at Jim's automatic grunt of reaction to the verbal dart. "Really, though, if I'm going to get the chili done - you doing that home-made salsa of yours? - and the room put back together, and my paper finished before everyone starts arriving tomorrow, I gotta scramble."

Jim spared a glimmer of pity for David Pearson who would probably never trust another man well enough to be part of the minutiae of a friend's life. Offering to help Sandburg with his chores, the cop listed his own and suggested how to dovetail them. Between their mutual ribbing and chore negotiations, they filled in the trip to the store and shopping.

Looking up from his end of the futon he and Blair were putting in place, Jim held up a warning hand to his room mate and a finger to his own lips to ask for quiet. Quickly he retrieved his gun and went to the door, standing to one side of it with Blair safely behind him. Two people with erratic, frantic heartbeats were coming up the hallway and he could smell blood. Underlying it was scent of cigars and expensive coffee and small groans of pain in a known voice.

One person was with Simon, Pearson if he wasn't mistaken, and he listened intently for a minute longer to make sure they were alone. "Banks," he informed Sandburg shortly and swung open the door to steady his captain as he stumbled across the threshold.

Pearson was doing his best to hold Banks up, but the other man's larger size and weight had them weaving.

"Oh my God," Blair breathed, then he was rushing for the first aid kit while Jim half carried his friend to the couch.

"Simon! Simon! Call the station?" Jim asked, knowing that if they were here instead of at a hospital, they were on the run. Sensitive fingers already examining the gash on Bank's head, he tilted his friend's face to check for pupil reaction.

"No, no, might be listening on scanners." The big man moaned. Answering Jim's unspoken question, he went on, "Someone must have followed us. Got to the hotel and had about half a dozen cars filled with fans converge on us." He took the ice pack Blair handed him and put it on his swollen lip. "Anyway, I kept him behind me while Rafe and Brown held the bulk of them off. Nabbed a civilian car from the valet, shoved Pearson in, and damn near ran some of them down getting away."

"He insisted on coming here because he didn't think any hotel would be safe." Pearson said glumly.

"He's probably right about that," Jim said shortly. "No concussion, Simon, that I can feel. Hurt anywhere else?"

Finally relaxing back onto the couch, Banks sighed. "Just my professional dignity. Amateurs tailed me!" Spotting Blair kneeling beside him with a bowl of water, he said, "You don't have to do that, Sandburg."

"Oh, hold still and let me get this blood cleaned up before you stain the furniture. I'm the one who'll have to listen to Jim bitch about it." Sponging gingerly, Blair cleaned the captain's face, deftly avoiding Jim's work on disinfecting and cleaning the cut.

"Spend the night here, sir," Jim ordered softly, putting the butterfly bandages into place. "It's late, and it'll be easier to throw together an escort team tomorrow at the office, during regular hours. I'll be able to keep an eye on you, too, and make sure this is as superficial as I think it is."

"We can put Pearson in my room," Blair volunteered. "And you've slept on the couch here before; it's not that bad."

"If I didn't have the mother of all headaches, gentlemen," Simon glared, "I wouldn't let you get away with railroading me like this. You just don't want to go back on duty tonight."

"Busted," Blair said cheerfully.

"Hey! Don't I get some say so in all this!?" Pearson burst out. "Isn't anybody going to ask if I'm hurt? Or if I want to stay in this, this..."

Standing and drawing himself up to his full height, Jim pinned the actor with a laser sharp look. "This is my home and you're my guest, however reluctantly on both parts. Mind your manners or I'll do it for you. If you don't like the accommodations, feel free to leave!" He spoke slowly, coldly. "As for being hurt, I don't doubt for a second that if you had so much as a hangnail you would have been crying about it. Loudly." With each frozen word he seemed to loom larger and larger over the man, making Pearson look more and more like a cranky child ready to have a tantrum.

Abruptly, hearing Blair's barely whispered, "Easy, man, easy. Jerk or not, it's not his fault Simon's hurt," Jim turned on his heel and began putting away the medical supplies. "Who should we call to let know you're safe?"

Tiredly Pearson sank on the other end of the couch, staring dully into the fire. "My agent, I guess. Personal business manager." Absently he patted his pocket and took out a cell phone. "I'll take care of it."

"Be sure you don't tell him exactly where you are," Banks said sharply. "And Jim, you'd better at least let the department know we've got matters in hand. You don't have to be specific with details."

Making a face, Pearson hit the speed dial on the phone and began to murmur indistinctly. At Jim's cocked head, obviously listening to the conversation, Simon nodded in satisfaction and toed off his shoes, putting his head on the back of the sofa.

"I'll find a change for both of you, and get some towels and stuff so you can clean up." Blair gathered together the things he'd used, and went into the bath. "Jim, can you put together bedding?"

In very short order, everyone was settled down for the night, and Jim was laying in his bed, double checking with his senses on both his guests and the perimeter of his home. Taking off his slippers, Blair sat sideways on the other side of the bed, a half-smile lighting his face as he studied his partner.

"You know," he said, "No matter how many times I see you do that, I always think 'wow.'"

Finding nothing amiss, Jim let his eyelids drift down and said through a yawn, "Come on, Chief, you know more about what I can do than I do most of the time."

All that does is give me a better appreciation of it, man. Besides, it's not just the sentinel stuff." Lifting the blankets, Blair shrugged out of his robe, and, wearing tank top and boxers, slid into bed, reaching to turn the light out as he did.

After the smaller man had bounced around a bit, getting himself comfortable in the big bed, Jim asked sleepily. "What are you talking about, Sandburg?"

"It's the whole package. Despising Pearson; but still protecting him. Instantly becoming a medic to help Simon. Being polite to a civilian knocked down by the suspect you're chasing. Ignoring the book and doing what's right when you have to. Even this."

In the near black of the bedroom, Jim saw Blair wave at the bed. Looking at the area, he saw nothing to worth commenting on, and turned on his side, facing away from the other man. "What about this?" he mumbled. "It's not like we haven't shared a bed before on stakeout or camping or whatever."

"Yeah, but we never had a bigot right downstairs, either. It's not like we have witnesses to let anyone with a dirty mind know that it's perfectly innocent," Blair pointed out, sounding indecently awake.

"I don't care what other people think; you should know that by now."

"That's another thing, Jim. I have never known anybody more at home in his own skin. More at ease with his own beliefs. His own morality. His own sexuality. The rumors about us or the digs at your sexual preferences to try to get to you - they all just run right off you."

Maybe it was the half-forgotten memories of sharing childhood confidences with Stevie, or maybe it was the implied intimacy of a darkened bedroom. Either way, Jim found himself saying honestly, "It's not like I had much choice but to get a pretty clear idea of who I was. Even with the memories of being a freak suppressed, I had to know who I was to keep my old man from making me what he wanted me to be. Thought I should be.

"Same with the army, even the department to an extent. If you don't have a handle on who you are, they make you over into their image, leaving nothing behind."

Fidgeting some more, Blair snuggled under the blankets, half burying his head under them. "Man, am I ever grateful to Mom for not trying to create me in society's image of who I should be. She let me make up my own mind about things, making sure that I saw enough to make good decisions."

Blair was quiet for a moment, his breath finally beginning to level out for rest, then asked. "Does that mean you, like, decided you weren't going to be a racist or a chauvinist or whatever?"

"Mmmmhmmmm. Didn't really think about it, though. Just did it."

"So you were just straight when a guy made a pass at you, just weren't a racist when you had to work with a black person, like that."

"Something like that," Jim agreed muzzily. "’Cept I fooled around with a guy a couple of times before deciding I preferred girls."

"WHAT!" Blair shot up in bed, dragging the blankets off both of them, and Jim irritably grabbed for his share.

"Christ, Sandburg. It's not exactly a confession to being an ax murderer." Jim tugged at the covers, and tried to get comfortable again. "Like you never messed around with boys your own age, trying to figure out what sex was all about."

"Naomi," Blair muttered darkly.

"Relax. Half the men in the country did that sort of thing when they were a kid. If it made them gay, we'd be at zero population growth. Like she told you at the time, it's only natural curiosity being satisfied in the company of people you trust, your peer group." Half a second later, waiting until Blair's heartbeat had resumed it's normal rate, he added, "She also told me about you talking Katherine Lindsay into playing doctor with you, and deciding it was much more fun."

"I have got to have a talk with her about my privacy," Blair grumbled, but Jim could see his smile. Quiet crept over the room, then he said softly, "There wasn't anyone around to tell you that it was normal, was there, Jim?"

Knowing his partner would feel the shrug, Jim did so. "Figured it out on my own."

"You shouldn't have had to."

Again Jim shrugged, and didn't bother to hide his resignation from his very perceptive Shaman. "That was then; this is now, and now is where I live. Thanks to you and Simon, the people I love, my life isn't half bad, and I'm not going to complain."

More silence, then Blair whispered, "You say that so easily. That you love us. Me. Wish I could."

Hearing unexpected pain in his companion's voice, Jim turned to face him, tugging down the edge of the comforter to be able to see Blair's face. "Why can't you, Chief? I don't doubt that you do."

Uncertainly, his roommate squirmed down, trying to hide again. "I guess it's because I doubt it."

That left Jim floundering mentally, not an uncommon condition when dealing with the lightning-quick thought processes of his partner. "You don't know if you love your friends," he said carefully, trying to reconcile this odd belief with the image of Blair's devotion to those people close to him.

"It's not like I don't feel anything for them, man." Blair told him, head popping out finally. "I mean, I care what happens to them, and want to hang out and stuff like that. It's no problem to give a helping hand or to enjoy their company, but..." He trailed off uncertainly and Jim waited patiently while his companion sifted through his mind for the right words. "If I fall out of touch, it doesn't bother me. If I think about it at all, I assume they're okay and happy in their lives. Having one leave is no big deal, and it's not hard to say goodbye if I'm the one going. That doesn't sound to me like what people describe as love."

"Chief, I've seen you hurt for them, grieve with them, grieve for them. And don't dismiss it as the whole 'love humanity' thing, either. Roy's death was personal to you; Janet's death was personal to you."

Shifting uneasily, Blair asked, "Is that how to define love; by pain? The more it hurts, the more important you are to me?"

Distantly thinking that it was much too late and he was much too tired for this conversation, Jim simply shook his head. Reflectively, he said very slowly, "Isn't that how all life is defined? By pain or lack thereof? You look for a job that gives you pleasure, or at least doesn't hurt intolerably. A town or home that you're comfortable in, a hobby that allows you to escape your pain."

Suddenly impatient with the solemnity of the conversation, Jim brushed at the air as if to knock away the topic. "Look, we're seriously getting into duck territory here," he said lightly, flopping onto his back.

"Duck territory?"

"As in, if it looks like, walks like..."

"Quacks like," Blair chimed in. "Then it's a duck. If you feel that I love you, then I must because you wouldn't feel that way. Circular reasoning, Jim," he laughed.

"What do you expect at this hour of the morning? E=mc2?" Jim playfully grumped.

"Well, something better than duck analogies, anyway. 'Quack' means I love you."

"So 'quack' already and go to sleep, Sandburg. Chances are good we won't be able to sleep in like we planned."

An unmistakable titter came from the lump of blankets next to him. It was much too young a sound for his partner to have made, and made Jim grin foolishly. "Quack to you, too." Blair told him seriously, then ruined the effect by snickering.

There was a moment of silence, but the bed gave off miniature quakes that Jim didn't need his sentinel senses to feel. "Okay, what's so funny?" He asked flatly, as if interrogating a prisoner, guessing it would set his bed-mate off worse. Sandburg never took him seriously when he did the cop thing on him.

With a muffled howl, Blair began to laugh outright. For no other reason than that, Jim laughed, too, nearly asphyxiating himself when Blair gasped out, "Joe Friday - quack, ma'am," trying to imitate the TV detective's deadpan delivery.

"Bela Lagosi, as Dracula," Jim choked out in a bad Rumanian accent, "Qvack, my beauty."

"Oh,oh,oh,oh,oh - help!" Blair forced out in a falsetto, "Zsa Zsa Gabor, Quack, darling."

Pulling a pillow over his face, Jim howled into it, feebly swatting at Sandburg to make him shut up. It wasn't the ineffectual blows that did it, though; it was the need to breathe, and Blair slid completely under the blankets to kill some of the noise.

With Herculean effort, Jim sobered himself up, automatically scanning the loft again, hitches from his lungs making it more difficult than usual. Beside him, Sandburg also wrestled his hilarity down to reasonable proportions, though he randomly pounded on the bed to defeat renewed outbreaks.

Before both of them had fully recovered though, Simon shouted up from the couch, "Oh, for chrissakes! Some of us are trying to sleep here, people."

Without consulting each other, Jim and Blair simultaneously scooted up to peer over the railing and chorused, "And Quack to you, too, Simon!" Together they dived under the comforter, quickly burying their hysterics in the mattress.

By the time he had himself back under control, Jim was half asleep again, relishing the languor of a good laugh and the humid coziness of having his head under the blankets like a five-year-old. Beside him, Blair had un-selfconsciously cuddled in close, head pillowed on one bent arm. There was still a hint of a smile on his face and his hair was tumbled around, making him look like a five year old.

That was a good image to sleep on, Jim decided, and after a last check on his Guide's vital signs, he sighed deeply and shut his eyes. Poised on the edge of sleep, he almost didn't respond when Blair murmured, "Jim? How do you know when you're in love, then?"

Off guard, barriers down, Jim looked at the question seriously and realized he didn't have a clue how to answer it. Or, more accurately, how to answer it for his generous, big-hearted friend. Tumbling words around to see if they fit, he answered silently to himself. //Thinking of someone else's needs before your own? That practically defined the younger man's personality. When you're willing to die for someone? No, Blair would do that for a total stranger, if need be. When you hurt worse than them when they're in pain? For his Shaman, that was almost a given to any person whose name he even learned. When you break all your rules for them? As if Sandburg had any hard and set rules.//

//Well, maybe if I tell him how I know I'm in love.// And he rolled around the images, feelings, and needs that he associated with the word, becoming more and more calm, centered and sure of himself as he saw that for each and every one, Blair's name was already attached.

He was in love with his friend, and had been all along, but had not known it because he hadn't ever thought beyond the word 'friend.'

The peace he felt at the revelation was complete, if somewhat overwhelming, and because of that he almost missed Blair's slightly wistful, "Wonder how it feels?"

With a certainty he'd never felt before, Jim whispered, "Like this," and gently kissed his Guide full on the lips.

There was no thought of sexual passion or possession or demands. There was only soft flesh stroking moistly over soft flesh, tenderly speaking of trust, respect, honor, security, cherishing, honesty, companionship. It went on for a long, sweet, dreamy time; the only point of contact between them. The only one needed.

With a nuzzle of his nose onto Blair's, Jim drew slowly away, his mouth clinging silkily. "Blair?" he whispered, not quite worried.

His partner opened dazed eyes, happy eyes, and smiled. "Oh! Like that." Lifting his face for another kiss, he waited, apparently willing to let Jim be the guide for now.

Sighing again, Jim carefully gathered him close and for an awkward moment they had to find places to fit elbows and knees. There was an unpleasant second when the smaller man's heavy beard scraped at the sensitive skin of Jim's neck, then they found their fit. Cupping the back of Blair's head, Jim at last took the offered mouth, using the tip of his tongue to learn the outline, the shape of it.

When a noticeable shiver ran through his companion, he slowly broke it off again, tucking Blair's head into the curve of his neck and holding him there. He listened as his Shaman made a contented, sleepy noise and slipped away into slumber. Pulling the comforter down so that he could see if needed, Jim soon happily followed suit.

Gun safety off, leaning protectively over his partner, Jim snapped open his eyes as he took aim at the chest of the intruder in his bedroom. Even as he blinked, recognizing the startled yelp and jump from Pearson, Blair's sturdy hand covered his wrist. "Easy, man. You promised me you wouldn't shoot any more houseguests," the smaller man mumbled drowsily.

Throwing a scowl at the actor, Jim put the safety back on, then tucked the blankets around Blair's shoulders with his free hand. "Thought that only applied to the ones that stayed downstairs?"

"All of em, babe. All of 'em." Rolling to pin the covers securely around himself, Blair yawned and made as if to go back to sleep.

"What do you want?" Jim barked at Pearson, who was listening to them and nervously waffling about whether or not to leave.

"My... my arm," the blonde man stuttered. "Wanted some ibuprofen or something ‘cause it hurts."

Reluctantly Jim did his duty and got out of bed, pulling on his robe over his boxers, hiding his gun in the pocket. "Think it's from the mob earlier? When did it start?"

Miserably Pearson gave a half shrug. "Maybe. I dropped off like a log soon as I got to bed, but it woke me up a while ago. Now I can't get back to sleep because of it." At Jim's gesture, he preceded the cop down the stairs. "You don't have to get up; just tell me where you keep the aspirin or whatever."

" We don't keep it around. I have drug sensitivities and Sandburg prefers holistic methods. Wait there a minute and I'll check you out." Pointing to the kitchen, Jim saw Pearson on his way then padded silently over to Bank's bundled form. Quickly he checked his captain's injuries and pried up his eyelids to double check for signs of concussion. With a satisfied nod, he joined Pearson and turned on the light over the sink.

"Slip your shirt off enough for me to check where it hurts," he ordered quietly. At the other man's hesitation, Jim snorted. "Want me to wake Banks as a chaperone?"

"No, it's not that," Pearson assured him hastily. "It's just that, well, I don't want you to think I'm wussing out here or anything. It's probably only a bump or bruise; no big deal."

"Look, that crack earlier about you crying like a baby was out of line. If you're hurt, you need to be treated. If real men didn't believe that, then the Rangers wouldn't have trained me to be a medic, now would they?" At Pearson's relieved look, Jim ordered gently, "Now tell me where it hurts."

Tugging down his shirt, the actor rotated his shoulder gingerly, wincing as he did. "Sorta all inside, you know?"

"Aching or burning?" Jim asked absently, long fingers probing the muscles on all sides.

"Aching."

"Hmmm. Raise your arm, slowly." Concentrating on the information from his fingertips, being as gentle as possible, Jim noticed a surprised look on Pearson's face but didn't feel the need to comment. "I don't feel any tears or knots that could be a blood clot. Probably..."

"I didn't know it could be like that," Pearson blurted, his words coming from nowhere as far as Jim was concerned.

"What, mobs?" Puzzled, Jim drew the shirt into place and stood back to stare at him. Reaching into the freezer, he took out a bag of peas, reminded himself to throw it away after, and handed it to Pearson, miming using it as an ice pack.

"Being gay. You and Sandburg, cuddling. Uh, tender. You know, that it could be loving," the slender man mumbled, not meeting Jim's eyes and doing as indicated.

Scrubbing his face, Jim groused, "It is not part of my job to raise your consciousness, Pearson. Your mis-conceptions are your own."

"Then relationships like yours are pretty rare."

Resigned to the role of teacher, Jim leaned back onto the kitchen counter. "What Blair and I have is beyond rare, but that would be true even if one of us were female.

"Look, being gay isn't all leatherbars, bath houses and tea rooms any more than being straight is all singles bars, health clubs and whorehouses. Or are you really one of those men who think the only thing a woman is good for is to stick your dick in her?"

A bit defensively, Pearson tried to joke, "Hey, all the ones I know, anyway."

"Pearson, I feel sorry for you, walking around blind, missing out on some of the best stuff in life. Love with a committed, tender, passionate, giving partner. Good friends, neighbors, co-workers or bosses whose skin doesn't happen to be European white. Or who happen to worship someplace besides a church and are as devout and decent a human being as anybody else."

Looking very ashamed, Pearson muttered, "I know its not very PC. And I don't really believe all that crap about blacks or Jews being lesser or anything." Shifting the make-shift ice pack & making a face, he confessed. "And I don't treat them that way, either, I swear. It's just, just, ah hell, I wanted the cops to want to protect me instead of having to, and I thought those kinds of jokes would, you know, help that along. Give us common ground."

Mentally apologizing to all gerbils, this guy was obviously less observant than anything with a nervous system, Jim said sternly, "Thinking all cops are supremacists is another stereotype, but we are not even going get into that, okay? And what difference does it make if we like you or not? We'd still do the job. Have been doing it."

Uneasily, Pearson shuffled in place, embarrassed and unhappy. "Well, that last part I did and the men stalking me... damnit, I didn't want you to think I was gay ‘cause I've heard how bad cops can be on fags."

Rolling his eyes up into his head, Jim pushed down an irritated moan and tried to kill any stereotypes he had of brainless blonde stars. "You could have waited first to see how we handled things instead of just jumping to conclusions. Besides, with the kind of celebrity punch you're packing right now, you could be Saddam Hussein and still get top service from the politicos."

The actor took a deep breath, stood very straight and looked Jim in the eye for the first time since they came downstairs. "Okay. Okay. You're right. I jumped to some conclusions, acted like an ass because of them, and managed to get in your bad books. What do I do to make up for it?"

"Be yourself. Let me and or any other officer see what kind of person you really are. First impressions are hard to undo, but if you mean it, that's the only way to go." Jim said shortly.

"That I can do," Pearson said, enthusiasm warming his voice. "I'm really a very likeable person." He looked away for a second, the turned back, flashing the trademark smile that earned him multi-million dollar roles. "A very likeable person, Jim."

Astonished and suspicious at the actor's sultriness, Jim blinked and put more space between them. "I'm willing to take your word on that, Pearson."

"I'd rather show you, if you'd let me. I'm not only very likeable, I'm very grateful to you for putting up with me, straightening me out."

"A thank you will do," Jim said warily.

"That's not nearly enough; come on, Jim. Everybody's been trying to take a piece of me. It'd be nice to give it to somebody who deserves it. And only an idiot wouldn't notice what a stud you are. I've always thought the sex must be fantastic if it's worth being treated like shit over, and I think you could make it really good for me. We'd both be winning. You'd get to chalk up a celebrity fuck and I'd get my curiosity satisfied without worrying about the scandal rags." Pearson cajoled, swaying suggestively toward Jim.

For a moment Jim was dumbstruck, then he ground out incredulously, "You're making at a pass at me? In my own home, my partner sleeping upstairs, and you're expecting me to knock boots with you? Didn't you hear a word I said about how it is with Blair and me?"

Inching closer, hands lifting, aiming for the cop's face, Pearson cooed, "Jim..."

He got no further than that because Blair locked hard fists in his shirt and hauled him backwards. "Don't even dream of it, Pearson," he said flatly. With a shove Sandburg sent the actor toward the bedroom. "Bed. Now."

Face inscrutable, eyes hooded, Blair moved to stand in front of Jim, arms crossed, and waited. At their uncompromising stance, Pearson fled for the relative safety of closed doors, leaving the stench of fear/arousal/humiliation in his wake. At the sound of the door shutting and the lock engaging, Jim relaxed and grunted. "I cannot believe that smug, self-centered..."

"You, too," Blair interrupted softly. "I'll be up as soon as I finish down here."

Still fuming and not sure he wouldn't lose it, Jim squeezed his partner's shoulder and did as he was told. Unconsciously he tracked Blair by sound to the bathroom - hopefully the reason he was up to begin with - as he took a few minutes to straighten out the rumpled bedding.

By the time his room mate had finished downstairs and hurried back up to the big bed, Jim had the bed cozy and warm and was beginning to feel mellow again. He held up the edge of the sheets for Blair, and the smaller man arrowed under them, coming to rest against Jim in the exact same position they had been in before Pearson had awakened them.

"Now, where were we?" he murmured, snuggling deliciously.

"Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr," Jim purred playfully, rubbing his face over Blair's locks.

"Oh, yeah - there," his partner agreed as playfully. "Man, you are so warm. Can I spend the rest of winter here?"

"Sounds good." Deliberately taking several deep breaths and releasing them, Jim gave a squeeze and brought up Pearson to dispose of him as quickly as possible. "Thanks for stopping him, Chief. I really don't know what I would have done if he'd touched me."

His partner was quiet for so long, Jim mentally played back his words, wondering if he'd said something wrong. "Chief," he began.

"I didn't do it to stop you," Blair admitted. "I did it because I couldn't stand the idea of him laying a hand on you." With a twitch and push, he put Jim on his back and rose over the big cop, putting his weight on his hands and knees. Bending so that his hair fell around Jim's face, he went on. "I don't have a word for what I felt. Not protective, not exactly, or possessive really, and not jealous, I swear. I trust you too much for that gig, man. More like... like, he was going to profane something sacred, as pompous as that sounds."

Loving the intimacy of the silken shroud enclosing them, Jim languidly stroked Blair's curls and murmured, "I know that feeling, believe me." Understanding dawned in the beautiful eyes watching him, unintentionally encouraging him to reveal, "It's kinda nice being on the receiving end for a change, Chief."

"Really?" Blair brightened almost to the point where Jim wondered if he should dial down his sight. His partner was quiet a minute, thinking, then grinned wider. "Good, ‘cause I liked it. Just like I like this."

With that, Blair slowly lowered his head to brush his mouth over his new lover's. He paused, tasted his own lips, then returned to Jim's, lingering this time. With a polite little tap to the bow to the soft lips, Blair asked for permission, and, grabbing onto his dials with everything he had, Jim granted it.

With grave courtesy, Blair barely slipped in, letting Jim adjust to the shock of taste and texture. Breath stopping in his lungs at the impact of only that much, Jim savored the unique feel of the hesitant visitor. Shyly his own tongue reached out to encourage it, then all caution was forgotten as the two met, joined, and were mated for the first time.

Slowly, lovingly Blair let the kiss wander around the warm cavern of his lover's mouth, simply getting to know the terrain. Passively, Jim opened to him, finding a unexpected thrill in yielding to the smaller man's attentions. Finally, as gradually as he had begun, Blair broke off the caress, and lifted his head enough to stare into Jim's face.

"I stand corrected. I don't like doing that; I love it," he sighed. Intelligent, inquisitive fingers stroked the smile lines around Jim's mouth and eyes. "And I love what it does to you. You actually lost your cop look there for a second.

A soft chuckle escaped, but Jim said in his best stoic drone, "I like it too, Sandburg, but don't let it go to your head."

Waggling his eyebrows, Blair answered, "Are you accusing me of having a swollen head, Ellison?"

With a gentle shove up, Jim grinned back his answer. "One of them is, at least."

"Smart ass." Blair accused.

"Not yet, but soon I hope."

Lowering his forehead to touch Jim's, Blair chuckled long and low. "Quack," he said at last.

"Quack, quack, quack," Jim repeated, dropping tickling kisses on Blair's nose, cheeks, chin, and then onto the acutely sensitive neck of the smaller man. Squirming, trying not to laugh, Blair wrestled with his lover, getting the upper hand only because he was on top already. They tumbled around the bed, tickling, laughing and quacking until a pillow smacked both of them.

Sounding fuzzy, grumpy, tired and amused, Simon barked, "Did you two know that it's duck hunting season?!"