Well, we did it. Tommy Yuan was in on the whole thing. He was killed and several of his "Crew" were arrested, but not after a hell of a chase and fight to get them. Working together, Sheila, Blair and I, over breakfast in the loft, figured out that the Widow Marten was also the ex-Mrs. Brooks, one of the "Crew" members. She married Marten six months after divorcing Brooks. We tracked her to a cabin out in the country, where we found her dead. She'd been dead for some time, too. That explains why nobody could contact her. Then Brooks and Yuan jumped us. Their helicopter pilot, a maintenance man who had fueled the chopper and taken it out without reporting it, was ready and waiting with the chopper. They took Sheila with them at gunpoint after Brooks knocked me out in the woods. Thank God I'd sent Blair back down the road into cell range to call for help, or he'd probably have been kidnapped too, or worse, killed. His coaching paid off, too, because one of my earplugs got busted, forcing me to rely on my own control, which worked. I was so grateful I let him know it right then and there when he showed up with Simon and a unit of uniforms. The smile on his face when we slapped hands ... God. I haven't felt like that in ages. It's a good feeling. Well, Fuentes, the Captain of the helicopter division, he came and got me, Simon, and Blair. We had an extensive helicopter chase over most of the city and bay, but eventually we got close enough for me to take out Yuan with a couple of shots while he was trying to push Sheila out to her death. She took control of Yuan's gun and forced the pilot to land in the maintenance yard, where he was arrested and an ambulance was waiting for Yuan and Sheila. Paramedics checked her out, but she was fine, just shaky. Yuan didn't need it; I nailed him good. He's dead. Blair threw up, though, once we set down on firm land again. He was great, putting aside his fear and nausea to help me track those clowns. I handled him with care while he was being sick; it was the least I could do. Hitched a ride with a uniform to get him home so he could rest - I wouldn't let him argue about it - and then the officer took me back to the station. Another one from up in the country brought back my Explorer, whom Blair had given the keys to, so that was good. When Blair showed up later that evening, I told him what all we had learned. That there were no offshore accounts; they put the drugs into cold storage. They planned that when they retired, they'd sell off the drugs, split the money, then go their separate ways. Didn't work, though, since we were on to them and nailed them. It was funny, though, that Blair told Simon that Sheila and I had a thing going. They'd made a bet, but she showed up at the station in an evening dress, towing another guy along. We hugged - she gives great hugs, by the way - and Simon started to hand Blair a dollar bill, but when she introduced her fiancé, Stan Roberts, Blair had to pay up instead. He complained about needing them for books, but he did it with relative good grace. That oughtta teach the boy about sticking his nose into things he doesn't understand. But I doubt it will.

"Hey! When you stay out all night with a woman who looks like she does ... what the hell was I supposed to think, huh?" Blair grumbled.

May 29, 1997

Damn, that was good. Just what I needed. Had a "date" with the lovely Linda Grant this evening. She was subtle in letting me know that she didn't have time for anything permanent or serious, considering her profession. We admitted we were attracted to each other physically, as well as finding each other entertaining, and so we went back to her place tonight to play "Doctor."

Blair paused, biting his lip. He wasn't sure he wanted to read about it. Never mind being mildly jealous, but he didn't want to be too awfully excited, either. Gasping as he felt an insistent throbbing coming from his groin, he looked down to see that his cock had become erect again. "Guess that settles that," he grumbled. "Might as well and then I can jerk off later. Especially if I can find out what he likes..."

That's one hot lady. Turns out she likes it sensual with a bit of nasty on the side. We kissed the entire time we undressed each other and then got in bed. She went down on me first, but I made her hold off after only a few strokes. I was too primed to last long with that. So I took the initiative. She did stroke and pet my neck and played with my hair; I do love that. And what she did with my nipples ... damn! But I stroked and touched her all over, sucked on her breasts, and then I went down on her. Made her come first by licking her and then she demanded that I enter her. So I did. She wanted it fast and rough, so I did that, too. Pounded into her and damn near lost my mind. She was so hot and wet and tight ... and she knew lots about fucking. Being a doctor must come in handy; she knew all the right moves. All in all, I brought her off six times and achieved four orgasms of my own. For a guy who's 39-years-old, that is not bad at all. She gave me a treat, too. My final orgasm was when she brought me off with her mouth, but she also used lubricant on her fingers to give me "one hell of a prostate exam", as she put it. And she did. Sucked me off while slipping a couple of fingers inside me and stroking my prostate; I passed out when I came from that. It was so damned intense. I suppose that's what it would be like if I ever got together with Blair and he came inside me. At least now I know I can handle having someone in my ass. Hell, for a reward like that one, I'd bend over for the rest of my life, if Blair would have me. I suppose I could go looking for male sex partners, but I don't really want to. I only want Blair.

"It's a damn good thing you do, too!" Sandburg snapped and then he threw down the journal and jumped up from the couch. He went into the bathroom and stripped off, then climbed into the shower. Set the water to the temperature he liked and closed his eyes as he gripped his cock. It didn't take long; a fantasy of Jim pressing him up against the wall, going down on him, and then bending over for him did it. Blair howled as he came and as he collapsed against the wall, panting, he gasped out, "Mine, Jim ... you're mine."

Fifteen minutes later, he finished in the bathroom and came out, re-dressed in his sleeping clothes, and went back out to the living room. Seeing that it was almost midnight, he decided he'd had enough for one evening. He put everything away - dishes he left in the sink - and turned out all the lights. He checked the locks and then went to bed, leaving the journal sitting safely on his desk.

******

Blair grinned as he entered the loft. Finally, another long day was over with and he could spend the evening further exploring Jim's inner thoughts after having spent most of it doing his paperwork at the station. He took his partner's dry cleaning upstairs and carefully put it away, then headed back down and into the kitchen to fix dinner and tea. He let the answering machine play its messages, but there was nothing from Jim, which disappointed him. When everything was set to his satisfaction, he curled up on the couch with the journal, grinning with anticipation. He read through the next few months, bypassing any entry in which Jim described one of his casual liaisons with the many women he went out with, until he got to the entry detailing Jim's capture by his old colonel, Norman Oliver.

September 22, 1997

I was supposed to go fishing with Blair for the weekend, but that plan got sidetracked. A man who used to be a member of my unit, Sam Holland, came to Cascade to warn me about our former Colonel. Sam was supposed to go with me to Peru; he got "sick" at the last minute and was pulled, another guy taking his place. That man died needlessly. Sam's been working for Oliver ever since they both left the Army, down in Florida. But the morning I was supposed to head out with Blair, he called and asked me to meet him. Against my better judgement, I agreed. I was knocked out with a tranq-dart and operatives from his own agency killed Sam. I was taken prisoner, held in a room with a woman who was supposedly an innocent bystander, a secretary. She was roughed up and in near hysterics, so I had no reason to doubt her. She betrayed my trust when I sprung us out of there, however, and revealed herself to be a plant. She was supposed to find out how much Sam had told me, but since he was killed before he could say anything, there was no point in continuing the ruse. I was re-captured and got to meet ol' Crackshot Oliver face to face for a little while. We "chatted" and he told me about Ben Chavez, the D.E.A. agent who had fingered the group of rogue CIA agents who worked for the Cali Cartel and got his own cover blown. Being the expert sniper that he was, and knowing when he'd have a chance to pick off Chavez in the low-profile motorcade, Oliver bragged about it and then used a sedative on me to keep me knocked out. I'd be found with the rifle that would have killed Chavez, had his plan worked. I used a rusty nail, though, to keep myself awake and to let my blood flow so I wouldn't get the full effect of the sedative. Fought it out with Oliver's goon who was in the elevator with me and then high-tailed it up to the roof. I fought with Oliver and finally managed to throw him over the edge of the roof. He hit the minivan that Harley and Tanya were in and died instantly just before bouncing off and landing in the street. They tried to leave, but the cavalry arrived in the form of the Cascade PD, Simon Banks, and my Blair. Fighting the effects of the drug, still, I locked onto that heartbeat that I love so much. Somehow, he knew where to look. He spotted me, then interrupted Simon while he was yelling at Tanya. Blair yelled for the captain and they both looked up at me then and the relief in their gazes felt good. It let me know that somebody would care if I died.

"Well, of course we would, man," Blair said softly to the journal. "I'm not the only one who cares about you, you numbskull."

I found out later that after I'd been kidnapped, two agents had gone to the loft and shot at Blair, but he managed to escape. God, I wanted to kill Oliver all over again for that. I wanted to kill the operatives that did the shooting, but apparently, Simon killed one himself and I wasn't allowed near Harley. See, the other operative had been tailing Simon and Blair - the two of them teamed up to try to find me - and when he was cornered by Simon and a few patrol units, the operative had waited until he'd seen Blair. Thank God the kid can duck fast; his forehead would've been perforated by two bullets if he couldn't. Simon admitted he thought he was going to have a heart attack when he turned and saw the holes in his windshield and Blair still crouched over. Said he had no idea what he was going to do if I'd been found alive only to be told that Blair had been killed. I think my expression frightened him a little; I know it must've been bad. Blair Sandburg being hurt or killed because of something having to do with me is my worst nightmare. I know that if it ever happens, I will never, ever forgive whatever is the cause of it. I can only hope and pray that it never does happen. According to everyone I've heard from about it, though, Simon and Blair made a good team trying to find me. They pooled their resources and worked together very well. Of course, earlier today, they had a rather vociferous difference of opinion - mainly on Simon's behalf - as I was leaving to go give yet another statement to the Feds. Simon chose that moment to go into his office after issuing a scathing comment to my partner. I was standing by the elevators when that happened; I think I was the only one to notice the "kicked puppy" expression on Blair's face. He sat down at my desk and bent his head, using his hair to hide it. That pissed me off; I knew for a fact that Blair had been almost crazy with worry over me while I'd been missing - he told me so, repeatedly; he even hugged the daylights out of me after the hospital released me - and he didn't deserve that kind of sniping. But there wasn't much I could do. I did, however, bring home his favorite Chinese dishes as a special treat, along with my own favorites. And I relaxed the house rules so we could sit together on the sofa. That was wonderful for me; because we did sit together. I mean, side by side, sharing our dinner. It was all above-board, but I'm wondering if I shouldn't get myself kidnapped more often if it means a pseudo-snuggle with my partner.

"Not on your life, Jim!" Blair yelled, then polished off his dinner, which he'd been eating steadily while reading. He got up to put the dishes in the sink and this time he fixed himself a pot of hot cocoa; the real stuff, not instant. When it was finally done, he snuggled into the sofa again, and began reading. He skimmed through the next few weeks until he got to the second week of October and shivered, because the entries were about the time he'd been trapped on an elevator with a few dozen other people while a madman who called himself Galileo threatened to kill them all, and would have, if Jim hadn't stopped him. And if Blair himself hadn't helped get them out of that jam.

October 13, 1997

What is it about Blair and attracting weirdo psychopaths the way he does?

"Hey!"

Today definitely added a few gray hairs to my thinning scalp and possibly a mild heart attack. Blair stopped off at the Wilkenson Tower to get a Chinese artifact appraised. While he was there, some nutcase who called himself Galileo - talk about egotism - but was in actuality named Frank Rachins, hacked into the power system and kept him and three other people trapped on an elevator. His game plan was to drop the elevator five floors every ten minutes until his ransom money demands to Mr. Wilkenson were met. Why? Because Wilkenson's daughter, Caitlin, was in the elevator. She happened to be Frank's estranged wife, but we didn't know that until later. We got the call about lunchtime, while Simon and I were getting ready to head out to lunch. Blair called about that time. All he mentioned was that he wouldn't be making it to lunch. I surprised him by letting him know I knew about the elevator already. We spent the next couple of hours arguing with Wilkenson about his cold-hearted tendencies in not giving in to Rachins demands even though his daughter was at stake while simultaneously searching for the psycho. I was so pissed at Wilkenson, I couldn't see straight. He had no business playing God with four people's lives! Especially not Blair's! I heard Simon say it to the man as I left the room to head for the elevator: "That's his friend in there and if you cared for your daughter half as much, maybe this whole thing would be over." Simon - none of them - had any idea just how much I cared that Blair was trapped in that thing. My heart was trapped in there; my soul. Nobody knew. I hoped to God I wasn't going to lose him. I was lucky. Somebody was apparently listening.

"I love you, too, man," Blair murmured with a smile.

That Rachins guy, he was a crafty bastard, all right. He kept sidestepping everything we threw at him. He somehow found out about my trick in the elevator shaft where me and a SWAT guy were welding the brakes on the elevator car to the shaft. He caught on and dropped the elevator, with me clinging to the top of it, before we could finish the job. That was not a fun ride, no way. It was funny, though; while we were doing the welding, I had Blair come up with a diversion in which he and the others could make enough noise to cover the sound of the welding. So, he led them in a modified version of the Macarena. It was actually hilarious when I had time to think about it. Something along the lines of "...and we still alive, heyyyy, Macarena! Stuck in an elevator, this really sucks, heyyyy, Macarena! Come on, rescuers, and make it quick, heyyyy, Macarena! I don't know what we gonna do, but I hope it all comes true, heyyyy, Macarena!" Anyway, Rachins was smart enough. He figured that if he forced us to cut the power to stop him from dropping the elevator, that'd also cut the power to the bullion exchange. It did, but I had to go up to the roof and then use a cable to swing down through the window. Of course, we ended up duking it out because he made me put my gun down. And why the fuck does it seem that every semi-intelligent criminal that has a master plan that I go up against also has military hand-to-hand combat training? Damn, my ribs are bruised, my face is a mess, and my lower back where the windowsill dented it feels like a mule kicked me. Actually, I'm kinda happy with that. I complained about it and Blair rubbed liniment on me. Guy has great hands. Then again, I already knew that from some of the neck and shoulder massages he's given me. Oh, man. It was all I could do not to get an erection. However, after fighting with him, Rachins whipped out a remote detonator. I fought him for it and he set the bomb off. I didn't know it at the time, but Blair - also a crafty bastard (literally) - had used the welding torch that belonged to the workman who was on the elevator to cut through the sheet metal floor. He dropped the bomb through it only a few seconds before Rachins set it off. They were all a little singed by the flames that roared up through the hole, but they were alive. At the time, I thought I'd lost Blair. I literally felt my heart stop in fear for a brief moment. When my hearing kicked back in, I heard them yelling and cheering and some woman declaring her love for Sandburg - typical - but they were alive. My Blair was alive. So I punched Rachins out and threatened him by hanging him from the 37th floor window for a bit. I hauled him back in when backup arrived, along with a paramedic team to help Ronnie, the brother. Rachins shot him for sleeping with Caitlin and getting her pregnant. Go figure. That's why I wasn't there when Joel and the rescue squad helped haul everyone out of the elevator. But I caught up with Blair just as he was walking down the hallway. Told him he needed to get that figurine re-appraised, seeing as how it was supposed to be a good luck charm, and then we headed off for home. Simon gave us the rest of the afternoon off. Said we could do our reports tomorrow morning. As Blair would say, "I'm down with that." I've pretty much spent the evening cuddling him, and he's let me. Afraid of heights as he is, I'm not too surprised. He's vowed to take stairs wherever possible for the rest of his life, too. Ha, ha! He's in for one hell of a workout.

"Oh, thanks so much, big guy." Blair sighed, re-filled his mug with fresh hot cocoa, and sipped it as he read the next few entries. As usual, he ignored any descriptions of Jim's dates, concentrating on looking for references of time spent together. He smiled when he found the entries for the Gwen Angeloni kidnapping.

November 3, 1997

This has been a hell of a day. First, there's a gunfight between five PD units and a pseudo-merc outside the city limits that Blair and I answered. He wouldn't stay in the truck so he went with me to hide behind a PD car. While we were there, Naomi called my cell phone - why the frig doesn't she ever call his? - and demanded to talk to Blair. He pretended that he was watching a shoot 'em up with me and told me to "turn the sound down, man." Then the merc sped out of a shed on a dirt-bike, firing an AK-47 at us, and I grabbed Blair's jacket collar and yanked him to the ground just before the car got perforated. It was funny, the way he yelled really fast, "Gotta go, Ma!" Anyway, we stopped the guy - actually, I shot out his bike tire; super-sight to the rescue again - and later, while we were explaining it all to Simon, Naomi rushes in. She hugged the stuffings outta her kid and then, after they left Simon's office, told him that she knew he'd lied. Then we all got introduced to Charlie Spring. Damn, that guy bugs the shit out of me. Short little guy who's fluffed up on his own self-importance, sort of like that Alec Summers kid, only older and less of a science nerd. A lot less. Just because he has "second sight", or so he claims, he thinks he's "all that and a bag of chips." Wrong. About that time, after handing over a new book to Blair, we got the call to head for the Angeloni house. Their daughter, Gwendolyn - that's such a pretty name; if I recall correctly, it's a form of Guinevere, which is Celtic for "white wave" or something like that - had been kidnapped during a school field trip to the Cascade Museum of Art. The kidnappers were demanding $100,000. This was supposed to be a routine case, but wouldn't you fuckin' know it, Naomi drags in Charlie, because Ms. Angeloni happens to be a fan of Mr. Spring. Blair had lent her the new book to ease her mind of troubles, found Spring's card in it, and called him without consulting us cops. Simon read her the riot act for it, too. Politely, of course, but he did. I mean, what the hell was she thinking?

"Jim, man, she was thinking she wanted her daughter back and she'd take any angle - especially one she believed in - to make that happen," Blair murmured. "And how the hell do you know so much about names, anyway?"

Anyway, Charlie spent most of the time showing off and I got suspicious of him. I've asked Simon for a background check on our erstwhile psychic, so we'll see how that pans out. In the meantime, all we can do is wait until the kidnappers call tomorrow. Naomi and Charlie are spending the night with us. If the case goes on too long, they'll get a hotel, but for now, they're staying at the loft. Naomi I don't mind too much, but that Spring guy ... shit! If he opens his obnoxious little mouth to tell me how spectacular he is one more time, I'm gonna pop him one. Let's see if "Nostradamus the Second" sees that one coming! At any rate, Blair and I are bunking together again, Naomi has Blair's room again, and Charlie has the couch. Our dear Mr. Spring jokingly - sort of - suggested he could share the futon with Naomi so he wouldn't mess up the couch. One look from Blair changed his mind pretty damned quick. Then I made the mistake of teasing Blair by saying that Naomi could always bunk with me upstairs if Blair really wanted to sleep in his own room. It was Charlie's turn to laugh at the look on my face, then; I wasn't quite so amused. I was even less amused when Blair said, in no uncertain terms at Sentinel-level, that he would practice ancient castration rituals on me if I made any move whatsoever on his mother. I took it to heart and so, as I write this, he lies sleeping beside me, once again snuggled up to me. I love those tiny little moans he lets out in his sleep and the little twitches of his hand that lays on my belly. It feels almost as if he's petting me. Dammit, listen to me; I'm starting to sound like more of an old dog than I thought. Time to call it a night.

Blair glanced up at the clock and noticed that it was only a little after nine o'clock. "Not quite yet," he decided, and fell back to reading.

November 4, 1997

Shit, fuck, double damn that man to hell!! I should've known. I just should have known. None of us slept much last night; I could hear Charlie up pacing around most of the night, trying to be quiet, but he didn't know about my special hearing. At least, I hope he didn't. Anyway, bright and early this morning, we headed back to the Angeloni house at around five. Charlie did more pacing, we waited with parents, Naomi eventually caught a nap. I tried to get Blair to take one, but he wouldn't. Anyway, the call came in to drop the money down a laundry chute at a hotel. Charlie talked me and Simon into letting him come along because he had a "hit" that a black car and a dog were involved. Turned out to be a black Cadillac with the license T-DOG on it. Pissed me off, too. But what really did it was that whoever owned it killed the male kidnapper. Not only that, but my background check on Charlie came through. He needed good publicity and cash because of an indictment involving his name in a mail and phone fraud charge, which he successfully proved that he did not give permission to use his name for. However! Here's what really makes me want to tear him apart: he's the one who leaked the whole story to the press. The kidnapping case was supposed to be kept quiet; he blew the lid on it. We found out when he supposedly got a "hit" of where Gwen was. We got to an empty, log-cut area, looking around. Not two minutes later, news vans pull in after us even though nobody knew where we were going. It all became clear when the reporters targeted Spring. We got away from the bloodhounds and drove back to the Angeloni's. Even Blair was pissed about this one; neither of us would talk to Spring and for once, he remained silent. I wonder if he "sensed" how close I was to breaking prominent bones, like his jaw, for instance. We reported, rather tersely, to Simon about what happened. Suffice it to say, nobody was pleased with Mr. Metaphysical. We went back home to the loft where Naomi was waiting; she picked up on the "negative karma" pretty damned quick. When we told her what happened, she wouldn't believe it until Blair pointed out that Spring thought he was infallible and because of that, he may never get his gift back, at which point the damned man confessed to Naomi. I could tell how hard it was for him; I mean, a short, middle-aged, pudgy, obnoxious man like that being the recipient of the lovely, willowy Naomi Sandburg's attention? Who wouldn't want to fluff up to get more of that?

"Jim, man, shut up," Blair growled.

Needless to say, she was upset with him, too. Heavily disappointed, to the point that she burned sage in Blair's room almost immediately after we told her. It drove me out of the loft; I couldn't stand the smell. I came home when Blair called my cell phone to let me know she'd quit for the evening and opened the balcony doors to air out the smell before going to bed, but she wouldn't come out of the room. I wouldn't even look at Charlie as I headed upstairs for the night. Blair didn't, either. He brought up two bottles of beer and we shucked down to our T-shirts and boxers - I was too tired and frustrated to get too interested, either; something I'm actually thankful for, which meant I didn't have to work too hard at not slipping up - and we talked quietly for a little bit, drinking our beers, before turning out the lights. I can see well enough in the dark with my sentinel sight to write all this down. I assured Blair that Naomi would be all right before he went to sleep, but I could still see the anger simmering in his eyes. He did pat my knee before he rolled over and went to sleep. Maybe I'm not that exhausted after all. Dammit, Charlie's just friggin' lucky he hasn't been arrested for what he's done. Don't think I'm not tempted, either. Oh, well. Get a few hours' sleep, then get back to it, try to find that poor little girl before anything happens to her. I've got the feeling there's a new player involved now; one who won't be quite so benevolent to her.

Blair shivered. Jim had been right on the money about that one; thank God things had ended as well as they had.

November 5, 1997

We got her back. Thank God. She's just a little girl, only ten. Just a baby, really. The new player, a guy named Gruenditch, forced Stevi - the female kidnapper - to increase the demand to $500,000. Fred Angeloni was given instructions to go to a bus station and follow the instructions in the locker they assigned him. He did, and I nabbed one of the new kidnappers when he attempted to take the money. He fought me, though, and I was forced to get rough. Knocked him out before he could tell me where Gwen was, no matter how loudly I yelled at him. Meanwhile, Charlie managed to convince Blair - who was chewing him a new asshole for hurting Naomi - into helping him look for Gwen, since he'd gotten a huge hit. On a stuffed animal of hers that he'd taken out of the house, by the way. Simon reamed him on that one. Poor guy just can't get away without a scratch around us. Anyway, Simon did order me to get Charlie back in on this. I called the loft, Naomi told me to try Charlie's cell phone, and Blair answered it. He relayed that they were by the pier and I joined them a little bit later. Charlie's hit led us to Roberts Marina, then to slip 21, where we found the berth for TOP DOG, as in T-DOG. Blair and I ended up chasing them out over the bay in a borrowed boat, leaving Charlie behind. Blair drove the boat, which is good, because I got into a shooting match with Gruenditch. He tried using Stevi as a shield, but Gwen - feisty little thing; wish I could have had a daughter like her - distracted him by running out on deck and kicking him hard as she could in the shin. He let go of Stevi and I got a clear shot at him, killing him instantly. The other guy, who had no idea what he was doing about driving a boat, managed to stop the thing. I climbed aboard, keeping my gun on him, only to find Gwen aiming Gruenditch's gun at me. Poor little baby was so scared, she would rather have shot someone than be kidnapped again. I convinced her that I was a cop and she surrendered the weapon, then clung to me as though she were never going to let go. I cuddled her close, comforted her. Poor baby, poor little girl. She was so scared. Made me angry all over again.

Blair smiled. He could remember that. His tough, stoic Jim Ellison melting and becoming a smooth-talking, soothing, sweet-voiced, cuddly Blessed Protector. It had made his own heart melt then; the memory did it again now. "Jim, man, you would make an excellent father," he sighed, and kept reading.

I took Gwen back over to the little boat and let her hold onto Blair for a bit, then went back to TOP DOG and handcuffed both Stevi and the other guy and forced them to sit on the bottom of the deck, weaponless, where I could keep an eye on them. I went back to the little boat and asked Blair to teach me how to operate it, so he could drive the bigger rig, which he knew how to do. He took the lead, letting me follow behind so I could keep watch on them all, and I kept an arm around Gwen the entire time. She just wrapped around me, wouldn't let go. I talked soothing nonsense to her, let her know she was safe. Damn, it just about broke my heart to see how scared the poor girl was. We were met at the doc by a couple of backup units, whom Charlie had called, and the prisoners were loaded into police cars. Gwen, Blair, Charlie and I piled into my Explorer. She sat up front with me, wrapped up in Blair's spare fleece blanket, while the other two sat behind us. We got to the station and she was immediately met with cheers from the cops in the bullpen. A PD blanket was exchanged for Blair's and I let her sit at my desk and doodle a bit while we notified her parents. I'd just gotten her a mug of "detective strength hot chocolate" when her parents arrived. She was so cute, throwing off her blanket and running to them. They picked her up and squeezed her tight to the cheers and applause of the entire bullpen. The Angeloni's thanked us all with tears in their eyes, then left. Gwen gave me a little smile and a wave "bye-bye". Then it got embarrassing when I offered Spring an apology. He said it wasn't necessary since I'd been right about him, that there was a little "snake-oil salesman" in all of us. I told him there was no snake oil involved; I had proof of what he could do. I so overwhelmed the little creep that he latched onto me and hugged me for almost five minutes. I finally had to peel him off and fling him away. Naomi caught him and kept him upright, giving me a frowny look. I didn't mind. It meant that Blair spent the next ten minutes petting my shoulder, trying to un-ruffle my hackles. It worked, after a little bit. Actually, it worked two minutes after he started, but I pretended a little to get him to keep doing it. I admit it, I'm shameless, okay?

Blair laughed. "Fine by me, man." He continued reading, skipping over entries of Jim's dates, ignoring the sentinel's bitching about any tests Blair had given him to work on, and grinning at any mention of a sexy dream involving him. Then he got to the entry for when they were forced to track a kidnapped and injured Simon Banks through the woods after Dawson Quinn escaped.

Part Eight

November 26, 1997

Thanksgiving was two days ago. I suppose I have a lot to be thankful for this time around. I spent the last two days with Blair tracking Dawson Quinn, his girlfriend Lisa, and our captain, Simon Banks, through the upper Cascade regional forest. Blair and I were part of the ride-along detail on the Quinn escort team. Simon rode with Quinn in the prisoner transport truck. I was telling Blair about why I hated Quinn so much, what the man had done, and then the entire escort team got a big surprise. Lisa and another guy staged an ambush rescue attempt. The other lackey got left behind because one of the uniforms winged him in the shoulder. After kidnapping Simon at gunpoint, Quinn and Lisa ducked into the waiting chopper. The other guy tried to go with them, but Quinn stepped on his hand, made him let go. So, we got at least one of them right off the bat, not that he talked. State Patrol was called in, as were the Feds. Blair and I still ended up tracking them off through the woods when it was discovered that the chopper had gone down thanks to the hole I put in its oil tank. The pilot died in the crash, but Quinn, Lisa, and Simon made it out on foot. They broke into a cabin owned by a Wade Rooker and his partner, Dell. Pissed Wade off enough that he took out after the lot of us. They caught up with me and Blair when we were on a cliff; forced us to go over the edge into the river. I hated listening to my partner yell in fear like that, but we both made it. Got swept down river for a ways until the current and the river bottom were shallow enough for us to make it to shore. Blair hit his head on some rocks that were underwater. He got banged up pretty good. When I checked my pockets, I found that we'd lost everything; map, compass, spare clips ... thanks to that gunfight with Rooker and his pal, Dell, I was down to only one bullet. We continued tracking Simon and the others, even though night came on us pretty quick. It wasn't too long after nightfall, though, that Blair gave out. We crossed a short jump and he had to stop after that. I checked him out and he was some kind of hurt, but his vision was okay. I told him to stay where he was, since it was good shelter and I could double-back after him in a little while. Dammit, he actually asked if I'd think less of him if he took me up on it! Injured, freezing, and scared, and he was still worried about what I'd think of him. I came close to yelling at him, but he was already bad enough off; I didn't want to add to it. So, I told him I'd think of him as a "self-serving, spineless goober" with a grin. It cheered me up when he teased me back and said he could live with that. Told him to stay awake and not have any campfires; he sassed me by mentioning that "cold and wet" was his world. I was grinning as I ran off through the woods; that was my Blair, all right, cold or no.

"Glad you approved, man," Blair laughed, and continued reading.

I managed to track the three of them, especially after I heard a gunshot in that general vicinity. I found where they'd camped briefly, the soup mug they left behind still warm. I decided, since the sun was getting ready to come up, that I'd better get back to Blair. I wasn't too far from his position, maybe a quarter of a mile, when I heard a gunshot coming from where I'd left him. I ran faster, but before too long, I heard him coming. He was puffing like a steam engine and I waited and a moment later, he slammed into me. He was terrified out of his mind and I had to hold him close to me to calm him down. When he realized who I was, he cuddled closer. He told me how Wade and Dell had found him, knocked him out. I checked his head and he had a huge nasty red and purple bruise discoloring his jaw and right cheekbone. He told me that Wade had been getting ready to kill him, but the other one, Dell, fought him over it and Wade accidentally shot his friend. He'd used the opportunity of them fighting to run away, but he was sure that Wade would be following soon. I ranged my senses out and discovered that we had a little while; Rooker was burying his friend first. In the meantime, I pulled Blair along after me and we tracked Quinn and the others to an abandoned mining camp, arriving just as Quinn had pulled Simon back up to the top of an old shaft. He'd hidden the money in it and had sent Simon down after it. I forced Quinn to pull Simon up and out, and he came over to us with the moneybag after he'd done it. Then Rooker ambushed us; I'd forgotten all about him. He fired at us and one of the bullets went totally through Blair's right thigh; clean entry and exit. That was the only good thing about it. The fact that he got shot at all is still pissing me off. All of us were forced into hiding, only the good guys made it into the abandoned mining shaft. Deep inside. Simon tore up his sweater and I used my belt to help make a bandage. Quinn and Rooker teamed up and tried to come in after us, but we started burning the money and threatening them with the total destruction of it if they didn't leave us alone. I felt fresh air coming from further in the mine and followed its source, but I had to leave Blair and Simon behind. I got out and got behind just after Quinn killed Wade, breaking their truce. The two of them had started a fire at the entrance, smoking out Blair and Simon. Quinn was getting ready to shoot them, too, but I used my one bullet on a shed full of explosives that was nearby. The blast knocked us all down; thank God I had my hearing dialed all the way down, or I would've been crippled. Anyway, Simon and Blair kept Lisa covered and I fought with Quinn a bit, but it was easy to overpower him. I almost dumped him down the equipment shaft; I wanted to kill him, so badly. For what he'd done to Brody, to Simon, to myself and for what he'd gotten Blair into. And basically because he was a slimeball who does not deserve to live. But Simon stopped me. He talked me out of it. Fortunately, a State Patrol chopper that had been circling overhead looking for signs of us found the smoke from the bonfire and radioed in the call. A med-evac chopper came in and got Blair. He was airlifted on a free-swinging gurney while the rest of us handled Quinn, Lisa, and Rooker's body. Blair had given the details about his pal, Dell, to the other authorities and they took off for the burial site to exhume him and give him a proper burial. After all, according to Blair, Dell wanted nothing to do with murder. Fought to keep Blair alive, and ultimately died for it. That posthumously redeemed him in my book. But it was hell listening to Blair scream to be let down from the gurney as it took off across the forest to where an ambulance was waiting on the nearby interstate road that cut through the forest. They would have taken him all the way to the hospital, but dangling from the chopper as he was, they never would've cleared any telephone wires. Simon said we owed him dinner at the very least. He's right. Of course, it'll have to wait until after Blair's date with Agent Mara Cale - an old friend of mine - but I suppose I'll have to deal with that, too. Too bad she's a redhead; he could get awfully attached to her.

"Yeah, but by now, you know I didn't," Blair murmured. "Another thing to be thankful for, no?" Glancing at the clock, he saw that it was now a little after midnight. Deciding that it was once again time to get some sleep, he closed up for the night and retreated to bed, snuggling down into the covers, grinning as he slowly settled into sleep where he dreamed warm dreams indeed about his best friend and partner.

*****

Blair jumped when the phone rang on his desk. While he'd had very good dreams, he'd only managed to sleep about three hours and then he'd inexplicably been wide awake and couldn't go back to sleep. Having just finished office hours about forty-five minutes ago, he'd felt too drained to attempt the drive home and had decided a quick nap ought to take care of it. Now, he yawned hugely before picking up the phone. "Blair Sandburg speaking; how may I help you?"

"Afternoon, Chief," Jim said, a smile in his voice. "How ya doin', kid?"

"Jim!" Blair said sleepily with a smile. He yawned again and added, "Catchin' some downtime, man. How 'bout you? Whatcha callin' for?"

"Calling to see how you're doing, Chief. What's wrong? Hot date last night?" Jim teased gently.

"Nah; just couldn't sleep. Got about three hours, very sweet dreams, and then poof! I was awake. Dunno what was up with that. So I was catching a nap here before attempting to head home."

"Yeah. I called my desk at the station just on the off chance you might be there. Joel answered it; said you were probably at your office. So, here we are."

"Yup, here we are," Blair agreed, and then his stomach chose that moment to growl.

"You skip breakfast again, Chief?"

"Man, you heard that?"

"Wasn't like I could miss it," was the facetious reply.

"Hmph. Anyway, yeah, I missed breakfast. Since I couldn't get to sleep, I decided to do a bit of research and lost track of time. When I did notice what time it was, I had just enough time to make it to class this morning."

"Chief..." Jim said, his tone mildly reproachful. "You know I hate it when you rush like that; you increase your chances of an accident."

"Jim, I know, man, but I didn't intend to!"

"All right, all right. You're still exhausted, though, I think. Are you awake enough now?"

"Yes, I am."

"Good. Then I'm going to hang up now. You are gonna get your ass home and go to bed, you got that?"

"Yeah, yeah, I gotcha," Blair yawned out.

"Sandburg-"

"Jim, man, I hear you, all right? Ease up."

"Okay. I'll call the loft again later tonight, if you're going to be home."

"Yeah. I'll be home."

"Alone?" There was a definite edge in Jim's voice that made the younger man grin.

"Mmm-maybe," Blair drawled.

The silence on the other end of the line lasted long enough to make the young teaching fellow nervous. He offered a soft, playful laugh and said, "Just kidding, man. Yeah, I'll be alone tonight. Curled up with a good book." He waited a moment, then added softly, "And wishing you were home."

"Yeah," Jim echoed, equally softly, "me, too."

"Well, it's only for another three days, right?"

"Right. Want me to bring you back a souvenir?"

"Well, I've always wanted a pet armadillo..."

"Not on your LIFE, Chief."

"Spoilsport. And Merry flaming Christmas to you, too."

"Christmas is three weeks away!"

"'Tis the season, and all that jazz. No, really, I can't think of anything I really need from there except you. Man, it's so ... quiet here. Lonely. I miss you, Jim."

"I miss you, too, Blair." The tone of the voice and the words were loaded with a wealth of affection that Sandburg could easily read, now that he knew the truth. He almost blurted it out, but his brain prevailed over his heart.

"Good. So, what do you want for a 'welcome home' dinner, other than Wonderburgers?" he asked, smiling.

"Damn it, I can't even get a Wonder Deluxe? Must not miss me all that much, Chief," Jim teased.

"I miss you, Jim, but not enough to clog your arteries over it. I'd rather have you live for a while when you get home, if you don't mind. So, anything in particular...?"

"Yeah. Got a craving for your giant scallops on rice with cheese sauce and steamed mixed vegetables dish. Doable?"

"Doable. What time's your flight coming in?"

"9 AM, Saturday morning. You have class. No, I don't want you to skip it just to pick me up. I'll probably be so tired that I'll crash immediately upon getting home. Simon said he'll pick me up if I don't feel like taking a cab. You stay in school and you can wake me up when you get home. How's about that?"

"Works for me. Speaking of crashing, though..."

"Uh-huh. Hang up and go home, Chief. I'll call later tonight to see how you're doing. And don't be such a stranger to the guys, okay? Joel says he misses seeing you. Just 'cause I'm not there doesn't mean you're not allowed to go to the station."

Blair blinked. "I'm ... they ... miss me?"

"Yeah. Something about not yanking Hairboy's chain as much as they're used to, or something like that."

"Ha-ha, Jim, very funny. All right, all right, I'll stop in and catch up on things with the guys. I'll bring by a couple of boxes of donuts. That oughtta cheer them up."

"Oh, sure, you'll bring THEM donuts but you won't even get ME Wonderburger. I thought you loved me, Sandburg."

"Don't pout, Jim, it's not manly. And I do love you. Enough to make you the scallop and cheese sauce dish."

"What do you mean?"

"It takes a bit of time to prepare it all just right. There're special herbs that go into the flavoring. Don't worry about it. You're worth the effort."

Jim was silent for a long time, then he coughed lightly. "Yeah, okay. Go home and nap, Blair. I'll talk to you later."

"Okay, Jim. Take care of yourself. 'Bye."

"'Bye, Chief."

Blair hung up the phone on his end and if he'd been the one who had sentinel hearing, he would've heard the almost inaudible "I love you" whispered on Jim's end of the line.

Yawning, now wide-awake enough to drive home safely, Blair packed up his backpack and left his office, locking the door behind him. He drove home without incident and when he got into the apartment, he hung up his jacket and backpack and went into his bedroom. He paused, looking at the small, rumpled futon where he'd spent a couple of hours tossing and turning before picking up Jim's journal and beginning to read it again. Smiling, Blair grabbed his two favorite blankets off the futon, then picked up the journal and walked out of his bedroom and made his way up the stairs to Jim's bedroom. "Might as well get used to sleeping up here," he murmured, hoping he wasn't making a big mistake. Settling the journal down on the bedside table, he then spread his blankets over the comforter already on the big bed. Slipping out of his clothes until he was down to his boxers, Blair slid onto the bed, gratefully getting beneath the covers. He snuggled down, relishing the big, downy softness of the large pillows and tucked the sheet and blankets beneath his chin.

He lay snuggled for a few moments, but then he reached for the journal and picked up where he'd left off earlier that morning. He'd read through Christmas 1997 and January and February of 1998. The Christmas entry had really tugged at his heartstrings.

December 25, 1997

Merry Christmas, and then some! Had a fun time this holiday. For once, I didn't have to work Christmas Eve, and I don't have to work today. A miracle occurring only once every century. Last night was great. Blair and I went out together. Purely as buddies, of course (dammit all, anyway), but we had a blast. The natural history museum closed early, but it was still open. We got dressed up in dressy casual clothes, then went into town. There was a new display at the museum, featuring artwork done by a famous metalsmith artist. It was a collection of work done in gold, silver, and gems. I zoned out a couple of times, but he brought me back quickly each time. I couldn't help it; the light refracting off the work was wonderful. So many colors ... and then we stopped into the natural gems display. They had a huge piece of amethyst quartz on display that they actually invited people to touch! So I did. And promptly zoned out again. It was worth it, though. Man, what a feeling. Thank God no one else was around. We got out of the museum just a few minutes before it closed, then went to dinner at the Old Ebbitt Bar & Grill. Wonderful stuff! The only place available to sit was at the bar, but that was fine. A guy named Calvin was our bartender and waiter. Personable guy, friendly and cheerful about his work. I stuck to beer, but Blair had something called a Spanish Coffee. It was a gourmet coffee mixed with two different liquors. I took a quick taste and managed to keep from hacking up a lung. It was okay, but not what I would order on a regular basis. Blair was happy with it, though; he was happy with everything. After dinner, we walked over to the Cascade Christmas Tree. It's this huge 30-ft. pine tree that is surrounded by smaller trees that are sponsored by different charities and organizations. There were over one hundred smaller trees there. The PD always has one, of course. Can't help it, really; the proceeds from buying and decorating and maintaining the tree go to unfortunate children and homeless shelters. At any rate, the CCT was done up in lots of little multicolored lights and a net of gold and silver garlands. Iridescent, three-dimensional stars were placed randomly about the tree and they flashed on and off randomly. All in all, quite a lovely tree. Blair and I quickly located the PD tree. We had helped set it up and decorate it. His contribution, of all things, was a miniature disco ball as an ornament. I damned near zoned on it each time I saw it, but I managed to prevent actually zoning out. We had a fun time, even if it was snowing a bit. In fact, I think Blair was having the time of his life. He laughed so much and that grin of his never faded from his face. He was wearing that Fargo hat of his and a gray sweater that I'd been getting ready to pitch but he swiped for himself, and a red scarf I'd picked up for him somewhere; I can't remember. He was all bundled up and looking cuter than ever. I do remember asking him if he practiced the Jewish holiday of Chanukah. He said he practiced just about everything, but he didn't mind celebrating Christmas with me. After visiting the trees, we went home and I started a fire while he mixed us up some mulled wine. We had messages on the answering machine and we listened as we went about doing our things. A holiday greeting from Naomi, one from Simon reminding us of the Christmas party he was going to have at his house the next day, and two from girls who pouted sultrily in their message about how disappointed they were that Blair had turned down dates with them. As we curled up on the sofa with only the fire to light the loft and the TV on to listen to the Christmas Choir programs that were on, I asked him why he'd done that. He told me he wanted to celebrate the holiday with me, now that we knew each other well enough to do so. He said it with such a shy grin and wouldn't look at me; I've learned to speed-read between the lines with Blair. What he meant was that our living together and friendship felt like family to him, and he always celebrates with family when he's able to. I couldn't help it; I grinned at him and then pulled him so we sat side by side, my arm around his shoulders. I was proud of myself; I kept it all on a strictly friendship basis and made damned sure to stay away from him and mistletoe. Then, today, we opened gifts. I couldn't believe what he got me; two packages of my favorite white socks, a really fantastic 100% gray lamb's wool sweater that had been made in England, and my favorite, a small blown-glass figure of a black jaguar. It was beautiful; he told me he'd been saving up for eight months to get all this for me, just so he'd have enough to get it. Damn, I love him. I wish I could tell him. Then we took off for Simon's. Got back a little bit ago. Blair had small gifts for all the gang of MC who showed up and he had chosen them carefully. Everyone was duly thrilled and impressed with his choices. I caught Simon standing off near his home office by himself, fingering the small package of highly expensive imported cigars that he rarely ever gets hold of. The look on his face was sweetly priceless, and when he looked at Blair ... I wish my partner could have seen it. It would have done wonders for that self-esteem problem he seems to have. He's sacked out on the couch right now. He drifted off while watching the Christmas Concert that was being aired live from Vienna, which is a beautiful town. I've always wanted to go. I'm thinking I might take a nap myself, but for now, I think I'll just lie here and appreciate my good fortune in having Blair in my life.

Blair grinned. He remembered waking up from his nap and going upstairs to check on Jim. He'd found the sentinel sleeping peacefully, fully clothed atop the covers, a tiny smile on his face. Blair had grinned quietly and then covered his friend up with the afghan from the couch after heading back downstairs to retrieve it, along with Jim's final present of the day. After carefully covering his friend with the afghan blanket, he'd gently smoothed back Jim's hair and then left a half-pound box of select Godiva chocolates on the bedside table. Forty-five minutes later, Jim had woken up, spied the candy, and then gone thundering downstairs where he'd caught Blair in the kitchen and hugged him nearly half to death. The sentinel had laughed delightedly, playfully mussed his hair, then thundered back upstairs, sounding like a herd of demented moose. He'd torn into his candy gleefully. Blair had spent the next few hours dealing with a blissed out sentinel on a chocolate high, but that had been okay. It was well worth it to see Jim so carefree and utterly happy with the gift and finally relaxed for once.

The entry he was reading now was for the time in March of the current year, 1998, when Jim's brother, Steven, had nearly been arrested for embezzlement and murder. Jim had been working the case and thanks to Blair's prodding, he'd forgiven his brother for Steven's youthful transgression and the two were working to become closer.

March 14, 1998

Damn. Just when things seemed to be going all right in my life, here comes trouble. Ellison family trouble, at that. Earlier today, I went to the Lastings Park track with Simon and Blair. Simon's uncle was a horse trainer; he died a month ago and left the horse he currently owned and was working on to his nephew. So, Simon and his cronies in his cigar club - Joel, Brown, and Rafe - decided to sponsor the horse. Why? The name was reason enough: Little Stogie. What a bunch of clowns. Anyway, we went to the track and Simon told me he needed a special security detail for the PD benefit this evening and that the Mayor asked for me specifically. I should've smelled a set-up then, but I've been distracted lately. I came home early from a stakeout a few days ago and was so preoccupied with my thoughts that I didn't notice Blair's rapid heartbeat until I stood just outside the apartment door. I tensed, my hand going for my gun and possible scenarios and plans running through my head as I extended my hearing, only to hear the sounds of Blair gasping and sighing in pleasure. I faltered and then listened carefully, thinking - hoping - he hadn't really had gall enough to bring someone back to the loft even when I specifically said no sex in the loft. I got what I was hoping for, sort of. He was all alone. In his room and pleasuring himself. I didn't want to startle him, so I snuck into the loft as quietly as I could, which was very. He never heard me; he was too engrossed in what he was doing. And I know why. He hadn't shut the doors to his room all the way closed and with my eyesight, I don't miss much. So I had a perfect view through the five inches of open doorway of him flat on his back, his feet braced on the bed and his legs spread wide as he pumped himself with his fist. Smooth, steady strokes, the sound of lubricant sliding slickly over his flesh upon flesh ... his gasps and moans were torture, the smell of his arousal and his pre-come making me shudder with need. I was so hard I thought I was going to burst. He wasn't thinking about anyone in particular, I could tell. When he came a moment later, pumping his hips in short, hard, sharp thrusts and spilling all over himself with a wild cry, he didn't say anyone's name. I watched as he lay gasping roughly, his chest heaving as he lazily pulled on his cock, milking the last of it out, and then he fell asleep a few moments later after giving himself a cursory clean-up. I went upstairs, took off my clothes, and jacked off harder and faster than I ever had in my life. Thought I was going to bite my lip bloody when I muffled my yell when I came. I was quite proud of it, too; came so hard and fast I shot almost all the way across my room. Haven't been that thrilled with my dick since I first discovered what I could do with it besides peeing with it and naming it. Of course, by now, "Big Jim and the Twins" doesn't seem nearly as masculine-ly hilarious as it did during puberty, but I guess forty has a way of doing that to a guy.

Blair snickered, even though his cock was throbbing insistently against his lower belly. "Big Jim and the Twins, huh? Oh, man, Ellison, I am so not letting you live that down."

So, anyway, I've been distracted lately by that little lust-filled episode of a few days ago. To the point that, working together, Simon and Blair were able to put one over on me and get me into a tux - highlight of the evening was that Blair, no joking, said I looked damn good - and get me to the Policeman's Benevolent Association Benefit. Where, I might add, I was publicly humiliated in front of my cop brothers by being put on display by the Mayor. Apparently, due to my high arrest and conviction rates, I'm going to be named Officer of the Year at the upcoming recognition banquet. I'm still toying with the idea of going or not going. I might, especially after I saw Blair's face after he and Simon high-fived each other. He's proud of me; the kid's actually proud of me. I could see it clear as day. Simon saw it, too, and grinned at me. But ... that means something to me, that does. Blair is proud of what I do, of the people I help and the justice that I serve. My little neo-hippie witchdoctor punk ... is exalted. For me. Not just because I'm a sentinel, but because of the work that I do using these senses. That means more to me than he'll ever know, which is why I didn't kick his butt up between his shoulder-blades for his part in the deception.

"Aw, Jim. I'll tell you every day in as many ways as I can from now on how proud I am of you for being the man you are, if it makes you feel that good," Blair murmured, smiling.

Then things went to hell in a hand basket. After I re-joined Simon and Blair, Simon apologized for the deception, saying he wanted it to be a surprise. Blair just grinned at me unrepentantly. Am I really surprised? No. But right then, I heard a scuffle on the balcony overhead and a moment later, Ben Prince - owner of Lastings Track and best friend to Herman Franklin, Little Stogie's new trainer - fell screaming to his death almost ten stories below. I know what I heard and the marks I found were consistent with a scuffle. Simon is not pleased; he's ordered me to keep a lid on my suspicions for now. Then I met up with Steven. Surprise, surprise, his company is part of Lastings Track and he works there. He tried to chat with me, but I wasn't too receptive of him. I can't forget what he did when we were younger, the way he played Dad's games ... I wish things were different. I wish I could have gotten to care about him a bit better. I remember when we were younger, before things got bad. We played together, then; had fun, did things together, not against each other. I was his big brother, the guy he looked up to. Dad changed that. I regret it, so much. But there's no use crying useless tears, is there? Anyway, I collected Blair from where he was talking to Brown and Rafe and we headed off home to get out of the monkey suits, although, I think he looked damn good in his outfit. He needs to dress up more often, I'm thinking. Or maybe not. He already drives me to distraction and attracts hordes of girls from all over just by dressing the way he does now. If he started wearing name-brand stuff...? Holy shit, Batman. I guess it's just as well; besides, if he changed his image, he wouldn't be my Chief, would he? Just about drove me crazy, though. We got home and he came out of the bathroom in just his socks, pants, and the shirt, which was halfway unbuttoned. I stayed in the kitchen with my back turned to him so he couldn't see my dick tenting out the rented pants. Then I high-tailed it into the bathroom and shucked out of the tux and into a cold shower. All the jerking off I've done lately is starting to wear on me; I don't think I could take another orgasm so soon, especially after the one I had earlier this morning. Woke up from a dream about Blair just in time to pull a pillow over my face to muffle my scream. Had to change the sheets when I could finally move again. Man, I've got to find someone and get laid, soon. Maybe I can call on Dr. Grant again. I think I need some extra special "medical care".

Blair growled. "Your days with her are history, man. You won't know what hit you by the time I'm done with you."

March 15, 1998

God, what a day. I can't believe it. I don't want to believe it. But the evidence we have from a security camera still taken to Forensics shows Stevie's reflection on the door at the time of the murder. I know he's a businessman, but murder? My little brother? No. Even Dad wouldn't stoop that low. He made sure we knew what the law was. Mainly to let us know that he wouldn't come bailing us out if we broke it even if we knew better, but still, we were made to learn the law. And the way Stevie kowtow's to the old man, I can't believe he'd do something like this. I can't believe he'd be so rotten as to commit murder anyway. Well, I don't want to believe it. I know anyone can be capable of murder, but I don't want to believe this one. However, I have a job to do, so I'll do it. Earlier today, we went back to the track and while Blair was with Simon and the guys, watching the races and Blair was winning money and the others were losing it, I was getting the evidence from Serena on my laptop computer. I went to see Steven about it. It wasn't a good conversation. Anyway, I went back to the betting area as Blair was collecting his winnings. When the guys started to gang up on him, he hid behind me, automatically looking to me to protect him. I did, until he irritated me by being smug about his winnings. I walked away, then, and left him to their semi-tender mercies. I know for a fact that they all like him and would never for the world hurt him, so I didn't feel too much guilt about walking away. He knows that were he really in danger, I would've been right there with him.

"Darn right I do."

While the others pressured Sandburg into helping them make winning bets, I heard that same crackling noise I'd been hearing for a while. I tracked the source and saw the plaster on a pillar cracking apart. I rushed over, clearing the area, and got a woman and her little baby out of the way just seconds before it burst apart. There was a body inside, upside down and inverted. I could see two bullet holes in the back of the plaid shirt the man was wearing. I could tell that much about the body. A retrieval unit and the coroner came out to collect the body; Stevie and his boss, Pat Reynolds - a really pushy, interfering, rat-faced woman; she looks like she mugged Bugs Bunny - came over and they identified the guy as Pete Winslow, the construction foreman who'd been doing the renovating a couple of months ago and then quit and disappeared. There is something really fishy with that story. However, all the evidence so far is indicating my brother. Blair tried to talk me into saying that people change, that Stevie looked happy to see me that night at the benefit, but I don't know ... I guess I'm afraid of being hurt again. That's what most of my cold attitude boils down to, anyway. And part of it is because of what my father did while raising me. I tried to tell Blair some of it, and he understood, but he asked if maybe I had learned that "not listening" lesson too well myself. I didn't care for that. Stevie called just as I was getting ready to go for a walk. I didn't want to listen to Blair anymore, didn't want to see him so earnest and so eager and smelling so ... so seductively rich. Stevie said that he'd found documents in Reynolds' office that were fake, set up to look like he was the one behind everything. I said he'd better get his lawyer, but he wanted to meet me. I got down to the executive parking garage and the real killer set it up so that I would've shot my own brother had Stevie not been lying down across the seat. The killer had slugged him and dragged him down there. I chased him, but he got away. The good news is that Herman Franklin got a real good look at him as he was stealing Franklin's car. I took Stevie to the hospital and dropped Franklin off with Simon at the PD. Simon will figure something out for his friend. Stevie was okay, but I took him back to the loft with me. It was too dangerous to let him stay alone. So, again, Blair is sharing my bed with me. He gave me this odd grin, too, just before going to sleep. Wonder what it means?

"It meant that I was feeling pleased with the apparent softening in your feelings, Detective," Blair said with a grin, then yawned.

March 16, 1998

Brought Stevie with me to the station today to question him in a small office. Figured being in his own "element" might give him a little more comfort. He explained to me what he knows, but I had to tell him that unless he could prove it that he'd been set up in a definite, 100% way, then he was looking at big trouble, because Reynolds has done a damn fine job covering her tracks. However, we might have a chance. Herman positively identified the killer as Tony Grant. He's a small-time hood who'd kill anybody for enough money. Hell, he'd whack his own mother for three hots and a cot. We came up with the idea - which Simon detests - of letting Herman be the bait. The idea is to let Reynolds think Herman hasn't been able to positively ID the suspect, and she passes on this information to Grant. It only makes sense that he's working for her; why else would he kill so many people associated with Lastings Park and attempt to murder another person unless they were all people who were standing in Reynolds' way? Anyway, Herman will show up on the next day that Stogie runs - about three days from now - wearing a bulletproof vest. Grant will get edgy and show up too, knowing the trainer will be there, in an attempt to take him out. The PD forms a dragnet, with Rafe, Brown, and Taggert forming a shield around Herman, and we attempt to catch Grant and get him to roll over on Reynolds. Why do I have the feeling it's not going to work like that?

"Because it didn't?" Blair yawned, blinking his eyes open. He was definitely going to have to quit after the next entry.

March 19, 1998

The plan sort of worked. Herman-the-bait worked like a charm; Grant showed up to try to nail him. Herman was completely unharmed; I spotted Grant and went after him before he could get anywhere near Mr. Franklin, for which Simon is utterly thankful. Reynolds stood over us on a balcony while Grant and I were fighting and she tried to shoot me, but she wounded Grant. I think that was the plan, anyway. Grant ran off and I had to duck for cover. By the time I got up again, Grant had disappeared, but Blair helped me track him by having me listen for him. Instead, I heard two gunshots. Reynolds met up with Grant and gunned him down. He'll live, but barely. He's in ICU at the moment and the doctors are "cautiously optimistic." However, Blair helped again. He had me track her by smell, tracing the gunpowder from the gun. It kind of saddens me that he can think of such cold, clinical details now without even batting an eyelash. It worked, but there was an added problem. The grandstand was collapsing under the weight of the crowd. I heard it in time to get a warning to Simon, who had security get everyone out. I chased Reynolds through the exodus, then across the park on horseback, using Little Stogie to get her. Tackled her from horseback, which was no fun whatsoever, but I did catch her and arrested her. Two patrol units met up with us at the park entrance and I turned her over to them, listening to them Mirandize her as I made my way back with Little Stogie and the other horse, I don't know it's name. But, it worked. She's been caught, Steven is safe, and Pete Winslow and Ben Prince have been avenged. I suppose that's as good as it can be.

Blair hesitated, then decided against looking for the entry that had to be two months later of the civic recognition banquet. He really needed to sleep right now; he could find and read it later.

Setting the journal down on the bedside table, he snuggled down under the covers, closed his eyes, and deeply and happily fell asleep.

Part Nine

RIIIIING!

RIIIIING!

RIIIIIN-

"H'lo?" Blair mumbled after burrowing out from under the covers, snatching up the phone beside Jim's bed.

"Chief, hi. Did I wake you up?"

"Jim, hi." Yawn. "Yeah, you did. S'okay. Wha'sup?"

"You, barely," Jim chuckled. "Chief, it's almost 7:30 PM. You did go right to sleep as soon as you got home, right?"

"Sort of. Had to take care of some, uh, personal business first, man," Blair half-truthed.

"Chief-"

"Jim, man, chill out. You called at the right time, okay? I'll be able to have dinner, do a little bit of light reading, and go right back to sleep and do that the whole night through," the younger man groused as he shifted and rolled over, snuggling a little into the pillows.

"Hopefully," Ellison said, then paused. A moment later, he said, "Sandburg ... you sound as though you're in bed with the phone."

"Yeah, well, couldn't find a hot date in person so ... haven't you ever heard of phone sex, Jim?"

"Funny, Shecky. What I mean is, I didn't hear you go back to your bedroom after picking up the phone, which means you answered it from bed. Since when did you get a phone next to your bed?"

"Uh." Blair was stumped. He couldn't say he did it while Jim was gone. The sentinel knew he couldn't afford a second line and he'd find no trace of a new installation when he came home.

Jim, being the detective and sentinel that he was, realized this. "Sandburg, you're in MY bed?!"

"Uh. Yeah."

"Why the HELL are you in my - what's wrong with yours? Is it okay? Are YOU okay? Dammit, Blair-"

"Nothing's wrong with anything up here, Jim. The futon's fine, I'm fine," Blair replied quickly.

"Then why are you-"

"I wanted to be close to you." Blair cringed as the words slipped out before he could censor them and the silence that followed made his stomach quiver.

Finally, Jim said, "You what?"

"I ... Jim, man, I'm sorry. Listen, you're going to think this is wimpy, but ... man, I needed to feel safe. You've been gone so long ... I just feel safe around you, okay? And you've been gone for so long ... I just wanted to feel like you were close to me, or something. This was the best I could do, short of raiding your closet, and I wasn't ready to risk certain death."

"What makes you think you're safer by choosing my bed?" Jim asked calmly, no hint of anger in his voice. Or any other emotion.

Because I know you want me. I know you love me. I know you'll probably jerk off to the smell of me on your sheets when you get home. I know I want you to, Blair thought to himself. However, he merely sighed and said, "Okay, Jim, point taken. I'm ... sorry. I'll go back down to the futon after I change the sheets. Sorry. Thanks for callin', man."

He started to hang up the phone, but even though he wasn't a sentinel, he could clearly hear the very loudly bellowed, "SANDBURG!!" coming from the receiver.

Wincing, he brought it back to his ear. "Yeah, Jim?"

"Don't you dare hang up on me, Junior!" the older man growled. "I haven't earned that discourtesy."

Blair felt a little ashamed, then. Blushing slightly, he murmured, "You're right, Jim. Sorry."

"Thank you. Now, then. I don't think you're wimpy, Blair, for wanting to feel safe. In fact, after all the shit you've been through since teaming up with me, I'm honored and a little surprised that you feel so secure around me. Maybe ... maybe even BECAUSE of me, I don't know. So if it makes you feel better, go ahead and sleep there until I get back to personally look after you, okay? I don't mind; I'm not mad. All right?"

Sandburg grinned. "Yeah, Jim. All right."

"Good. Now, why don't you get some dinner, then get a little more shut-eye, whaddya say?"

"Sounds good. Oh, Jim, by the way. I was up here earlier in the week looking for that magazine I lent you; needed it for an article I was writing. I found it in the box but I accidentally dropped it and everything spilled out. I tried to put it all back the way I found it. Um, your, um, journal was kinda cock-eyed the way it landed. I picked it up and smoothed it out a bit to make sure it wouldn't get wrinkled. You have no idea how terrified I was when I realized I may have damaged something of yours that you consider priceless! Man, I was already plotting the quickest route to Timbuktu! I put it back, but once I realized what it was I was looking at, I made certain I wasn't looking at it, you know what I mean?" Blair held his breath after issuing the big fat lie. He'd needed some kind of cover story as to why his scent was all over the journal, anyway.

Jim was silent for a long, long time. Finally, he sighed and said, "How much of it did you read, Blair?"

"Not much, man. I saw something about how I was an obnoxious prick for using you as a 'dating service', but that was it. After that, I realized what I was looking at and I slammed the lid shut, pronto-like. I'm really, really sorry. I was only trying to see if I had damaged something valuable and how I would replace it, if I could, or-"

"Blair. Be quiet."

The younger man shut up.

"Good. Relax, okay? I believe you. Thank you for trying to take care of it and for respecting my privacy."

Blair mentally winced, but he said with calm reassurance, "You bet, man. Thanks. But, Jim ... you - you know, don't you, that if you ever have anything heavy you need to discuss, or if I'm bothering you, hurting you in any way, you only need to come talk to me, right? I only want the best for you, Jim. You mean so much to me."

Jim sighed. "Yeah, Chief. I'm starting to realize that."

"Good. And ... I'm sorry. About what I said and did that day. You're right, I had been obnoxious and ... cruel. I'm so, so sorry. I regret that I was so insensitive to you."

"Chief, don't worry about it, okay? You were so wound up hyper excited about finding a sentinel, you would've pulled that shit if it had been Richard Burton himself before you. I'm cool with it; I have been for a while. Okay? Don't beat yourself up over it."

"No, I won't, but I do regret that. You're a fine man, Jim. A really fine man. And I was careless with you. I can't tell you how grateful I am that you worked past that to give me a chance to get to know you." Blair blinked back the tears that had formed in his eyes.

"Yeah, well, then we're even, because I'm grateful you didn't let me scare you off; or where would I be now, right? Locked up in a loony bin somewhere if not dead by a garbage truck. So, we're even, you and me."

Not by a long shot, Blair thought, but we're close to it. He made a noise of agreement to satisfy his sentinel, though.

"Good, that's settled. I'll hang up and let you do whatever, now. Oh, and one other thing, Chief."

"Yeah, Jim?"

"If you ever - EVER - run away from me, especially without telling me why or where you're going, rest assured, I will track you down and interrogate you when I find you, and you won't be happy with me. I'm your Blessed Protector, kid. Your sentinel. I am there to protect you from anything, even me. Got it?"

Blair grinned. "Got it, Jim," he said softly. "Thank you."

"All in a day's work. G'night, Chief. Sweet dreams."

"You too, big guy. Take care."

They hung up and Blair smiled as he snuggled down into Jim's bed, relishing the comfort, warmth, and safety he felt there. He wasn't feeling too hungry at the moment, so he reached out and turned on the lamp, then reached for the journal, looking ahead for the entry he knew Jim must have made of the civic recognition banquet. When he found it, he grinned and settled in to read.

April 26, 1998

The civic recognition banquet was this evening. Once again, Blair and I dressed up in tuxes and once again, I stood up in front of my cop brothers and felt humiliated at being put on display. But not as bad as I might have. Not only was Blair there to cheer me on, his face so warm and happy and whispering under his breath about how proud he was of me, but Steven was there, too. I invited my little brother, and he accepted. I was really happy about that. It means I'm not the only one willing to patch things up. The ceremony was held at Lastings Park and Little Stogie had been the winner for both the races he ran in today, the first and last races. I didn't really want the medal, so after the party, Simon, Joel, H, Rafe, Blair and I went to visit Stogie. Took him out of his stall for a brief moonlit walk, the other guys smoking cigars - even Blair, which only goes to show how much he'd had to drink - and they sang the Mr. Ed song, substituting Stogie's name for Ed's. I don't think the horse was impressed; I certainly wasn't. Those guys can't carry a tune in a bucket when they're half-soused. I gave my Cop of the Year medal to Stogie; he helped me catch ol' Ratface, after all. After Simon spilled the beans about me coming from money and having horses while we were growing up, and the guys teasing me - well, Blair didn't, but I'm not surprised; he knew the real story of how un-privileged I felt living at home - I went to talk to Stevie. He was standing off by himself a little ways. I told him how I realized that it had been Dad pitting us against each other that made us turn against one another; that it wasn't how I really felt about him. He was relieved, to say the least. And grateful that I'd forgiven him and wanted to be his brother again. We've agreed to start spending more time together, get to know one another all over again. This is going to be good. And I have Blair to thank for it; for opening my eyes and making me see how much I really missed my little brother. The guys moved away, back into the stalls, putting Stogie up for the night. I made Stevie laugh when I told him all my friends weren't like them. It felt good to know I'd made my brother laugh. Anyway, now that things were safe, Steven was back at his own place. He thanked Blair and me earlier for letting him stay over. But as we were walking back in, Steven leaned in and asked me in a whisper how long I'd been in love with Blair. I guess my apprehension and surprise showed on my face because he assured me that he'd been looking at me and caught me in an unguarded moment. So far as he could tell, nobody else knew, not even Blair, and shouldn't I do something about that? I told him how Blair goes through women like Kleenex and he said he was sorry for me. Didn't understand why I tortured myself by staying so close to Blair, but I couldn't tell him why. By now, he's forgotten about how I used my senses when we were kids; it's better if it stays that way.

Blair sat bolt upright in bed. "You WHAT?!" he yelled at the journal. "Dammit, Jim, why don't you ever tell me these things!"

Growling and huffing in frustration, Blair flopped back into the pillows and stared at the ceiling in a high state of annoyance. Finally, he breathed in deeply, then breathed out, letting his vexation go. Picking up the journal, he began reading again.

I'm not going to worry about Stevie being a sentinel. Or my niece. Surprise, Steven had been married but is now divorced - typical Ellison male trait - and he has a daughter that he gets to have custody over every once in a while. He showed me her picture. The cutest little blonde baby girl ... well, not a baby, but a toddler. Her name is Moira. I like that. It's a decidedly lovely name. But I'm not going to worry about that for a while. Maybe Blair can take a look at her and determine it later, but for now she's fine. And as for thinking that Stevie's not a sentinel, there was one time when he was younger he got lost in the woods on a Boy Scout trip for a couple of days. Some of the rougher boys in the group had ganged up on him and frightened him into running away from them before they could beat him up or something, and he lost his way. When we got him back, he showed no signs of heightened senses and to my knowledge, never has. Which is strange; you'd think that he'd have at least one or two, considering we have the same genes. I might ask Blair about it, but that could be opening up a whole can of worms best left alone. I do recall that I and a couple friends of mine cornered those bullies a few days later and put the fear of God into them. I'm glad I was at least around to protect him while he was younger. Just wish I could have protected him from the damage our father did. Wish I could have protected myself. Who knows? Maybe if Dad hadn't been so cold - if I hadn't learned that lesson so well - I might be more open, more willing to share my warmer, gentler emotions. Feel more deserving of them, somehow. Maybe it would have made it easier to tell Blair I love him. I know he wouldn't be cruel to me, but I don't want to risk freaking him out and possibly driving him away. I need him, and not just physically. He's essential to me. To what makes me happy. Sometimes I wonder if he really is literally a part of my soul, instead of just wishful thinking. Sure feels like it sometimes. Oh, well. Enough analyzing for tonight. It's getting later than it seems, and I'm not as young as I used to be. I need to sleep and rest these old bones up for chasing down the bad guys. At least I've got someone to help relieve the monotony of it all.

Blair sniffled and rubbed away the tears that had formed in his eyes. "I love you, too, Jim." He continued to read, flipping past the entries marking mundane days and Stacy's stay with them, the girl who had woken from an eight-year coma and then had a crush on Jim. He grinned as he recalled Jim's discomfiture with the whole scenario. Thank God Stacy had come to her senses a little bit and had moved on to greener pastures. She was doing fine in school, now. Steadily catching up to the reading and problem-solving skills level she ordinarily would have been at by now. She even had a boyfriend of sorts who was protective of her and supportive. Blair was happy that things were going so well for her; after the horror that had happened to her eight years ago, she deserved something so right.

A few pages later, he found the entry for when the Chopec had come to Cascade and Jim had lost his senses briefly, and he blinked, feeling dread wind through him. God, what was he going to find in here...?

June 4, 1998

I almost shot someone today. Not surprising, in my line of work, but today it was an innocent man. A security guard at the Pemberton Mall. Thank God he'd been wearing kevlar, due to the rash of burglaries happening in malls all over the city, or he'd have died instantly. I'd gotten into a fight with the two burglars that I'd been called in on and during the fight they busted the perfume display. Knocked my senses ass-backwards and then some. I was so wired and pole-axed from the stench that when I saw a gun emerge from around a corner in the direction the perps had fled, I reacted instantaneously and fired, knowing that by the time the body emerged, my bullet would meet it. One shot straight to the heart and the guy went down with a surprised grunt. When I got closer, though, I saw his badge and uniform. I thought I was going to puke right then and there. I helped him up and out of the building, apologizing profusely, but all I could think was that if it weren't for these damned senses ... God. I never wanted these things anyway. And yeah, so what if they brought Blair into my life? They're an occupational hazard that gives me a headache or has me skirting the edge of one every day. And today, they almost cost an innocent man his life. I mean, how was I going to explain that if he'd died and I had to testify about it? "I saw his gun from nearly 200 yards away in a darkened store and my reflexes kicked in." Yeah, right. I'd be sitting in Skid Row in no time. Then, when I got home, I snapped at Blair. He was meditating - God alone knows what happened to him today to prompt that; I was too angry and scared to ask - and listening to some God-awful Aborigine music. I switched it off and told him what had happened. He told me it wasn't the senses' fault, wasn't mine. That it was an honest mistake, but I don't believe that. It sure as hell wasn't the guard's fault that I shot him. Dammit, this is so unfair. I know "fair" is the most useless word in any language, but this still sucks rotten eggplants. Hell, I need to sleep. Maybe this will all be better in the morning. Maybe I won't still be seeing Blair's "concerned puppy dog" eyes tomorrow. Sure, and maybe pigs will fly on Mars.

Blair's mouth twitched as he read that. "That's a new one," he said, chuckling slightly. "I like it."

June 5, 1998

My life just can't get worse. Well, it could, but I'm not going anywhere near that thought. No way in hell am I tempting Fate or jinxing destiny or whatever. Last night I had a dream, in which I was in the jungle and hunting a black panther - excuse me, black jaguar. Blair gets touchy about that. I don't know why; a cat is a cat, right? I've called them panthers all my life, why change now? It's not that important. Anyway, I was hunting the cat and then I shot it; killed it dead. This morning, I woke up and my senses were repressed. As normal as they used to be before they came on-line. Everything felt ... comfortable again. Felt, sounded, smelled, tasted, looked ... it was all fine. Noticed it when I was getting ready to shave; the cream was normal. I went to tell Blair about it, but lost my temper when I found a bagel burning in the toaster, trashing that appliance, and no Blair in sight. He came back into the loft, cheerfully repentant about it, but I still bit his head off. He lost his smile at that, which made me even crankier, but he did point out that he apologized and then asked what was wrong. So I made the mistake of telling him. He's been hounding me ever since to accept the senses again. I keep brushing him off. I don't want them back. This is my chance to be a normal man again. My chance to live a normal life. I'm sorry if that's not what he wants, but what about me? What about what I want? Doesn't my happiness enter into it at all? He has no right to make me out to appear selfish when I've given so much already. That expression "give 'til it hurts" has direct application, here. Where does he get off trying to guilt trip me and cajole me into taking back something that makes my life hell? Shit. If I ever needed a reminder that to him all I am is dissertation material ... but no. That's not right. He doesn't really see me as that; at least, I don't believe he does. God, what a day it's been. This morning started with realizing my senses were dormant again. We were called out on a homicide; Bud Torin, vice president of Cyclops Oil, had been found dead in the bayside park he'd gone into while walking his dog. A blowdart was in his neck. I'd know those markings anywhere. They were Incacha's. But what the hell was Incacha doing here? It was a few hours until I found out. Going around to interview Gerald Spalding, the president of Cyclops Oil, was routine. While we were there, though, Blair ran into an old flame of his. Beautiful mocha-skinned woman by the name of Janet; tall, slender, with legs that wouldn't quit, wearing a short-skirted power suit. I could see the attraction. Still pissed me off to see how upset he was about her engagement to another guy. Anyway, we worked long and hard during the day, piecing clues together and Simon stumbled onto the fact that my senses have gone dormant. Then Janet got involved in the whole thing. Being the vice president of the environmental section of the company, she did some looking in the Chopec region and found inconsistencies. Thanks to a satellite photo from a buddy of mine at the Pentagon, we were looking at an aerial display just as she called and Blair told her about the illegal road we'd found. And considering that there's an oil field under the Chopec land ... doesn't take a genius to figure out that somebody's breakin' the law to get under there. Only question is, who? Blair and I finally went home around five. We had dinner, he tried to pester me about everything, and then Incacha showed up! For some reason I don't understand, he was petting my truck. But when he realized he had an audience, he looked up and gave us that sweet smile that I've missed ... or at least, I realize now that I missed. He was like ... the father I never had, while I was in Peru for those long eighteen months. Or, like, an uncle. Maybe a close brother...? That would work. Or ... more like a priest, I guess. My "spiritual leader", sort of. He ... guided me. He was my first Guide. I just realized this. Only makes sense, considering that he's a shaman, but still.

Blair sighed. "Shit. Way to make a guy feel insecure, man."

He showed up at the loft, I translated for Blair - he amused Incacha greatly, but the shaman also respected him a great deal. Somehow, Incacha knows what Blair is to me, how much he means to me. I'm not too surprised by that. Anyway, we got into a fight, Incacha and me. He came to me to help him track down, capture, and export Gerald Spalding for the illegal operations going on down in his homeland. I told him that it was not only illegal to do what he proposed in this country and it would go directly against my duty here in Cascade, but that I'm also no longer a sentinel. He did not like it, not at all. Got pissed off and then disappeared out of the loft without a sound or a trace while Blair and I were having a discussion. We wasted fifteen minutes searching for him when we were supposed to be going to meet Janet, who called while we were discussing our options. And during those fifteen minutes ... Janet was murdered. Someone killed her next to her car in the parking garage where we were to meet her. She had found evidence of wrong-doings that implicated Gerald Spalding and a few others in what was happening down in Peru. Somebody must have been listening in on that phone call, because Blair found her face down with a Chopec arrow in her back.

Sandburg swallowed and closed his eyes against the tears that sprang up automatically. Janet was dead and gone and nothing could bring her back, but he still regretted getting her involved. It had cost a beautiful, wonderful woman her life when she had her whole life going for her. Sighing, he blinked open his eyes and continued reading.

On the way over to the garage, Blair admitted that he was afraid that with my senses gone, we would be separated. He also admitted that he had enough information for ten dissertations, but that he'd been stalling all this time. He wasn't ready to give up the "roller coaster ride" that riding around with me was giving him to go back to boring old academia and its "merry-go-round" way of life. I think that was his roundabout way of saying: "I like being with you, big guy."

"See? Those detective skills do come in handy," Blair said aloud, and laughed softly.

When we found Janet, I had to calm him down. I was worried he was going to go into hysterics right there, but he managed to keep himself together. I was proud of him for that, and saddened that he had to do it at all. He started to accuse the Chopec who'd come here of the murder, but I cut him off right quick on that one. I explained that they would never shoot anyone, let alone an unarmed woman, in the back. I further commented on the lack of papers of any sort in her car or on her person. For an executive officer in a corporation, that was highly suspect. My guess is someone in the company was listening in and did not want us getting near those papers. There wasn't a hell of a lot we could do about it at the moment except call the murder in. We gave our statements and Simon said we could write up the report tomorrow. For now, however, we're back home and while I can't hear what's happening below my bedroom anymore, I know he's crying. For one thing, he's not being that quiet about it and two, I saw his shoulders start to shudder and heard a quick sob as he walked into his room and shut the doors. Dammit ... I want to go to him. I want to hold him and stroke his hair and whisper that eventually, things will be all right, that things will get better. But I can't. This is a private grief for him and I can't intrude on it. And, maybe, I'm feeling a little guilty about my part in it, too. If I hadn't insisted on looking for Incacha, then we might have gotten there in time to save her. Or at the very least, catch her murderer either in the act or immediately after. I only hope someday, Blair will forgive me for that small piece of selfishness that cost him a beloved friend.

"Oh, God. Jim..." Blair murmured. "I never blamed you in the first place, man. I tried, briefly, but I knew even then that it was just the way things happened. I don't like it, no, but I don't blame you. Just one more thing I'll have to make sure you understand when you get home."

June 6, 1998

Well, we got the bastards. Mitch Yeager, the security chief of Cyclops Oil, was the one behind Janet's murder ... and Incacha's. Gerald Spalding gave himself up when I finally got around to accepting my senses again and hunting down the Chopec. They'd captured Spalding last night while we were asleep and in the act, Yeager shot Incacha. He managed to make it to the loft during the night and while I was at the station, going over things with Simon - who was in no way pleased with the information I gave him that I'd originally been withholding. Blair got Incacha inside and comfortable on the sofa - which is already being re-upholstered and cleaned, pronto-like - and then called me. He sounded so totally freaked out on the phone, which was understandable considering that Incacha had been gut-shot and was bleeding all over the apartment. I got home in time to question him about what had happened and then, before he died, he passed on the Way of the Shaman to my Guide. Then he died and I went ballistic. That was the only word for it. Blair had already made a call for an ambulance and Simon was sending a forensics team and backup on the way behind me. It was a good thing, because I couldn't do much of anything. I zoned out on memories for a bit, but the sun was coming in late afternoon by the time forensics and everybody was finishing up their stuff. I really went ballistic then. They were doing their jobs, photographing Incacha, and not understanding what an insult it was to the man's culture and beliefs. I was out of my mind, yelling at them, screaming, and poor Blair tried to calm me down. I can still feel the cramp in my fingers from how hard I was gripping his upper arms. I know he's going to be bruised for weeks. I shook him, screamed in his face about the rituals Incacha needed and deserved. He kept telling me he knew, but of course he did. He's an anthropologist who, before we met, was a specialist in South American culture. Of course he knows! Although, now he's an anthropologist who is a specialist on Sentinels, but nobody knows that but us and Simon and Brackett. Anyway, he got right up in my face and forced me to accept my senses again. Thank God. Yeager had tracked the Chopec and Spalding and he and his thugs were in the process of murdering the clan when Blair and I showed up. Huge fight and chase scene all across the city ensued. Thankfully, the Chopec followed my orders and only a few of them ended up dead. Blair managed to catch one of the hitmen by blocking him off with my truck. Which Yeager then stole and forced me to capsize with a Chopec quarrel through the right front tire. My poor truck has been totaled! That rotten fucker! It's going to be a year or more before I can buy a new vehicle. Fortunately, I've got my eye on a real good deal. A '69 blue and white Ford that only needs a little bit of work to make her cop-worthy. Went looking in the classifieds during dinner this evening. I made my special spaghetti sauce and noodles. Blair managed to make a creditable dent in his meal, but I can tell it's going to be a while before he's truly hungry again. Janet Myers' death hit him hard. However, justice has been served in the form of her killer being captured and the Cyclops Oil corporation being exposed for the cheats and murderers they were. And why is it that every Cyke-Oil investigation I've been involved in has exposed greedy killers, anyway? Oh, well. Time to get some sleep. Janet's funeral will be the day after tomorrow and I agreed to accompany Blair when he asked me. I guess that bodes well for him forgiving me. I hope I can provide adequate support for him, though. This is going to be tough. But I don't want him to be alone. I don't ever want him to be alone.

"Ah, Jim. I'm not, man. I've known it for a while, too," Blair murmured, smiling softly.

He read through a few more entries and then later that week, he found the entries for the whole Jag's/Orvelle Wallace mess.

June 14, 1998

Damn. I can't believe it. My hometown boys, the Jags, have got some kinda trouble. Yesterday, Blair and I went to one of their practice sessions. Special privilege because Simon is friends with Arthur Dell, the Jags' owner. I also picked up my new baby, the blue and white '69. I was expounding on it the entire time we drove to the Arena. As we got out and made our way into the building, he mentioned that he never would've figured me for a retro-vehicle. I replied that '69 was a good year for me. He said, with a grin, "Yeah, yeah! I was born." And idiot that I was, I replied, "Except for that." We were inside and about fifty yards down the inner hallway before I noticed that he'd clammed up on me. When I looked at him, he was carefully watching where his feet were going. I cussed myself six ways to Sunday even as I stopped us both. Sometimes I keep forgetting about his self-esteem problem. I made him look at me and the look in his eyes ... he was guarding what looked like old pain and new pain and I hated the fact that I'd unthinkingly put it there. That I'd done it at all. I apologized, told him I'd merely been teasing. That he shouldn't think that I regret his birth; never that. I'm more grateful for it than he'll ever know.

"Oh, I know it now, Jim; really I do."

He smiled his special "it's cool, I forgive you" smile and shrugged. It pleased me, but a moment later I had to bodily drag him away from a passing group of Jag's cheerleaders. Sometimes the obvious futility of us getting together really bugs me. I told him to behave himself and then explained about Simon's connections. Blair was suitably impressed. Then we were introduced to Arthur briefly, then left in the care of the head of security, Ray Krause. For some reason, he seemed a little nervous that Blair remembered his short-lived career as a pro-basketball player. An unfortunate accident in a dark stairwell caused him to wreck his left elbow and right knee. So, now he's head of security for the Jags. Then we got introduced to Orvelle Wallace, who just happens to be Blair's hero. I was alternately jealous of Blair's open adoration and pleased to see him so excited at this unexpected opportunity to meet the man. Besides, I know by now that I'm pretty much his favorite topic because of my sentinel senses. I don't really have too much to worry about.

"You're my favorite topic because of you, man!" Blair grumbled. "You've always been the best part of my life, just because you're there. I can't wait to prove that to you...."

Orvelle couldn't talk long, but that was all right. Our privilege got cut short, though, when Dwight Roshman, star of the Jags team, started a fight with his narcissistic tactics. Boy's got a huge ego and a worse attitude and he's not afraid to show it. Likes to keep the glory for himself and he wants to be traded. Says neither Cascade nor the Jags are good enough for him. If that happens, the team will be sold, and the Jags will leave Cascade. It's not something any cops are looking forward to. It will mean a huge riot. Anyway, he started a fight on the court so we had to leave. Unfortunately, later that evening around midnight, Roshman's assistant, Jerome Burke, was murdered. Wearing Roshman's jacket with the hood up and going to get the player's car and bring it around, he was murdered - shot from behind - and the car was stolen to make it look like a car-jacking. Simon was not in a good mood when Blair and I arrived at the arena this morning to take up the case. Apparently he'd questioned Roshman and then sent him home, but not before Roshman had told our captain what a low-class, low-life town this was and how he couldn't wait to get out of it. Even his friend, Arthur Dell, is implying that we - as in, the entire Cascade PD - aren't doing our jobs as well as we could be. Yeah, right! I've nicknamed this town as "The Most Dangerous City in America" and even with the PD working at 150%, we'd still be dealing with criminals. Sometimes I think my job is hopeless, but I can't stop trying. I have to keep trying to protect people. Blair claims it's part of my "Blessed Protector Instinct" as a sentinel. I like to think that its just because I'm a decent human being who doesn't like to see innocent people get hurt. Of course, there's probably a little bit of both. I'm sure he knows that.

"Of course I do. Dammit, what have I done to you to make you think I care so little about Jim the man?" Blair growled.

Blair and I headed out to Roshman's. He was on the court at his house, shooting hoops. His girlfriend, Shelley - who is Orvelle's niece - escorted us out to him. Then Blair talked him into playing two-on-one with us so we could continue the Q&A. There was one moment in the game when Blair spread his legs and crouched low to try to block Roshman from moving forward on the court. I was standing right behind Blair. I got an excellent view of that perfect tight ass that is most likely going to haunt my fantasies for a while. We were getting slaughtered, unsurprisingly, until Blair clued me in to the fact that I can use my senses to cheat a little bit without anyone knowing that I was cheating. Things were looking up and we were getting Roshman's respect - he'd been decidedly frosty and closed off earlier, and that's putting it politely - when the sound I'd been hearing most of the time finally registered just after Roshman scored a slam dunk. The backboard and hoop were falling apart, straight towards him. I tackled him out of the way just in time. If I hadn't, he would have either been killed, or so severely injured he never could have played again. Upon checking the evidence over, I found that the anchor bolt on the backboard had been scored nearly all the way through so that it would snap under pressure. I told him that Forensics would have to take a look at it to pronounce it sabotage, but Roshman insisted that it was Orvelle Wallace, since he'd been out there early that morning, shooting hoops. Shelley insisted it was otherwise, that her uncle had shown up to talk to her but she'd been out, so Orvelle had hung around, waiting. When she hadn't showed before Orvelle's scheduled doctor's appointment, he'd left. She kept insisting that her uncle would never do that. Roshman insisted otherwise, claiming that Orvelle had swung at him in his own kitchen after busting down the back door. Shelley said it was because Orvelle had shown up, heard them arguing, and overprotective uncle that he is, he'd thought she was in trouble. Blair and I left to go talk to Orvelle, but Blair was adamant that his hero wouldn't do something like sabotage the hoop, but there had to be a good reason for Roshman's accusations. I told him about the domestic disturbance report; that a patrolman had been called out and that the living room had looked like a tornado hit it and Shelley's eye was swollen. I had to tell him that if Orvelle suspected Roshman was swatting his niece around, and overprotective as he was, it might just be enough incentive. Blair didn't want to hear that. I'm sorry for him, really I am because I don't want to think about it, either, but as a cop, it's one of the possibilities that I have to consider. We caught up with Orvelle in the Jags locker room. He'd finished being checked out by the team's doctor and was certified to play. We chatted, but everything he said pretty much made him a suspect, as well as the 45 minutes in which he was unaccounted for before the murder that night. We had to take him downtown for a statement, but this is where it gets a little funny. Orvelle is 6'8" tall. The car we were using was Blair's. So that meant the poor guy was crammed into the back of Blair's tiny little 1968 green Volvo. We pulled the seats as far forward as we could, but he was still cramped. Then the funny stuff ended. We ended up in a high-speed chase going after Roshman's car. When it was finally cornered, we found two kids behind the wheel, ages 13 and 14. They'd found the car abandoned with the keys in it and couldn't resist taking it for a joyride. Their parents came down on them like a ton of bricks when they came to pick them up. I was glad to hear it. These kids won't be getting a mere "slap on the wrist". They're going to know they did wrong and feel the repercussions for a long, long time. Hopefully, it'll straighten them out.

"Yeah, man, hopefully," Blair agreed.

Orvelle gave his statement while I updated Simon on the kids and the car. Then Simon handed over a ticket to the Jag's dinner party later that evening. I managed to get the other one for Sandburg. There was no way I could have left him out of it; it would have totally bruised his heart. I think Simon knows it, as well as knowing he'll always have other chances, which was why he wasn't too upset to give up the second pass. I made it up to him, though; I stopped by the coffee shop he likes so much on my lunch break and got a two pound bag of his favorite blend, along with a one pound box of his favorite biscotti, then left it by his coffee machine before he got back from his own lunch. I later heard from Rafe and Brown about how his bad mood had been cleared up miraculously as he fixed a pot of the stuff and munched on a biscotti. I'm glad I could do that for him, at least. Simon is a good man, and an even better friend and Captain. He deserves to have little things like that done for him, to show he's appreciated. Every once in a while, I hear him muttering about being lonely and alone. I try not to be too obvious, but that's when I really make an effort to spend time with him outside of work, to buddy up with him, so he knows he's not really alone. That he has friends - me - anytime he needs us.

Blair felt his heart expand with love and pride. "That's my Jim," he murmured softly, even as he made a mental note to pick up a gift for Simon so the captain would know how much he was valued by one Blair Sandburg, as well.

Part 10

Blair felt his heart expand with love and pride. "That's my Jim," he murmured softly, even as he made a mental note to pick up a gift for Simon so the captain would know how much he was valued by one Blair Sandburg, as well.

So, Blair and I went to the dinner party. We were barely in the door before he confessed to me off-handedly that he'd financed his way through school mostly with illegal bets. I was half-joking when I threatened him with arrest, but I think he saw through me. He knows I would never deliberately do anything to endanger or damage him. Then a group of Jags cheerleaders walked by and he went haywire. Right on the spot, he made up some cockamamie story about Alexander the Great travelling around with his own version of cheerleaders. Confessed it was a total lie and then said "bet they've never heard a pick-up line like that before." On one hand, he's right; on the other hand, I just about ground my teeth down to the gum-line trying to control my jealousy. Wish to hell I could find some way of letting him know how much his obvious leg-humping tactics annoy me. Subtlety seems wasted on him; maybe if I mention it straight out...? Nah. Anyway, while we were there, Roshman and Wallace got into a fight and Orvelle's bracelet got broken. And a few hours later, after the party and everyone had gone home, Roshman was found dead in the shower stall of the Jags' locker room, shot at point blank range. Found a weird pebble near him; I'll have to get it analyzed. It could be important. God, this is turning into an ugly mess....

"Yeah, no kidding," Blair mumbled. "It was way past ugly, man; all the way to fuckin' ugly."

June 15, 1998

I am so infuriated with Blair I could almost actually kick his ass. In fact, I threatened to. He confessed to me in the break room - I had to move fast to get the door shut before anyone outside could overhear him - when he told me he already knew what that pebble was. It was a piece of rhino horn from Tanzania; same as was on Orvelle's bracelet. I told him that Simon was probably gonna kick his ass and that I should kick his ass. But I backed off a little; it was obvious as hell that Blair was near tears. His hero, Orvelle Wallace, a murderer? No way. Which was a good call, because we did catch the real murderer. Of course, we - meaning I and the killer when we duked it out - dropped the Jumbo-tron straight into the court after Orvelle scored the winning 3-point shot, but still. Simon and I had argued earlier that Arthur Dell could have been behind it all, but Simon shot that idea down. What I would like to know is, why is it okay for Blair's friend and hero to be considered a suspect, but not for Simon's to be considered suspect? I was tempted to bring that little piece of confusion into the open air, but I had other important things to attend to, such as keeping my head on my shoulders. Anyway, after Blair's surprise bombshell, we had no choice but to get a search warrant for Orvelle's house. Search and Seizure found gloves in the trashcan behind his place, with powder and Roshman's blood on it. However, we now know that Ray Krause was the one who set everything up. Actually, Blair figured everything out. He had his cousin the bookie set up a meeting with a loan shark that Krause was reportedly involved with a while back, as well as a man who was aware of most everything in that business. While the game was beginning and me, Simon, and some others from the PD were on our way to arresting Orvelle, Blair got the dirt on Krause, that he was a gambling junkie and that he needed the Jags to lose in order to get loan sharks off his back. He managed to kidnap Shelley and hold her up in the rafters while the game played, forcing Orvelle to begin throwing the game, but he rallied when Blair arrived, clued us in, and I and the others went after Krause and freed Shelley. That was something, though. Fighting it out with Krause - who, for a middle-aged guy with old severe injuries could fight hard when he felt that he had to - and then having the cables shot so that the Jumbo-tron fell ... man, that was something. Hanging there above the court with Krause clinging to me was kind of embarrassing. I finally told him to hang on tight and began climbing my way up the rope. Damn, I haven't done that in ages: carrying a dead weight while rope climbing, but I did it. I'm going to have to see about working that into my routine. I can't let myself get so severely out of shape like that. Anyway, we caught Krause, Dell nearly had heart failure as he realized just how close the murderer had been to them, and Orvelle, Shelley, and everyone else are fine. Blair is just flaming ecstatic. Especially since Orvelle gave him the warm-up jacket straight off his back after signing it with a message specifically for Blair, then hugging him so tight Blair squeaked. It was the closest I've ever seen Blair to passing out from ecstasy other than my dreams. I won't worry about it too much; because of my partner's devotion and hard work to find the real killer and save his ass, Orvelle is now Blair's loyal friend for life. All Blair will ever have to do is crook his little finger in Wallace's direction and whatever he wants from the man is his for the taking. A lot like his relationship with me, now that I think about it.

Blair laughed, then. "You know, Jim, when you're right, you're right!" Flipping through the next few entries, he slowed when he found the ones for when Iris had kidnapped him. Apparently, Jim hadn't liked that at all, he discovered, as he read through a few of the entries.

...he hasn't come home yet. Neither has he called. I dunno, but ever since meeting that Iris girl, I've got a bad feeling about this. I hope he's being careful. I know, he's a grown man, but I can't help worrying about him. I've got the feeling that girl is bad news...

"No shit, man."

...got him back, thank God! I thought I was going to go crazy when I learned that that crazy girl and her loser boyfriend had kidnapped Blair. He wasn't hurt when I found him, but I stopped Iris from shooting him by some isolated dumpsters at the last possible moment. I wanted to stay with him, hug him to me for the longest time, but I couldn't. I had to chase after that asshole drug dealing thug. So, I did it later. Blair had tracked Iris back to the Volvo, which she was going to drive off in, but he put a crimp in that plan. I took a haring chase on foot and on moped through a train and across the platform, but I finally got my man. Sort of. However, since the brass were raising stink about Blair's being partnered with me, we were forced to book him since he'd technically been found with drugs in his car. Even though he had them and Iris stashed in the trunk. He wasn't happy about it and I know why. Because of all the trouble he's had in his life about being a "neo-hippie witchdoctor punk," but it couldn't be helped. He's accepted our reasons why, but he still didn't like it. However, he did cook that seven course dinner and we invited Simon and Joel to eat with us. Understandably, Blair wasn't very hungry, so we listened while he played riffs on his Jimi Hendrix guitar, which he got back when we searched Iris' apartment. It wasn't until later, after we'd done the kitchen clean-up together that we settled onto the couch and he let me hold him for a while. We didn't say anything, either of us, so I guess he understood, since he was holding onto me just as hard as I was, him. God, he'd come so close to death today; I'd come so close to losing him. I don't ever want to go through that again. I know for a fact that he doesn't. It felt so good to hold him, though. To take the time to simply cherish him for being there. And I liked that Blair didn't need to analyze it to death. When we finally parted, he simply smiled at me, muttered "Thanks, man" and we went to our respective beds. That was great; didn't ruin the magic of the moment that way. He seemed to understand. Just one of the reasons I love him as much as I do.

Sandburg smiled. "Glad to hear it." He read a bit more, then found the entries for when Jim had gone undercover as a bodyguard for little Edward Lazar and Jim's notes on his evening with Michelle Lazar.

Gritting his teeth, Blair determinedly read through it.

I shouldn't have done it, I know. But it had been a while and there was this beautiful, lovesick, frightened woman offering me herself ... I shouldn't have done it. I told her the next morning that I didn't regret a moment of it, but I was lying. I shouldn't have. I think I love her, or at least, I care about her. She's a good woman who got seduced by Vincent Lazar into the crime world; a world she wants no part of. But that night ... oh, man. It was a one-night stand but I made love to her all night long. She was so hot, wet, tight ... God, all those lovely curves and bumps and smooth, sweet skin. She tasted so wonderful, both inside and out. I loved it when she wrapped those long, strong legs around my hips while I moved into her, deep and slow. I rode her like that for a long, long while. She came twice on my cock, shimmering and shuddering and so wet and clenching. And then I let her ride me until I came. We dozed a bit and then I took her from behind, hard and fast, just the way she wanted it. Shoved it into her hard, stroked her clit and her nipples and then had to hold a hand over her mouth when she couldn't completely muffle her cries of pleasure anymore. The lovemaking was fantastic; better than it had been for a while. The only thing that could have made it better was if it had been Blair I was making love to. But Michelle was good all by herself. For once I hadn't found myself wishing I could fantasize about Blair while having sex with someone, but I can't do that. Not only would it make living around Blair impossible, but it would somehow cheapen what I feel for him. No need to worry about continuing things with Michelle, though. She and Eddie are in the witness protection program, now. I'll never see her again. I regret that; I probably could have made a life with her and at least been content.

Blair closed the journal and his eyes, fighting the nausea that struggled in his stomach. He didn't want to know this about his friend and this woman. He had known that Jim had probably fallen in love with Michelle Lazar, and he hadn't liked it even then. Had felt somewhat jealous and then shamefully relieved when he realized she would never be allowed near them again, nor he allowed near her.

Sighing, he got control of himself and continued reading, moving past that and finding the entries for when that nutcase Dan Freeman had made a nuisance of himself in Jim's life. The anger in the entries were clearly evident.

...that lowlife scared Blair. I don't blame the kid, either. That basket case hopped outta his car and then started beating on Blair's window; good thing he'd slammed the lock on the door. Who knows what that guy would've done? I almost regret that I got interrupted before I could arrest the jerkwad...

...manure! That asshole Freeman put manure in my home! This is going too far. He's hacked into my personal records with the DMV and now he's pulling these dumb-ass pranks even knowing I'm a cop! And since I have no proof... I mean, what the hell? Does he think he's ten years old, or something? He's an adult and he's pulling off crimes. I am going to bust this asshole, and he will wish that cutting him off on the street was the least I had done to him...

...maxed out my credit cards and had my vehicle towed. That is it. Freeman is toast when I catch him. Of course, that's going to be a little difficult due to the restraining order he had cited against me...

...had fun pretending Blair was my "wife" earlier today when Melanie hit on me. Got to call him "honey" and "sugar" and I told him I loved him. He had no idea that I wasn't really playing, but that's okay. I finally at least got to say those things out loud to him while he was awake...

...finally got that punk arrested. He'd tipped off Melanie and Leeds that I was a cop. His antics finally got him into enough trouble that he could be arrested. When the judge gets evidence of his pranks, he is in for some serious trouble. I can't wait for this putz to get to prison. The inmates are gonna have a flaming ball with him. Possibly as many as ten per evening. At least Blair was safe from him. If anything had happened to him because of that dirtbag, all bets would have been off. As it was, Freeman - not anymore, ha, ha! - almost caused us to immolate as well as the near destruction of Main Street. We chased him down into the sewer system and he played Russian Roulette with the lone bullet in his gun. There was methane present. Now, I know methane is supposedly a lighter than air, colorless, odorless gas composed of carbon and hydrogen, but I'm a Sentinel. There hasn't been anything to me that is completely odorless. Why I was asking Blair if he smelled it is beyond me, though. As a sentinel, I was the only one who could have scented it. Anyway, I tackled him before he could blow us up. I wanted to drop him, but Blair talked me out of it and I hauled him up for arrest. Simon and some uniforms met us at the top, taking him into custody. He immediately tried to yell assault and harassment charges, but Simon shut him up pretty quick. He also pointed to the video camera one of the uniforms was using and would be the entire time he was in police custody. It's a new procedure we cops put into play to defend ourselves from the sleazy lawsuit loopholes that criminals occasionally try once in a while. Freeman about went ballistic when he realized we were taking precautions to make certain he couldn't squirm his way out of anything. It also turns out that he was supposed to be on medication and visiting a shrink, but he blew that off, and so, now, he's going to jail. I wish them much fun with him. Finally, he is off my case and out of my life and Blair's. I think I ought to celebrate that.

Blair laughed. They had, too. Once Jim's credit card problem had been fixed and everything restored to normal, the loft finally clean enough and smelling fresh enough to pass Jim's test, they had partied hearty. Gone out to one of the better restaurants and clubs, danced with the women they had met, and generally had a good time. Blair's favorite part of the whole evening had been when they had decided to take a quick stroll along the bay near the loft and Jim had pulled him close and left his arm draped over his shoulders. It had felt so right and comfortable that he had snuggled close without a moment's hesitation and wondered only briefly why Jim seemed to cherish that for a brief moment.

Now, he knew.

His stomach chose that moment to gurgle and then he followed it with a yawn. Checking the time, Blair saw that it was almost 9:30 at night. Knowing he had to be sharp for a class in the morning followed by a departmental meeting and then heading over to the station to help out on paperwork and stuff, he decided to leave off the journal there. He padded downstairs and had a quick, simple dinner and then went to the bathroom. After answering nature's call, he washed up, then left the bathroom and checked the locks on the doors and windows. Satisfied that everything was as good as it could be, he turned out the lights and carefully made his way upstairs and back into Jim's bed, where he snuggled down beneath the covers. Before too long, he was out like a light.

*****

"Hey, Simon! Er, Captain," Blair amended as he bounced into the bullpen and spied the big captain putting some folders on Rafe's desk.

"Good afternoon, Sandburg," Banks said dryly, then blinked when the younger man handed him a plain white, medium-sized flat box. "What's this?"

"Just a little something. Kind of a 'thank you' gift for putting up with me and agreeing to 'keep an eye' on me while Jim's away," Sandburg replied nonchalantly, though his gaze was anywhere but on the captain.

Simon was silent for a long moment, then he reached out and put his hand on Blair's shoulder and squeezed lightly. "Why don't you come into my office for a moment, son. We need to talk."

His heart in his throat, Blair followed him into the room and settled into the chair across from the desk that Simon indicated. He hesitantly took the cup of coffee - fixed the way he liked it, which now that Blair thought about it, was odd that Simon remembered it - that Simon gave him and waited until the older man was seated before asking with a nervous smile, "So, is everything okay? Have you heard from Jim? He's fine, isn't he?"

Banks blinked, then cursed himself for a fool. Of course he's going to worry himself towards a heart attack that there's something wrong with Jim, you idiot! he snarled at himself. Hurriedly, he set the younger man straight. "Jim's fine, Sandburg. Just fine. I wanted to talk about you and me."

Blair breathed a heavy sigh of relief. "Oh, thank God," he moaned quietly. "Simon, you have no idea what was going through my head..."

"I think I have some idea of it, judging by your reaction. I'm sorry, Blair; I never meant to worry you."

"It's cool, man. So, what's up? Anything wrong?"

Eyeing the young grad student, Simon murmured, "I'm thinking there might be." He watched as Blair tensed and the older man continued to speak. "Blair, don't get me wrong, but are you afraid of me for some reason that I should know about?"

Sandburg blinked. He was silent for a long moment, then shook his head emphatically. "Afraid? Simon, no, man! God, is that what you were thinking? Why?"

Sighing, Simon took a sip of coffee, then leaned forward. "Because, Blair, I'm a little worried about you, to tell the truth. For the most part, you seem happy, cheerful, and confident, but there are times when you slip and say something like 'thanks for putting up with me' or stuff like that. Blair, what's wrong? What are you thinking?"

The man in question squirmed slightly and glanced down at the hands he'd placed in his lap. "Nothin's wrong, Simon. C'mon, man, lighten up a little. Why does something have to be wrong just 'cause I say something?"

"Blair, look at me," Simon ordered quietly.

Blair looked up, his gaze slightly challenging. "And that's another thing: why all this use of my name, suddenly? I mean, for a while there, I was beginning to think that my name is only Sandburg."

The captain glowered at that point, then sighed. "Because, Blair, this is how friends talk to each other when they're trying to help. Or at least figure something out. I would like to know, honestly, what you think I think of you. What any of us thinks of you. And then I'll tell you how it really is."

"I ... Simon, it's not necessary, you know? I mean, I know I help you guys out and all and you're grateful for it, even if you can't say it-"

"We do say it, Blair. We say it lots of ways. When we include you in group activities. The way Brown and Rafe play with you and call you 'Hairboy'. The way Rhonda smiles at you and the others tease you. The way I haven't sent you packing permanently after all the idiot stunts you've pulled," Simon said pointedly. "This is the way we're affectionate with our friends. We're cops; this is how we are. I thought, smart as you are, you had figured that out by now."

"I ... I sort of did, Simon. It's just ... sometimes..."

"Sometimes it feels too impersonal to you and you need to feel more closely accepted?"

Blair nodded and whispered, "Yeah. I mean, I know I help and I know you appreciate it, but sometimes I feel ... invisible, for lack of a better word. As an observer, that's good, in a certain way. But as just a guy, just a human being who's never really fit in anywhere-" He abruptly stopped talking and glanced away, blushing slightly.

"Blair, I'm only going to say this once and I hope for the love of Pete you pay close attention to me, because I will never, even upon pain of death, repeat this," Simon said sternly. When he had Sandburg's attention again, he said, "Blair, we value you. All of us. As a person who helps us and a friend who, in many different ways, lifts our spirits and relieves the monotony and depression of our jobs. You are not a burden that we have to 'put up with', do you hear me? You're a smart man who contributes to our work in some admittedly weird ways, but in our own way, each of us respects you for it. I'm sorry that we can't show you in a more open way that you're used to, but it is there."

Blair closed his eyes to prevent the moisture that had gathered from spilling over. "I understand," he said thickly. "Thank you, Simon."

"Good. Oh, and Blair, just in case you get any ideas that Jim doesn't care for and respect you, think again. I've never seen him so close to anyone as he is to you."

Simon was puzzled when Blair looked at him and smiled widely as he said, "Oh, no worries there, sir. I'm as close to him as he is to me. I just gotta find a way to make it apparent to him."

"Yeah, well, that's good to know, I guess. Now, get out of here. There's some preliminary work on Jim's desk that you can take care of for him that will be a big help when he gets back and possibly earn you a week of no complaints about those foul-smelling algae shakes of yours. And then I need you to come in here and take care of some more paperwork. It needs to be done so you won't lose access around here."

"No problem, Simon; I'll be glad to help you there!" Blair laughed as he stood. "And enjoy your gift, man. I hope you know that I value you, too." And with that, he left the office.

Simon watched him situate himself at Jim's desk and turn on the computer. Rafe and H came by and playfully ruffled his hair, chatting with him. Simon couldn't hear what was said, but from the new understanding and cheer in Blair's grin, the young man obviously was okay with it. He snickered to himself when he saw Rafe and H turn to go to their own desks and trade knowing grins with each other. Then he turned his attention to the box Sandburg had given him. When he opened it, his jaw dropped open like a trap door. Inside was a pastry ring; to be specific, a pineapple strudel that was still faintly warm from the bakery it had come from. As the smell hit his nose, Simon began salivating. Digging into one of his desk drawers, he got out a plastic fork and carefully forked up a bite of the pastry. As he began chewing it, he hummed in blissful contentment as he closed his eyes, savoring the treat.

Blair grinned as he ducked his head back toward the monitor and began typing up a report. He'd taken one look at the blissed out captain and known he'd definitely earned himself a few brownie points.

*****

Later that evening, Blair was once again snuggled up in Jim's bed with the journal. He'd adhered to house rules and eaten his dinner downstairs, but after that, he'd taken a long, hot relaxing shower and then high-tailed it upstairs after drying his hair. Now, he was getting to the entries detailing his and Jim's trip out to Storm Island to celebrate Rucker Ellison's birthday.

September 8, 1998

Man, what a wild weekend! I don't know how we do it, me and Blair, but our luck is something else. Headed out to Storm Island where my cousin, Rucker, lives while working as a Coast Guard stationmaster. Usually, his fiancée, Andy - short for Andrea - is with him, working as First Mate, but her father got ill and was back in Cascade. Eddie Hicks flew us out in his seaplane. I wasn't too thrilled with that, but I did all right. Of course, Blair and Eddie teased me a bit, but that was okay. Unfortunately, there was a storm coming in. It was still about forty miles out, South-southeast, but that didn't last long. Before an hour was out, the wind was shaking the house up a bit. I made sure I stayed out of sight of the ocean. Blair was feeling kind of nervous and unwelcome, but I don't know why. I mean, sure, Rucker's an Ellison, but my father didn't raise him. Most of us are abrupt, brusque, but we're generally nice people. We were getting ready to have some fun playing poker when the shit hit the fan. Rucker was coming back to the living room with the playing cards when he noticed a crazy blip on his radar screen. All three of us headed out in the CG Launch to find what was apparently an abandoned run-away yacht. Thanks to my eyesight, though, I spotted an unconscious woman whom later we found out to be named Monique, and also, a killer and thief. And a liar. But we didn't know that yet. I climbed onto the yacht and managed to stop it before it could run aground and then we towed the thing back to the station. Monique didn't wake up until we got back up to the house. That was when the storm really decided to hit and I was thankful that I hadn't had to carry her up on slippery rocks. Blair took an instant liking to her, but then again, that kid likes anything with knockers and nice hips.

"Up yours, man," Blair mumbled without rancor.

We got her wrapped up in a warm blanket and some coffee down her gullet. She told us her name and that she was running away from her boyfriend, a powerful "investment banker" by the name of Enrique Mendez. Then the power went out. Blair gave her some of his own clothes to wear and they were getting cozy until Rucker came back after checking out the boat. He'd found a little package on board ... two packages, actually. Heroin, Mexican brown. I put her under arrest, but she gave a convincing story of being the beaten girlfriend of none other than Enrique Guzman, the Mexican heroin czar. She told us of how he'd had some judges in Guadalajara killed because they wanted more money and that the federales couldn't protect him anymore, so he moved his operations here to the states, but when the DEA began moving in, he freaked out, got drunk, and beat her with a belt or something, so she ran. It was a convincing enough story that I had to let her go on grounds of "innocent until proven guilty," since the storm had us all trapped on the island. Though Rucker's CG, I'm PD, and that put her squarely in my jurisdiction, so I had the authority to make judgement calls. She certainly had Blair wrapped around her little finger and I admit, I was unsure enough to give her the benefit of the doubt, though Rucker and I were still wary of it all. Finally, with the power out, all we could do was go to bed. That meant that Monique got the bed in the bedroom and us guys camped out in the main room. Rucker took the fold-up cot that was kept in storage and I took the couch. Tried to talk Blair into taking it, but he wouldn't hear of it, so I gave him one of my blankets to compensate for it, since I know how cold he gets. He fell asleep quickly enough, but Rucker and I stayed awake for a while, talking quietly, while Blair and Monique slept. We talked about a lot of things and I explained the "thin blue line study" thing that was the cover story for why Blair is my partner. Before too long, though, I noticed that Blair was shivering hard, even though he was practically unconscious. He was tired even before Monique showed up and the adrenaline rush of the chase hadn't helped him any. He had crashed, big time. He never even woke up when I got up from the couch, scooped him up, and put him on it and tucked him in warmly. I took the floor and Rucker teased me for being an old softie and why hadn't I ever told him I had gotten married again? I punched him lightly enough in the arm, and a little while later, we both fell asleep. I guess we were lucky that Monique didn't decide to kill us in our sleep.

The young guide blinked. He hadn't known Jim had lifted him up there quite so early on. He figured that Jim had woken up early in the morning and, since he was no longer using the couch, had put him up on it. He hadn't known Jim had given up the couch for him. "You big lug..." he whispered softly, and continued reading.

A remote activated homing beacon had been triggered on the boat and Guzman and a few of his men, one of whom turned out to be on Monique's side, came after her by helicopter and stormed the island, managing to blow up the CG launch while they were at it. While I was busy talking with Guzman and trying to get him to go away - and he was denying that he'd ever beat Monique - Rucker had gone up to the lighthouse to try to get communications out to the mainland, but he'd been shot and injured. Fortunately, he'd managed to escape. That left me, Blair, and sort of Monique to defend the house. Poor Blair; he hates guns, hates handling them, but he's become so accustomed to them while hanging out with me that, like a pro, he broke out one of the windows and fired steadily at the invaders with one of the M-16's. Anyway, the bad guys had shot up the house, but thanks to the trap door in the floor, we all got away. Managed to take out two of the Mexican gunmen down by the rocks near the lighthouse, but Monique faked a panic attack that caused her to "accidentally" set off the flare gun, which pinpointed our location. We managed to locate Rucker and moved deeper into the woods. By that time, I had figured out what was going on. Monique didn't have the information book on Guzman's contacts and all because she'd put it on tape. I'd found it in her walkman when I searched for the book. So, I'd put everything together and I clued in Blair and Rucker about it. She finally showed her true colors, but not only had I switched tapes on her, but I'd put a blank clip in the gun she held on us. She tried to run, then, but Guzman and Raoul had shown up and they captured her and brought her back. Guzman was getting set to torture her with a knife when the right-hand man, Raoul, showed his true colors and shot his boss in the back. Monique bragged about the whole thing and then Rucker and I attacked Raoul when the CG helicopters flew overhead. Blair took off after Monique. God, I was so worried I thought I was going to puke when I ran after them. Had my hearing trained on them and I heard them fighting, but when I arrived, I found him pinning her to the ground facedown. His own face was a bloody mess because she'd gotten in a lucky punch to his nose, but that was about it. Later, when the authorities were hauling everyone away and Blair was cleaning his nose, one of the Guardsmen brought a phone over and told him Andy was on the line. Blair and I listened in as Rucker talked to her and told her everything was fine and that he loved her. Blair was damn certain Andy was a male, until Rucker clued him in otherwise. I smacked him lightly in the head and then patted his belly. He shot me an irritated look, then shrugged. I guess he was cool with it all. We packed up our stuff a little while later and hitched a ride back with the CG. I guess Blair wasn't feeling so hot after all. He took a shower and then crawled into bed. I know he wasn't terribly hurt, but he was already exhausted and this whole situation did not call for a lot of rest and relaxation. Oh, well. Simon told us to take the day off tomorrow and since he doesn't have any school for the next week, I'm thinking we can both sleep in. I'll order something for lunch or whatever. Anything that doesn't involve getting totally dressed and leaving the loft. Bummin' around is gonna feel damn good on these old bones.

Blair snorted. "Yeah, right. 'Old' my ass!" He read through a few more entries, then got to the ones for when Micki Kamerev was discovered helping to smuggle diamonds in order to help the oppressed people back in Russia. He read about Jim's irritation with Vaslova, the female Russian agent; his bitter hatred for Yuri; his anger at Micki's deception, though it was in a good cause. When he got to the entries Jim had written about the attack at Delta station, he read a little more slowly.

...Yuri was a sneaky bastard, definitely. Got us all in one room by watching our heat sources and then picked off the two agents. One of them was still alive after the first round of incoming fire, but he died before he could get help. I knew that would happen. I had Mulroney cut the power so Yuri would lose his eyesight, then crawled over Blair - God, he felt so good beneath me; so warm and alive. I was determined to do everything I could to keep him that way. Told him to stay with Micki and Vaslova and for him and Micki to do as Vaslova said. Then I went out hunting Yuri with my senses. Of course, Vaslova decided to play stormtrooper and got herself shot for her heroics. She managed to get back inside in time to warn Blair and Micki to run and they did. Yuri left Vaslova alive so she would have a permanent "failure" to live with. I met up with Micki and Blair and made them hide behind some concealing trees, then, knowing that Yuri was listening with his surveillance gear, I led him towards the dam. Hell of a fight and it was only by luck that I got out of it alive. Threw him over the edge and he caught hold of it. I was going to pull him up so he could be arrested to stand trial. He was bragging that he would be out within two months, at most, and what would I do then? It was taken out of my hands when one of the FBI snipers, on Mulroney's orders, shot him in the back. He fell about 200 feet or more, struck the concrete at the top, and then the water swept him over the side. His body hasn't been found so far, which makes me uneasy. Sure, nobody should be able to survive that, but Yuri is the best of the best. And I had the same kind of training as a Ranger. Yeah, it would hurt like hell, but if he could survive the damage done by the bullet, then the thumps and cracks would be easy enough to handle. So, I'm worried on that one. Especially since it smells of a conspiracy cover-up by the American and Russian agencies. Mulroney ought to know better than to blindside me; I have contacts and friends everywhere. I can play the game like he wouldn't believe. Anyway, Micki didn't get prosecuted and her green card was restored. That's good. However, I'm not certain I want to spend too much time with her. I know she's interested in me, but she inspires "protective big brother" feelings in me more than anything else. Blair was kind of cute, though; just before the Feds escorted her out, she called us both her "guardian angels" and he blushed. Like I said, "cute." Simon seems to be as uneasy about Yuri's supposed "death" as I am, though. I tracked downstream myself, Blair helping in case I zoned. Came close a couple times, but he either spotted it coming and distracted me or I managed to shake myself out of it. Couldn't find any trace of that asshole, though. So, here's hoping he gets mauled by a bobcat or two after they track the scent of blood.

Blair shuddered. "Whoa. Harsh, dude. Way harsh. If ever there was a mental picture I didn't need...."

His bladder chose that moment to check in. Getting up, he scurried downstairs and relieved himself, washed up, then headed back upstairs. As he burrowed back under the covers, he realized with both relief and disappointment that he was nearing the end of the journal, at least up to where Jim had left off writing. Relief since Jim would be home in only a couple more days and disappointment because there wouldn't be anymore to read after he was finished and Jim came home. He was somewhat surprised that Jim hadn't taken the journal with him, but he didn't regret it.

Snuggling in, he picked up the journal and continued reading, skimming through the more mundane entries, laughing at a few of Jim's observations on some more tests he'd run on him, and then he found the entries for when Cassie Welles had become their Chief of Forensics. Blair sighed. He liked Cassie, really he did, but even he had to admit that she was a little too over-eager to help out detectives, especially Jim. While her enthusiasm was helpful in speeding things along, she managed to rub most of the detectives the wrong way with her bossy "I'll do as I please" ways and her interference. More than one person had gone to Simon or their respective captain and said that if Welles didn't back off from doing their jobs for them, they might as well quit. Cassie had toned down her eagerness in the last few months after most of the captains in the building had called her in for a private chat. IA had also had to talk with her and spell it out to her that by interfering with the detective's work - such as going through victims' pockets and taking samples before the detective assigned to the case could make notes on anything - was setting the PD up for all sorts of lawsuits if it was discovered. They told her that she was Chief of Forensics and that was what she was being paid for. If she had a problem with restricting herself to that, then she should find another field to work in. Since police work was Cassie's life, she had restricted herself to Forensics. Blair had been mildly embarrassed for her when many detectives had openly, vehemently, and fluently breathed a proverbial sigh of relief. Jim, apparently, had been one of the subtler, but nonetheless grateful detectives, although he certainly let his frustrations show in his journal.

Part 11

November 6, 1998

My blood pressure must be sky high. I know why, too. There's a new Chief of Forensics, a feisty redhead by the name of Cassie Welles. The woman is a total bitch. Wants to be a detective, clearly, but can't because she's a severe asthmatic. She'd be a natural at it, but because of her handicap, she's in Forensics and driving me bananas. Blair likes her, of course. It doesn't hurt that she's a redhead with a great figure and a huge set of knockers. Plus, she's as enthusiastic and intelligent as he is, and as outgoing. She outstrips him in the "obnoxious-ness" department hands down, though. I love him dearly and would give my life for him, but occasionally, Blair lets his mouth and attitude run away with him. I've gotten used to it - most of the people in the PD and certainly in MC have - but there are times when I have to step in and re-direct his focus. Welles, though ... Jesus! Why did Cascade get the bad luck of hiring her? Today, for example! I met her today - which started at the ungodly hour of 4:30 AM - when Blair and I arrived at the scene of a crime where a dead body had dropped out of nowhere on top of a woman's minivan as she was getting ready to drive off. He was a disgusting mess, the body was. H warned us, but Blair still got nauseated. When I told him to breathe deep and that he'd get used to it, he shot me this disgusted glance and walked away. I was attempting to get the details from H when Cassie walks up and butts in, supplying them herself. When she said she'd gone through the victim's pockets, I was totally stunned. Knowing she's Chief of Forensics, that means she's restricted from moving anything until the assigned detectives give her leave. She was confused at mine and Brown's surprise, which struck me as a little odd. Clearly, she knew she wasn't supposed to touch anything; she did it anyhow. Then she tried to patch together a murder theory, which I helped point out all the huge holes. When Blair tried to offer suggestions that would support her theory, I hate to admit it, but I got mean. Yes, I was jealous. But I was also pissed off with that woman!! Christ! Busiest damned busybody I've ever run across since my Great Aunt Minnie died. Minnie Ellison was a meddler of the highest order. She actually sat at her living room window with a pair of binoculars and watched the neighborhood goings-on! Had all the latest dirt on everybody and voluntarily volunteered it to anyone who would listen, with relish. Usually knew what was going on in her neighbors' lives before they did. Welles strikes me as a "Minnie Ellison" of a nosey parker and then some. And there's no way I can avoid her, like I could with Minnie. I have to work in the same building as Welles. Goddamn, why couldn't she have stayed in San Fran?!

Blair snickered slightly and shook his head. "Jim, man, she's not that bad, and you know it. You really let your jealousy run away with you that time, didn't you?"

So, anyway, Blair and I headed down to the coroner's to see what Dan Wolf may have found. We found Cassie in there, perkily and cheerfully sitting in on the autopsy. And what she was wearing!! My God! Dress codes have really been relaxed around there; Carolyn always dressed professionally in the latest styles and so did Sam - whom I am so grateful left Cascade for New York. Have I mentioned in a while how grateful I am she left? I never did forgive her for when she almost took Blair's face off with that flash-bang in the sink. Anyway, there was Cassie - whom I had seen covered up in her shin-length coat and scarf, and so did not know what was under there - wearing a skin-tight leopard-print nightmare straight out of the sixties, along with knee-length black platform boots from the same era! I don't know how she's getting away with it - probably one of the higher ups likes the lay of the land above her waistline - but those boots are definitely not regulation footwear. Especially for her job. They are a hazard and - say, maybe she could have an accident in those things, or trip because of them and damage some evidence, and she can be made to leave? That's an idea!

"Jim! You dirty, rotten ... Jeez! I never knew you'd play so unfairly before just because one woman was rubbing your fuzz the wrong way," Blair muttered at the journal.

Anyway, Dan greeted us and ever-so-casually mentioned the autopsy Blair had last been at in which he'd passed out. That had been a case of queasiness at the sight of a cut open body combined with fatigue and a then-undiscovered case of the flu, which we hadn't known at the time. God, I'd barely caught him in time to keep his head from hitting the floor hard. At any rate, he tried to play tough guy (probably hoping to impress Welles) and stuck around, but when Dan pulled out a piece of the guy's innards, he bolted quickly enough. I struggled not to wince when I heard him barrel into the men's room and hurl up the breakfast he'd scarfed down hurriedly earlier. Turned my attention back to the business at hand and Dan clued me in that apparently, the body had been beaten severely before he'd fallen from a great height. Cassie then walked out with me and really pushed all my buttons then. Would not shut up, talked right over me, then proceeded to get pissy when I told her she wasn't a detective and completely took everything the wrong way without letting me get a word in edgewise. When I complained to Simon, he told me to ease up because she's supposedly good at her job. Something strikes me as interesting, though; she said "she'd hoped things would be different in Cascade" and here she is, being pushy and trying to do my job. Simon says she's very good at her work; if she's so great, why didn't San Fran try to keep her? My gut instinct tells me that she got pushy down there one too many times and they transferred her before she could irritate detectives to the point where they'd go on strike. Wonder if I called Carolyn, she might confirm this...?

"Whoa. Serious territory fight," Blair laughed.

Blair, of course, admitted to liking her and I showed my teeth again. That seems to be becoming a "knee-jerk" kind of reaction, lately. I hope I can get control of it before it gets too noticeable. Last thing I need is for him to start wondering about it. Smart as he is, he'd figure it out in no time.

"Well, congratulations; I had no clue until I found this journal," the younger man groused.

So, then, Welles comes in with a computer program she just happens to have that just happens to help us reconstruct a facsimile of the John Doe's face. Simon was impressed enough to put me on the spot about it, and we got the thing printed up and began distributing copies. Took one down to Dan's office only to find him stashed in a slab drawer. He told us two guys had put him in there after stealing the body and all files pertaining to it. We chased after them, Blair and I, and sent somebody back for Dan as we ran outside. Found two guys loading the body into a station wagon; told 'em to freeze and they blew the frigging thing up with the body still inside it. I only had enough time to push Blair back behind the edge of the building and shield him from flying glass and metal bits. When everything settled down, those two guys were gone. We reported back to Simon and he informed us that Dan hadn't even had time to get the fingerprints out to the FBI. So, we have to start over from scratch. Fine. Blair and I went back to the site where the body had been found. I pointed out to him that if John Doe had been thrown from the bridge, the person doing it had to either be really strong or had some sort of mechanical help to get him past the wires that criss-crossed below it. I was glancing away when my sentinel sight suddenly kicked in. We went a half-mile to the mysterious object I'd spotted in a tree and Blair offered to go up after it, which was nice of him, considering that I know how much he hates heights. I made sure he was okay after he came back down, and he was. The object was a suit jacket that matched John Doe's, who's real name was Jean Duval, whom we later found to be an Interpol agent who had followed a lead on the Paris bombing terrorist and then vanished in Geneva. Apparently, he'd been found out and was killed for it. We figured out that the only way for the suit jacket to wind up there and for him to have fallen so far and missed the wires was if he'd been pushed out of a low-flying airplane. Also, thanks to Cassie's analysis of the soil on his shoes, we figured out that the only place he could have come from before he was pushed was a town 200 miles away called Pinecrest. Cassie, of course, beat us there. Damn, that nosy little...!! So. Anyway, we meet up with Sheriff McNeil, a nice, round blonde woman who enjoyed taking care of the little town. Left the flyer with Duval's picture on it and she said she'd call if she noticed anything, and as we left, I started in on Cassie. She tried to tell me that she'd driven out here to "help me out" because she thought I might be "too busy" to do it myself. Right. I'm the primary on this case, it's my job to follow up on any leads pertaining to it, and I'm too busy? She knew it was a lame excuse. That's when she started hyperventilating all to hell and gone and I found out about her asthma and why she couldn't join the force as a detective. I understood, then, how frustrating it must be for her to be such a natural at detective work and restricted due to a continual cramp in her lungs. Didn't stop me from being pissed off at her totally, though. I got a promise from her later - after I'd spotted, chased, fought with, and accidentally killed one of the guys who'd stolen Duval's body and blown it up - that if I felt she was getting in the way, she'd leave when I said so. Apparently, she has a different idea of what "getting in the way" means than I do. She even had the nerve to get huffy with me about it, then broke the agreement when she passed Leland's airstrip. It almost got her killed, which really pissed me off. I chewed her a new asshole for that and when she got pissy about it, I stood back and let Simon have at her. She was a lot more subdued then. A chewing out from me she could fight back on; her boss yelling at her, now, that was a different matter. Anyway, we figured it out that the Pinecrest doctor was actually Vern Delanian (instead of the Steven Morrow he went by), a doctor who'd been in prison for an organ transplant black market scheme. He was part of a group who would lure foreigners to the states with the promise of riches and jobs, then drug them, cut out their kidneys or whatever other hot organ was needed, and sell it, leaving them bleeding to death in an alley. We took this news to Sheriff McNeil, which she denied but eventually confronted him with, and he killed her for it. Her deputies, unfortunately, were in on it with the "good doctor" and had us locked up when we found her stuffed into her trunk. By then, though, Cassie had already left Pinecrest because I'd told her to, but she'd gone to Leland's and been discovered. Stupid woman!

"Jim, she's not stupid! Overly intrepid and eager, maybe, but not stupid," Blair admonished the journal.

The deputy left to guard us was awfully lax. He put on a pair of headphones and turned on a CD player and turned away. I broke Blair's glasses and used the ear steam to pick the lock; I need to replace his glasses, too. I've got the prescription already; it's part of the personal file I keep on his medical needs at home, so I'll swing by and pick him up some nice frames. I'd get the old ones repaired, but I kinda bent them all out of shape when I was taking them apart. So, we hotfooted it out to Leland's where we managed to save the day, barely. By the time everything was done, Cassie had Morrow at gunpoint - with her hands taped, yet, which wasn't bad at all - and the state police ground patrol had followed their chopper out so we had backup units. Both Blair and Cassie are fine, everyone involved in the Pinecrest operation has been captured, we got Resnais the terrorist that Duval had been tracking, and all the files the criminal doctor had kept on his patients. This is a haul guaranteed to earn Cascade PD some good press for the next six months! Simon's pleased, I'm happy, the Chief of Police, the Commissioner, and the Governor are frigging ecstatic, and to top it all off, I decided to mellow out a bit. I invited Cassie to an evening out, a nice, quiet dinner. Blair was right about one thing; she's a nice girl, if a trifle pushy. I should get to know her a little better before I tear her head off.

Blair laughed. "Oh, what a ringing endorsement that is...!" He recalled how Cassie had maneuvered them into a three-way date, issued the statement that she didn't date anyone from work under any circumstances, and that he and Jim were way too competitive with each other. The two of them had solved that and gotten a little of their own back on Cassie when they had unanimously shown good comradeship by agreeing to let her pay for dinner. She hadn't been all that amused, actually, but she had learned her lesson about playing with them like that.

Deciding that he was thirsty and that a beer would taste great, Blair got up and headed back downstairs. Checking the locks, he then turned out the lights and made his way back upstairs to where the cozy bed, the bedside lamp, and the journal waited for him.

He perused through the next couple of weeks until he got to the entries for the case in which he and Jim had nearly been killed in a cave-in at the archeological dig site.

November 12, 1998

Good Lord, what a day. And evening. Early this morning, Blair and I were watching the news together about a supposed freak accident down at the Cantor Foundation archeological site. Blair knows the team leader, a Professor Emily Watson who was being interviewed by reporters on the scene. We saw Cassie in the background and watched her pull out her cell phone and dial something. At the same exact moment, our phone rang. That was way weird, talking to her while watching her on the TV. She got pissy when I told her to hang back on the Gillman murder theory so she wouldn't look like an idiot. I'm beginning to think that woman has only two modes to operate in: pushy and pissy, and the two are frequently intertwined. Anyway, Blair and I went down and Cassie told us what she knew and then Blair tried to talk with Watson, but she brushed him off. The three of us poked around the dig site, but Cassie couldn't stay under there for long. With her severe asthma, she can't be under ground or below sea level very long before her limited oxygen supply gets even more limited. She showed us Gillman's car, which had been broken into and she suggested that his killer had been looking for something. I wasn't saying she was wrong, but two other cars had had the same thing done to them. We theorized that the killer might have been trying to throw us off track that way. I wandered off to talk with Simon when he called my cell phone, and I overheard Blair and Cassie chatting. She admitted that I was right in that she sometimes leaps before looking and then threatened to kill Blair if he ever told me she'd said that. From the tone of his voice, I could tell he was trying hard not to laugh since he knew I was probably listening in on them. Blair and I spent the day apart, him at the university and me at MC working on current cases, trying to get some stuff done. I hate having to do paperwork - it's so damned tedious and I've been spoiled by Blair doing it for me - but at least I can do it, which is more than can be said for some of my fellow cops. The daily attempts to seduce Blair from my side into doing their paperwork for them are completely shameless and unrepentant. He takes it in stride, rather gleeful with the blatant attempts, glad to be wanted so badly by these cops. It at once breaks my heart and lifts my spirits to realize how much the acceptance means to him. Anyway, he did call me at one point to tell me what he'd learned from Watson when he'd spoken to her. It wasn't until later in the evening that he showed up just as I was telling Cassie that "we" in Ellisonese meant "me and Sandburg" not "me and Cassie". She'd brought up the M.E.'s report on Gillman, having Dan put a rush on it. I wasn't too surprised. Surprisingly enough, the cause of death was drowning, not being crushed in a cave-in. She theorized that he'd been repositioned after the drowning to make it look like the cave-in had killed him and that was fine. When I told her "we" had to check it out to prove it, she was happy and eager and rarin' to go. When I popped that bubble, she switched to pissy and pushed Blair out of the way when she went storming out. I almost called her on it, but decided to let it go. I'm getting used to her temper tantrums. But if she ever pulls a "Sam" and takes her frustration and pissiness out on Blair, she'd better watch out. I won't stand for anyone being that shitty to him.

"Besides you, big guy?" Blair gently teased, and took a sip of his beer.

We got out to the site and Cantor met us there to let us in. We poked around a bit and I noticed that phosphorous had mixed into the cement so that the metal tap on the heel of the killer's shoe - Gillman hadn't been wearing any such shoes - had made a print that my sentinel sight picked up using the moonlight as a black light effect. Blair was thrilled with that and was walking over to join me when the floor went out beneath him, literally. Apparently, beneath the dirt that the dig team had been brushing away, there was a roof that was made of wood, which had become old, rotted, weakened, termite-infested, you name it. Blair's weight and the fact that he bounces when he walks dropped it right out from under him. I only had time to yell his name before he disappeared into a black hole with a scream. He must've blacked out for a moment because it wasn't until I'd taken the ladder and used it to climb down into the hole to get to him that he started groaning. God, when he disappeared like that and wouldn't answer my calls ... I was terrified. The only thing that kept me from going stark raving loony was the fact that I could hear his heart beating and his lungs working with my sentinel hearing. I got to him and got him up, worried about possible spinal injuries, but he assured me he was fine, just one big bruise. I continued to worry about him. Anyway, we found out that he'd crashed into a hidden room. Two huge iron doors were guarding something with ancient, unrecognizable writing on it. He took a rubbing of it using dirt and notebook paper so he can show it to Professor Watson tomorrow. I kept checking on him and he kept reassuring me he was fine, so we carefully climbed up out of the hole and headed home. I notified the proper authorities of what we'd discovered and I know that place is going to be buzzing. Anyway, we got home fine. Blair took a shower and I rubbed liniment into his back and then he made a few calls to Watson, but so far, she hasn't answered. Well, gee, I wonder why...? It's only the middle of the night! As I write, he's sitting down at the kitchen table with his laptop and reference books, trying to crack the language on that rubbing he took from the hole. I've yelled at him to not over-do it and he's replied he'll be fine, so I've really got no choice but to close up shop here and go to sleep. I'm exhausted already and I've got a feeling this is only going to get worse.

Blair shook his head. Jim hadn't really known how right he was until it was all over. Sipping on his beer again, he continued reading.

November 13, 1998

Friday the Thirteenth. Oh, yeah, this definitely counted as a black day in my book. I woke up to find Blair still sitting at the table. He'd just finished making another phone call to the professor when I went downstairs. He admitted that he'd been up all night trying to crack the code, but with little or no success. I wasn't pleased with that; I could see his exhaustion, the bags under his eyes. What the hell was he thinking? Injured and he refused to go to bed?! What goes through his head sometimes puzzles the hell out of me. Then, Cassie showed up, wired and voracious to help out. Blair had called her and she was so wound up to help that I just stayed out of the way. When I headed back upstairs to get a few more hours' sleep (since it was my day off, technically), they were cozily ensconced at the table, poring over the work together, utterly oblivious to anyone else present. That kind of hurt, that did. I mean, I probably could've helped if Blair had asked, but no, he went to a redhead with outstanding boobs to help him out. On one hand, I couldn't blame him; on the other, it stung just a bit that he apparently thought I couldn't help him with this problem.

"Aw, Jim. I'm sorry, man. I didn't think..."

When I headed in, I found them working at my desk! They moved aside to Blair's desk, but they informed me that it was the site of an old Masonic lodge and that the Masons, along with some of their Illuminati brethren - basically, spies - had a secret thing going on in there. Cassie had a friend in DC modem her a new cryptology program - and why the hell is it that she seems to have access to all the new toys before anyone else does? That's fast work, even for a forensics chief. But, before we could get anywhere with that, we had to go to the university. Professor Watson had been killed. The killer set it up to look like she had a diabetic reaction, gotten dizzy, and fell and hit her head before she could get help, but what he'd done was injected her with another dosage in the same place she normally did. Cassie suggested the theory of the insulin reaction and dizzy spell, but I had to shoot her down. She managed to offend Blair fairly well when she switched to pissy and accused me of trying to be right all the time and hogging all the glory. For someone who seems so concerned about "teamwork" and "sharing" and all that crap, I've noticed she can be a selfish lady when it comes to taking credit for something. So eager to prove herself worthy that she tries to keep the "spotlight" on herself. I don't think she's entirely aware of this hypocrisy, but I'm going to have to point it out sooner or later, before she really digs herself a deep one.

Blair blinked and shook his head. He hadn't noticed it, but now that he'd read Jim's observation, he realized that it was correct, to a certain extent. He sighed. It was often a problem with him, being able to see both sides in an argument.

So, I tracked those weird phosphorescent footprints again and found the second hypodermic needle, which made murder the obvious answer. Especially since first Gillman and then Watson, both working on the same project, were killed? Too much coincidence. A little while later, we all headed back to the PD and I checked out Gillman's car. Cassie walked me down and she got snippy when I told her that her theory was good, but maybe I'd just gotten lucky. Then she got all coy and said that our working together was "nice." Please. Like I haven't been around long enough to see a come-on like that coming from a mile away! Especially when I know she'll pull every trick she can to get in on a case and stay there. I checked the car over and found a diskette and a gold piece that turned out to be the second half to a treasure map. Watson had had the other piece, but the killer - we never did learn his name - stole it when he killed her. Using forensics equipment and the cryptology program that Cassie's friend sent her, we figured out that it was a puzzle piece that would lead us in the right direction if we could find the other piece. Unfortunately, I had to leave at that point. I was taking Dr. Grant out to dinner. I figured with Blair so tied up in this thing - nothing more his squirrelly brain loves than a challenge like this one in a field so closely related to his - I'd have time to relieve some tension. Had a damn good time, too. Took her out to dinner and then we went back to her place and we fucked each other nearly comatose. I usually end up making it with her more than anyone else because being a doctor, she knows more about human anatomy and nerves than anyone else and what do with it. I love it that she knows how much messing with my prostate makes me wild and the toys she's been using lately...! Tonight was good. She drove me crazy with her teasing and touching until I was little more than a primal savage. Linda likes that in me. She says it's a turn-on to watch me go from being a polite, intelligent, handsome man to a wild caveman reduced to base instincts, which in turn helps her let go of her civility and revert to her base instincts. Her favorite, which we accomplished tonight among other things, was when I manhandled her - as gently as I could, of course - facedown on her bed and fucked her from behind roughly. She came hard twice from that alone. My favorite, which she knows leaves me barely conscious, is when she puts either her fingers or something else up my ass and plays with me while sucking me dry, except this time, she rode me while doing that. I love how flexible she is. Pumped inside her hard and when I came, I screamed Blair's name. She didn't mind. Being a doctor, she listens to me and she's not grossed out that I'm bisexual. She helped me as much as she could when I first started voicing my confusion with it all, then recommended to me a good therapist who helped out, also. But she doesn't mind that when I really let go, I yell for Blair. She knows I'm in love with him and she's pleased to help me gain a little ease from the constant wanting.

Blair shuddered and reached beneath the covers to wrap his hand around his hard cock. He didn't stroke, merely held it, sort of a comfort touch. "Ah, God ... Jim, I don't know what I want more when we finally get together: you inside me or me inside you."

It wasn't until I'd gone home, showered, and changed that I turned the cell phone back on and Blair called. Apparently, over a dinner of Chinese, he and Cassie had figured they needed Gillman's computer to read the encrypted disk. Since Simon told them that we now had a warrant for the apartment, Cassie used every loophole she could to justify going there and taking Blair with her. He made the call to me and I told them to stay put. Again, she loop-holed by saying that she would stay put ... inside. Goddamn that woman!! I don't know where she gets off thinking that she's so special that she can bend the rules and play games like this, but I've had enough of it. I ripped her a new one for it, Simon ripped her a new one, and I know for a fact that IA and the Chief came down on her. By now, she has learned that her place is in forensics and there she will stay unless called in specifically by a detective or captain. However, all this is due to the fact that Blair, for once, displayed common sense by staying out of it, in the car. Unfortunately, that's when the killer happened along. Apparently, he'd spotted Blair working on the laptop and had kidnapped him at gunpoint while Cassie puttered obliviously in Gillman's apartment. I arrived to find all this out, deduced that the killer had taken him, and we took off in my truck to the construction site. She wanted to know how I knew and I told her it was a hunch and she started yelling "well why can you have hunches but I can't" and I told her to table the discussion. It shut her up, especially the tone of voice. She tried to go with me down underground, but her asthma kicked in. She wheezed out that she wanted to help Blair, too, but decided breathing was in her better interests and actually did as I told her. Like I said, selfish. I tracked them all down. Apparently, Cantor was in on it because of his bad debts and the gunman decided he didn't want to wait until Blair's laptop's battery recharged and forced them both at gunpoint to go deeper into the maze. I shot the gun out of his hand when he tried to use it on Blair when we got to the end of it, but Blair had guessed correctly. By moving the criss-crossed timber, they'd started a cave-in. For some damn fool reason, the idiot gunman fought with me and then ran back toward the room where the gold supposedly was. As Blair, Cantor, and I were running out, I heard the ceiling come down on him. His skull shattered and his torso squished instantly; he died before he knew what hit him.

Blair breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, thank God." He'd been wondering about that for the past few weeks, but hadn't had the courage to ask Jim. He wasn't sure he wanted to know the truth, but now he knew, and he was glad. For all that the gunman had been a mean-ass son of a bitch, to die lingeringly like that would have been horrible.

When all the furor settled down, I gave Cassie full credit for figuring out Cantor's involvement with the mob and his reasons for the archeological dig and his machinations that had caused the murder of two people and the accidental death of another. It mollified her somewhat, but I still got her alone long enough to point out her selfishness to her and to tell her to stop being so defensive all the time and actually look at her actions, realize she was driving people away and making them angry and putting herself and others into positions where they would get in trouble or hurt. She didn't like it, but she stayed silent. Apparently, she's going to think on it.

Blair grinned. Cassie certainly had, to the extent that most of the detectives in the PD had found it easier to work with her.

November 15, 1998

Well, everything has been cleaned up. The construction foreman has announced that it wouldn't be cost-effective to go to the trouble of digging the gold out, even if it does exist down there. Same goes for exhuming the killer's body. He's been flattened and pulverized and is already dead and basically buried. A plaque will be put up so that he won't have an unmarked grave, but that's about it. Cantor can't tell us his name; the guy never gave him one. However, he has been stuck with a nickname of sorts: "Orange Glasses Man." Apparently, he always wore glasses with these bizarre orange-tinted lenses that basically made him look, according to Blair, like a giant bug. So, he's got the nickname of OGM. Rather unusual, but since he was a nasty son of a bitch, I won't go into histrionics about it. Simon told me, Cassie, and Blair that Cantor was in deep with the mob and that was why he'd gone to so much trouble to get to the gold. It doesn't matter, now; he's headed for prison. Then he told Blair and Cassie - who admitted she'd been thinking about what I'd said to her about her selfishness - to not fraternize. I did not like that one bit that it implied they'd been doing so. So, I suggested we all just stay friends. Blair teased me about it after Cassie headed off to her office. He kept picking at me until I puffed up, trying to look intimidating, and said, "You want some of this?" and he took up the challenge. We bumped chests like any sort of males involved in a territorial display - he later told me how fascinating it had been to see me get like that and then to take part in it himself - and I told him to "bring it on." He had no clue that I meant something else entirely, but it was fun, skirting the line like that. And his chest is a lot more muscular than it seems. I wish I could feel it against me for more than a few brief seconds, but oh, well. Touch memory helps a hell of a lot. I jerked off to the feel of it tonight, especially after I playfully tousled his hair and got his scent all over my hand. Lord, I don't know how I'm going to survive the rest of my life with him so close and yet so far away - unless and until he moves out to get a life of his own, which I'm dreading - but I have to admit, the thought of growing old with Blair beside me gives me a feeling of contentment that I haven't felt in a long time.

Blair smiled. Settling in eagerly, he read until he got to the last of the entries. With a deep breath, he settled in for the last of the discovery trip.

December 2, 1998

Well, I have to go to Texas for a week-long conference. Blair couldn't go with me; finals and so on going on at the university and besides, Simon couldn't swing it on his end, either. Blair's not happy about it, obviously; to the point where we spent the evening together and he stayed as close to me as he possibly could. We curled up together on the couch to watch TV and were practically cuddling. Neither of us mentioned it; we didn't want to enforce one of the unspoken male-bonding rules that if you bring the obvious to attention, you have to do something to correct the behavior. Neither of us understands why men do it, but it's just one of those male things much like there's a lot of female things that women do that everyone is clueless about. I thought vaguely about taking this journal with me, but decided against it. It'd be just my luck to take it along and either I'd forget it and leave it behind or someone would find it and either way, my private life would be broken into and read with no remorse, and I don't want that.

Blair winced. "Yeep."

I mean, I've taken the time to read back over the past couple of years and it's been quite a voyage of self-discovery along the way. I realize how close I've gotten to Blair; how close he's gotten to me. Nobody in my life has ever been as close to me as he is; nobody in my life has ever been a part of my soul before. Oh, sure, I once thought that Carolyn might be the one, and Lila before her, but I was wrong. Blair is it for me. Never again will anyone ever be such a part of me as he is. And maybe it's because of our Sentinel/Guide connection, or maybe it's because there's such great chemistry between us, or maybe it's because we're best friends and just right for each other. I don't know and probably never will. But I do know that he, and my discovery of who I am and what he is to me, is precious to me. These writings are precious to me. I don't want anyone to have that part of me. Well, perhaps I wouldn't mind if Blair did, but nobody else, not even Simon. So, I'll leave it here and write down whatever I've gone through or done while I was gone when I get back. I'm already missing him; I know I'm going to have a hard time keeping my hands to myself when I get back and can see him again. I wonder if he'll have missed me nearly as much...?

"Oh, you bet your ass I have!" Blair crowed and drained the rest of his beer in one huge swallow. Grinning, he tenderly laid the journal aside on the nightstand and, making a mental note to carefully wipe the edges of the pages down to remove his fingerprints and most of his scent, he turned out the light and burrowed under the covers, slipping into sleep soon enough.

Part 12

Blair rushed home from Rainier in a flurry of excitement. Today was the day! If all had gone well, Jim was home by now and had gotten plenty of sleep. They could spend a few hours playing catch up and then Jim could have the special dinner Blair had fixed and then Blair would confess that he'd read the journal and that, guess what, he was just as in love with Jim as Jim was with him!

Putting the Volvo into a hurried "park" after screeching to a halt in his parking spot outside their building, Blair leaped out of the car and tore into the building, bypassing the elevator altogether and rushing up three flights of stairs. He bolted down the hallway and saw a sliver of light as their apartment door opened. Grabbing the doorjamb, he swung himself around and through to find a grinning Jim waiting for him.

"JIM!!" he bellowed happily at the top of his lungs, and kept on going.

Surprised, Jim wrapped his arms around his roommate as said roommate plowed into him, the velocity and mass of the smaller object forcing him backwards so that eventually, he wound up tackled over the sofa and sprawled along its length. Catching his breath, he lifted his head enough so that he could look down on the wriggling, excited ball of energy named Blair that was currently glommed onto him. "Blair? Chief, hey, I'm glad to see you, too, but is everything all right?"

Blair lifted his head and bestowed a beatific grin on his partner. "It is now," he declared, and gave the older man a hug that threatened to squeeze the stuffings out of him.

"Oo-oof!" Jim huffed, then laughed breathlessly as he returned the hug. He ruffled his friend's hair playfully and breathed deeply of the scent he had missed so much, listened to the heartbeat he had been frantic to hear for so long. "Well, glad to know you missed me, Darwin."

Sandburg gave his partner a wide, soft smile and said, "Of course I did. Whenever you're away, it's like I'm missing the other part of me. I don't like it."

Jim swallowed hard and fought his body's reaction. Oh, dear God, he prayed. Please, please do not let me pop a boner right on his leg! Fixing a shit-eating grin on his face, he teased, "And what part would that be, Chief? The neat, orderly, practical side of you?"

"That and the anal-retentive side, the obsessive-compulsive side, the artery-clogging side-" He would have gone on, but he ended with a sharp yelp when one of Jim's hands moved lower and smacked the bejeezus out of his ass. He pouted and reached around to rub at the affected buttock.

Ellison laughed. "Serves you right, Junior. Now, how about letting me up so we can have dinner and catch each other up?"

"Do I have to?" Blair teased flirtatiously, then gulped when Jim frowned at him. He fixed a smile on his face and said, "Teasing! Sorry, man," and got up quickly, rolling to his feet and then helping Jim do the same.

The sentinel watched as his friend moved to hang up his coat and toss his backpack into his room, where it landed on the futon with a bounce. Then Blair moved into the kitchen to begin taking out the meal that he'd prepared earlier and could now simply throw together and warm up. Jim wondered what was different now, other than the not-so-subtle flirting and then it hit him when he took a deep breath: pheromones! Blair was leaking pheromones. For an instant, Jim felt hope well up inside him, swift and powerful, but then he sighed and let it go. No doubt Blair had come home after chatting up some beautiful woman or talking with his dream man and was still riding the effects of being with him or her.

Settling onto the back of the couch and watching his whirlwind roommate, Jim reflected that it had been nice to come home where everything was familiar. He'd unpacked his stuff and put his dirties in the hamper, then had pulled his journal out from the box in which Blair had replaced it after accidentally dropping it. He'd quickly checked it over for damage, but all was fine. He'd written his latest entries into the journal, including his upset that Blair would soon be starting a relationship with a guy and goddamn, why couldn't it be him? Then he'd taken a shower and jacked off to images of Blair loving him, sucking him, holding him and when he was done, he'd dried off and gone upstairs to sleep. Only to find sleep somewhat impossible. For while Blair had changed the sheets on his bed, he hadn't washed the covers and they still retained his scent, which made Jim's body hornier than hell.

A few moments later, he followed Blair's directions to set the table and they had a fine bottle of white wine to go with their excellent dinner. They chatted about lots of things, Blair catching him up on how things at the university and the station were going and oh, by the way, he'd taken care of most of Jim's paperwork, including the prelims for the new cases Simon had lined up for him. Jim was properly thankful and then told about how the rest of the conference went, carefully avoiding mention of the Vice cop who'd been so spiteful, and then mentioned that he'd gotten Blair a gift and it was waiting on his bed. The energetic young man got up and went to look immediately and Jim laughed around the food in his mouth when Blair let out an amused yell and started laughing too. A moment later, the guide came back to the table carrying their new dinner companion, a life-sized stuffed plush armadillo.

"Jim, he's fantastic! Where'd you get him?" Blair demanded.

"Airport gift shop," the sentinel replied. "Told the clerk it was for my kid." He shot an evil grin Blair's way.

"Putz," the younger man replied fondly, stroking the soft fabric of the stuffed toy for a moment, then resumed eating his dinner. "Thanks, Jim; he's terrific."

"Oh, so it's a he?"

"Yup. I just decided it was so."

"Ah. What's his name?"

"Well, this is a nine-banded armadillo, and they were given the name of 'Peba'. So, that's what I'll call him."

"Peba it is, then. Like him?"

"Yeah, man. Thanks. Closest I'll get to having a pet armadillo, but this one is better than the real thing, I think."

"Good. Glad you like him. They had a bigger type, but I thought that one was better."

"Uh-huh. He's perfect," Blair replied. Just like you, he thought, but didn't say anything. Finally clearing his throat, he asked, "So, Jim, about this Larson guy from Vice..."

Jim went rigid, then carefully began pecking at his dinner again. "What about him, Sandburg?"

"Did you really deck him because he called me a cocksucker?"

The older man sighed and rubbed at his forehead. He really did not want to go this route. A complaint had been made to Simon about it and his captain had chewed him another earhole with a reprimand about protocols - although, in Simon's opinion, the jerk had deserved it and worse for what he'd said about Sandburg ("Nobody trashes one of us like that!") - and then had warned him to not do it again. Jim had agreed and he and Larson had made it a point to stay as far away from each other as possible, although he'd clearly heard Larson muttering to his friends about how "Ellison must be the cock that boy-toy sucks on; why else would he get so cranky about it?" and had to refrain himself from charging across the room to confront the obnoxious shithead.

Now, he kept his gaze firmly on his plate as he replied quietly, "Yes, Sandburg, I did. Happy now?"

"Well ... not happy, per se, but strangely touched that you felt the need to defend my honor so vehemently. Thanks, big guy."

The warmth and tenderness in his guide's voice got his attention and Jim looked up to see his friend smiling gently at him, his blue eyes soft and emotional. He found himself melting and smiled back. "You're welcome, Chief."

"So ... you really don't have a problem if I end up in a relationship with a man?" Blair asked, slightly hesitant.

Oh, yes, I've got a problem; just not the one you're thinking about, Jim groaned to himself. I don't want you in a relationship with any man but me. I want to be yours; I want to be the one you kiss and touch and love. Me; ME! After a few moments, he decided to answer the question. "Blair, you're a grown man. If you want to be in a relationship with anybody, then that's your business. If you're worried about losing my respect or my friendship, don't be. You're my friend, Chief. I don't care what your sexual orientation is. I know that I care about you and who you're sleeping with doesn't change that. Okay? Besides," he added softly, swallowing past the lump in his throat, "it'd be hypocritical of me to say otherwise. I'm ... bisexual."

Blair stayed silent for a moment, then said, "You are? Oh. Cool. But ... why didn't you tell me before? Were you afraid I'd say or do something? Let it get out...?"

Jim sighed and put down his fork. Taking a sip of wine, he then glanced across at his attentive partner. "Blair, I'll be honest with you, okay? It's not something I've known for my entire life; it was something I figured out recently during the past few years. I'm cool with it; no repressed hang-ups here. And, still being honest, yes, I was afraid it would bother you enough that you might leave, or possibly, accidentally let it slip somehow. Not deliberately, I know you'd be as careful as you could be, but even I know that accidents happen sometimes. It's enough work to keep even myself from slipping up; I don't want to have to worry about two. I guess I won't have to, now."

Reaching out, Blair laid a hand over one of Jim's. "Jim, man, I'm sorry you ever had to think that; that I would leave you if I knew you were bisexual. I promise you, James, I won't ever leave until you decide you can't stand having me around anymore and bodily throw me out, okay?"

Jim smiled and turned his hand over to capture Blair's and squeeze it firmly. "Trust me, Chief, I have no intention of making you leave, ever. I want you around as long as you want to be around, no matter what."

"Sounds like a good plan to me."

"Let's go with it, then."

Blair grinned. "That's right!" he drawled.

Jim laughed, squeezed his friend's hand again once, and then let go. They finished their meal and then moved on to dessert, an outrageously chocolatey dessert that Blair had found in his recipe notebooks and decided to spoil his hopefully soon-to-be lover with. He grinned when he saw Jim's eyes bug out. It was a dessert called "Tar Heel Pie", a rich and sugary chocolate treat anyway, but Blair had used a mocha fudge flavored crust and as Blair set the plate with Jim's slice - covered in Jim's favorite heavy whipped cream - down in front of the sentinel, Jim stared at it as though it were manna from Heaven. "Chief?" he whispered.

"Yes, Jim?"

"Is it my birthday?"

"No, Jim."

"Your birthday?"

"No, Jim."

"Did somebody die while I was gone?"

"No, Jim."

"Then why ... why..."

"Why are we having such an outrageous dessert?"

Jim nodded silently, afraid to open his mouth again lest the drool that had accumulated leaked out all over himself.

"Because I missed you, Jim. And I know you missed being in your own home. And I wanted to welcome you home. Welcome home, Jim."

Ellison stared across the table at his guide who had forked up a piece of his pie and swallowed hard when he saw his guide smile at him in a way that could only be termed "provocative" and then slowly, lingeringly, place the fork with the pie on it in his utterly carnal mouth and remove that fork torturously slow and then lick the lingering cream from his lips with a wet, pink tongue.

Jim strangled a whimper in his throat, utterly grateful for the tabletop that shielded his prominent erection from his roommate's gaze, and hurriedly dropped his own gaze to his plate and dug into his pie with his fork. Two seconds later, he was zoned out on the taste of the delectable pastry.

Sandburg cursed and got up, moving around to stand next to his friend and gently began stroking the sentinel's face as he said, "Jim. Jim, come on, buddy. Come on back to me, babe. I know it tastes good and that you missed me, the loft, your town, but this is ridiculous. Feel my hand, Jim; listen to my voice. Follow it back to me, now, man. Come on..."

"Blair?"

The man in question smiled in relief. "Yeah, man. I'm here."

Jim shook his head slightly, aware of the feel of Blair's hand falling from his face. "What ... I zoned?"

"Uh-huh. I guess I went overboard on the pie. You went down without a fight."

The older man sighed and sat up a little straighter. "Oh, man. Um, thanks, for bringing me out of it. Sorry, guess I was concentrating a little too hard on all the tastes-"

"Yeah, I know. No biggie. Do you want to risk trying anymore, or call it quits for tonight?"

Ellison looked at the scrumptious pie on his plate, then at the scrumptious guide next to him. He waffled for a moment, then said, "You won't think less of me if I forego another attempt right now and try again tomorrow?"

Blair tried hard, but he couldn't resist. Grinning, he said, "I'll probably think of you as some self-serving, spineless goober."

A moment later, he was off and running around the apartment, shrieking with laughter and yelling at his friend to stop, leave him alone, it served him right, dammit, no, Jim, don't throw-ack!

Five minutes later found Blair flat on his back on the floor in front of the sofa, Jim pinning him down completely above him and grinning wickedly. Heaving a sigh and then panting slightly, he gasped, "Okay, okay, man - you win! I'm sorry I teased you, okay?"

"You'd better be, shorty, considering I've got you pinned down here. Otherwise, I'd be real worried about your sense of survival," Jim huffed playfully. He got to his feet and then pulled Blair up to his and held onto his friend for a minute longer. He stared down at the smaller man for a long moment, then said, "I'm still tired, Chief, and that zone out didn't help. I think I'm headed back to bed." At Blair's disappointed look, he added, "Hey, we have all day tomorrow to spend together! We can camp out on the couch and eat junkfood and watch the football game. Sounds like guy Heaven, right? Anyway, thanks for the welcome home dinner, Blair. It was great." He pulled the younger man close to him and hugged him for a long, long moment. Resting his cheek on the curly hair, he smiled when he felt Blair's arms go around him in a tight hug. "I missed you, Chief."

"Yeah, man. Same here," was the muffled reply.

They held each other an instant longer, then reluctantly untangled themselves. Jim patted his friend's face gently with another smile, then turned and wandered off toward the stairs. "Just leave all that stuff in the sink, Blair; I'll get it tomorrow morning," he called out, meaning the dirty dishes. There were no leftovers to take care of; they'd polished everything off except the pie. "Thanks, Chief. I really appreciate it. See you in the morning."

"Yeah, Jim. G'night, man," Blair called back, watching his friend go upstairs to the big bed. Sighing softly, his plans for the evening waylaid, Sandburg turned to take care of the pie and pile the dirty dishes in the sink. Then he turned out the lights, checked the locks, and headed back to his tiny futon. As he crawled beneath the covers after shucking down to sweats and a T-shirt, he had to admit that the big bed had spoiled him. Now the futon felt tiny and cramped and he could feel each bump and irritation in the mattress and the frame below it. He sighed again and scrunched down, attempting to find a comfortable spot. Oh, well. Hopefully, you'll be back up in the big bed before you know it, he admonished himself silently. After all, tomorrow is another day, and I'll have plenty of time to tell him. And hope he doesn't beat the snot out of me for invading his privacy. With that, he calmed his breathing and soon fell asleep.

But tomorrow's plans never happened.

*****