The boardroom of Ellison Enterprises had long been the pride of the Ellison men and William was no exception. He glanced around the dark paneled walls where three generations, successful businessmen all, kept careful watch over the proceedings of their descendants. It couldn't be called a cheery room, but his ancestors had taken comfort in its sturdy efficiency and considered its understated elegance a sign of times to come. Unfortunately none of them had lived in times of corporate cutbacks, downsizing and hostile takeovers. No, that had been William's misfortune, another curse he bore with sullen resentment. He shook himself, turning away from the reproachful gaze of his father's portrait knowing his own eyes must be as cold and unforgiving as those painted so many years ago. William stared at his two sons, close in age but miles apart in temperament. Stephen, young and easily bored, lounged in his chair, fiddling with some new high-tech toy. He had a fall of blond hair and the blue eyes so prevalent in the family. His athletic body and tanned skin spoke of summer days on the tennis courts, and his smile seemed specially designed to dazzle pretty girls. He also possessed the Ellison head for business but it had been paired with his mother's penchant for spending it. Stephen had gone through a small fortune with his fast cars and expensive girlfriends. He showed some potential for the blitzkrieg dealings the Ellison's were legendary for - just not the subtle skills this venture demanded.

William turned away from Stephen and looked to where his eldest son sat. James had chosen a chair in the shadows and sat with his eyes half closed, one hand clenched into a fist on the mahogany table, the other absently rubbing tight circles on his temple. His dark hair had once been thick, but time and hereditary had conspired and now he kept it cropped close to his skull to hide the fact it was going thin. The receding hairline only served to accentuate the angles of Jim's face and make the ice blue of his eyes more compelling. He looked tired, as if some great weight had fallen on his shoulders, and he'd been forced to carry it for a long time now. Some faint flicker of emotion turned over in William's heart, something he hadn't felt in years. How long had it been since he'd allowed himself a father's compassion for a wounded son? Decades probably, long before his own father had passed the business into his hands, since then he'd torn away such tender sentiment, and foolhardiness as coddling his boys. Theirs was a world of billion dollar deals and winning at all costs, he'd do them no favors by making them soft. He'd tried to instill within both Stephen and James the ruthless drive each would need to prove himself, but James had not taken well to the lessons. Generations of Ellisons had learned the hard way that no one got rich by showing weakness in the face of adversity and that credo above all else had forced William to conceal certain family skeletons even from his sons. Despite its cosmopolitan air, Cascade wasn't really any different than any small town when it came to gossip.

Jim had been a solitary child growing up, he'd had few friends though William didn't know if that was of his son's choosing or the peculiar sense children possess to ostracize those who are different. There had been speculations in their social circles, vague rumors of illness or some deformity, but as Jim grew tall and strong the whispers tapered off, though even a stint in the elite Army Rangers and a heroic return had not dispelled the air of difference which clouded Jim's image. William knew his eldest son was the chink in Ellison Enterprises' armor and their enemies would come at him from that direction and that's why this undertaking terrified him. Even as a stab of fear streaked through William, he quelled it by sheer force of will. No one knew the extent of Jim's malady, not even Stephen, because if they did, they'd realize just how desperate the situation really was. Relying on James for something so important might be the most foolish thing he'd ever done but William needed to know now, which of his two sons would follow his footsteps. Besides, his assistant, Mr. Crowley, kept him abreast of the increasingly frequent appointments Jim had with Doctor Chet Vanderpool, as well as the medication prescribed. Vanderpool was family and he'd been on the Ellison payroll for a long time, William did not fear any word of his son's illness getting out from that source. No one knew how many other Ellison's had suffered from this affliction, though Vanderpool suspected it had to be some defective gene in their makeup that allowed this to happen. If worse came to worse James would share the fate of other Ellison's, those whose paintings did not hang in the boardroom, but whose lives had been lived in small dark rooms under the watchful eyes of hirelings, safe and unseen, screaming their throats raw until finally, they were silent.

"James," William said and saw his son flinch. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, father," James said. His voice was low, barely carrying the distance between them. He sat up straighter and gave William a thin smile and his full attention.

"Good. Oliver Harris' death has seriously damaged our standing in the financial community. Without a formal agreement his shareholders will not honor the verbal agreement he and I had come to. And as you boys know our company is experiencing a bit of a cash flow problem. I don't have to spell it out, but our future is in trouble."

"Trouble?" Stephen asked with a grin, "why father, isn't that a bit of an understatement? According to the semi-annual report we're on the verge of living in a cardboard box and eating out of dumpsters." He grinned across at James, inviting him to share the joke, but his older brother merely stared out the window as if he hadn't heard.

"Thankfully," William went, ignoring his son's mocking words, "I have found a solution to our dilemma." He pulled something from his briefcase, tossing it so that it slid across the conference table's polished surface. It was a photograph, an 8 by 10 of an attractive red-haired woman. She'd been caught in the middle of laughing, her brown eyes twinkled with humor and her smile seemed to leap from the picture like a Fourth of July rocket. "This is Oliver Harris' daughter, Naomi, and she's going to save our company."

Stephen snatched the photograph, eyes devouring the face there as if he half expected money to start pouring from it at any second. He gave a low, lewd whistle then grinned up at his father. "How's that, Pop," he asked, "she going to loan us seventeen million outta the goodness of her heart?"

"No." William reached over and took the photo. He spared Naomi a single glance then laid it carefully before James. At first his son did not react, Jim continued to look out at the skyline, his eyes following some movement William could not see but slowly, drawn, he looked down. "James is going to get her to invest her capital in Ellison Enterprises." He smiled then, sensing the cold eyes ringing the walls warming in their approval. James looked up but William could tell nothing from the distant expression on his son's face. "As you know Oliver died six months ago and it's taken that long to track down his daughter. From what I hear she's a bit of a flake, living like a gypsy and championing hair-brain causes. She'll be arriving in Cascade tomorrow and my sources inform me she has a retinue of - friends - traveling with her. She's here to settle her father's estate and in keeping with Oliver's wishes, will be hosting the annual Symphony Ball on Friday . You'll be attending, of course. I suggest you rest up, James. The Harris fortune is our only hope of saving this company and this family."

Stephen made a rude sound. "Come on, Pop! Jimmy? You're kidding, right?" William turned to him, face like a thundercloud but Stephen ignored the warming and went on, "this is right up my alley. There's not a woman alive who can resist me when I turn on the charm."

"This requires a certain finesse, Stephen and she'd see you for the charlatan you are in a heartbeat. James is the perfect choice, I believe Ms. Harris is attracted to men of the "strong silent" variety," William said. He didn't mention that his informants had also conveyed the fact Naomi Harris had a weakness for "wounded souls", she liked lost causes and tended to mother her men and one thing Stephen Ellison didn't inspire in women was a desire to mother him.

"Well, that's Jimmy," Stephen hissed. "Show her your zombie impression, Jim. You know - the one you do so well." He shoved his chair back, letting it shriek on the marble floor, smirking when James winced. "Don't fuck this up, big brother. I'd hate to end up selling my story to the tabloids for a handful of cash." He stormed to the door, "can't you see the headlines Ellison Family loses everything because of FREAK!" That final word swelled, rocking William back on his heels more than the crashing slam of the door. For a long time it seemed to hang in the air until he couldn't stand it a second longer. "Jimmy?" His eldest made no sign he'd heard, just sat with one hand on Naomi's photograph and his eyes on the cloudless sky. Jim's stillness brought a surge of anger, it boiled up and before he could stop himself William reached out and dug his fingers into Jim's shoulder. "James!" he hissed, voice as deadly as a serpent, "stop it! Stop it!" He knew if anyone walked in at that moment and witnessed their strange tableau there would be no way to disguise his anger or the fear that drove it. No one knew about James, not even James himself, and by god it was going to stay that way.

James flinched and pulled his shoulder from William's punishing grip. Slowly his gaze dropped to that of the woman in the photo. He nodded almost mechanically, then picked it up. "I know what you want me to do," he said with a surprising lack of emotion but William caught a quick flash of anger in his son's normally cool eyes. Good, he thought. James rose from his chair, striding across to the door, and for a fleeting second William hoped his son would make as dramatic an exit as his younger brother, but James had never been one for overt displays. The door closed with a quiet dignity that, somewhere in the deep recesses of his soul, made William feel ashamed.

**

Wistful Vista had been built in the early days of Cascade, when the city had been a starting point on the long trek to northern gold. It glittered like a golden idol high atop a hill overlooking Cascade Bay. A stately procession of black limousines made their way slowly around the curving drive, like a stream of worshippers stopping before the huge house to leave bejeweled offerings. All of Cascade Society seemed to have turned out to welcome Naomi Harris to town, putting on their best faces to find out if her arrival could be used to their advantage. There would be smiles and pleasantries as far as the eye could see and as soon as a back was turned the double dealing would begin. James Ellison had no wish to be part of that, he'd spent years trying to break free only to be sucked back in, victim of his own weakness.

"Are you okay, boss?"

Jim scowled, and lifted his head, an angry retort on the tip of his tongue. The limousine driver met his gaze in the mirror and the concern so plain in those deep brown eyes made Ellison sigh. They'd been friends too long and Simon Banks knew him too well for anger to have a place between them. He clearly remembered the day his father had interviewed a lanky young African American for the position of chauffeur's assistant. It had been a disaster, Banks didn't have any experience, no references, he'd just been a kid from the hood looking to make something of himself. He'd stood there under William Ellison's harsh gaze, stomach growling with hunger, wanting a chance. Jim had seen that in the young man, something he knew he could count on and had begged his father not to turn Banks away. For once, William gave in and declared that Simon would be his driver, ferrying Jim back and forth from boarding school on the weekends. Jim had never told a living soul how much those long hours in the car meant to him. Simon had been the only one who listened, the only one who seemed to care and the friendship they had formed had been the only thing in Jim's life he could count on. It had lasted from his boyhood, through his time in the army, and culminated with Simon accepting a position as head of security for Ellison Enterprises. He didn't have to play chauffeur but maybe it was for old time's sake that he'd accepted when Jim began asking Banks to drive him. He missed the easy companionship, the quiet wisdom and strength Simon projected and right now he needed someone he could count on.

"I'm fine, Simon," Jim said. He straightened his tie and managed a scowl for the reflected face. "And since you're my chauffeur tonight shouldn't you call me Master James?"

"I'll call you Jimmy-Joe if you don't watch it," Simon teased.

"Don't expect a tip."

"I never do," Simon stopped the limo at the massive front steps and a tuxedo clad valet opened the door. Jim took a deep breath and stepped out. He hadn't lied to Simon, he did feel fine and he always knew when one of his weird spells would hit. Well, he always had up until a week ago, until that time Jim would feel a slight prickle across his skin, a strange sensation his grandmother use to say was "someone walking across your grave". He hated that feeling, as much for the strangeness of it as for the terror her words had planted in his mind. Then the pain would hit, sometimes searing his eyes, other times stabbing his ears and still others burning over his whole body. He could do nothing but curl around the pain and ride it out. But he had always known it was coming and hidden himself away, until last week and then he'd been in his office, working. The phone had rung, he could remember that and the next thing he knew his head felt as if it would explode, the sound so loud, so deafening he wanted to scream. He'd stumbled to his feet, tripping and falling, hands over his ears. Maggie, his secretary had been hysterical when she found him curled in a ball on his floor. He wouldn't let her call an ambulance but insisted she get Simon to drive him home. It had been humiliating and frightening and he dreaded it happening again.

Jim entered the magnificent house, dwarfed by soaring ceilings and gilded furnishings and met an almost physical wall of sensation. Its bricks were sound and light and scent and threatened to crush him beneath their enormity any second. Ellison could feel panic rising within him. He took a deep breath, holding it until his chest tightened and created that sensation of internal pressure that seemed to keep it all at bay. When he released it with a sigh, everything dropped back to normal. One hurdle passed, only a hundred more to go. He pressed forward, smiling at people, shaking hands with others, performing the duties years of such events had drilled into him with perfunctory grace. He knew most of those attending. Cascade's elite tended to move herd-like from one social event to the next but as he neared the center of the house a strange sense of foreboding closed around him.

The ballroom shimmered with crystal and silver against crisp white linen table cloths and right in the middle of the bland elegance of satins and furs sat Naomi Harris. She wore a buttery yellow gown of some gauzy material and it clung in places to the slender lines of her body like a glove. Jim could only watch, mesmerized, as other parts drifted in delicate waves with each small movement she made. A dozen tuxedo clad young men had gathered around her, clambering over each other to fulfill her slightest whim. Even the most jaded of Cascade society, the ones who stood back and whispered behind their hands, seemed drawn to her exuberant personality.

Her close cropped red hair drew attention to the long curve of her neck and made her stand out like a pixie among graying matrons. She laughed, a soft peal echoed by the fragile bracelet around her wrist, and he would have sworn the sound hung in the air like golden raindrops before fading away. Jim accepted a drink from a passing waiter and stood near the wall to watch. She was beautiful, no doubt, but something more drew these young men to her flame, some affinity, some deep love for life that many people lost as they moved through it, called to her admirers.

Ellison caught sight of his own reflection and saw how his brooding desperation contrasted to Naomi's giddy effervescence. He'd tried to distance himself from humiliation and pain with a wall around his emotions but it had begun to crack and crumble under the pressure, what if others could see it now? His own self-doubt and the aching fear that gnawed through him had to be growing on his face. But no one seemed to see the panic in his eyes when they looked at him - not yet anyway. He was still thinking this the moment Naomi Harris raised her eyes and locked gazes with him. He saw her frown, and knew she could see something inside him and Jim felt himself drawn forward, captivated by a resonate emotion. The withered soul he carried stirred to life by her smile of welcome.

He introduced himself, parting the adoring crowds with a dazzling smile. "I'm James Ellison," he said quietly and had the satisfaction of seeing the others melt from her attention. Naomi chatted brightly, and it drew away some of the smothering blackness which had wrapped itself around his heart. For a while he forgot what had brought him there and why meeting her had been more than just Fate. In the back of his mind, Jim knew he couldn't escape the charge his father had laid on him any more than he could ever slip the chains his family bound him with but for a while he let himself drift in the sound of her voice. She clung to his arm, giving him sidelong smiles, her gaze alight with attraction and Jim felt himself relax, he was just a guy with a beautiful woman on his arm. He didn't know how long they wandered among the rooms, making meaningless conversation with other guests but as the evening wore on he could feel control slipping through his fingers. Like Cinderella warned to leave the ball at midnight or risk turning back into a scullery maid, a rising sense of urgency filled Jim and the full weight of the night began to press in on him. A smothering feeling rose and his mind flashed back to wandering crowded streets in a city where he didn't speak the language. It had happened in the Army, separated from his unit, he'd found himself in a back alley, a lone American in a middle eastern village. They'd been on him in a second, shoving him, shouting, pulling at him until he thought he would die there, crushed under the sheer weight of their anger.

He'd never forgotten that overwhelming feeling, couldn't, even when he wished it would fade away. It returned periodically throughout his years of service, right until that fateful mission to Peru and then mercifully, like so much of his memories of that time, it had gone away. Only now, more than a year later, it had begun again. He could feel the sharpening of his senses, the heightened awareness he had of things around him, and that had always signaled the onslaught. It would build like a skyscraper, reaching upwards until disaster struck and it collapsed around him like match sticks. Naomi said something, he wasn't sure what but he could tell she was concerned by the funny look she gave him. He didn't care, he had to get out of there, the claustrophobic feeling that the walls were closing in, the air had become too murky to breathe and every sound in the room had a jackhammer intensity, were things he could no longer ignore. Jim tugged at his collar, aware he must be acting insane. "I think - I think I need some air," Jim said. He broke away from Naomi, only dimly hearing her call after him. He made for the tall windows, the darkness of the garden and the fresh air beyond.

It felt cool on his fevered skin but even there the light fragrance of summer flowers abraded his sense of smell and caused a queasy lurch in his stomach. Jim knew he'd blown it, he could practically hear his old man's angry shouts and Stephen's contemptuous jabs. No way now would Naomi Harris be impressed by a nutcase like him. God, if he'd only been able to hold on a bit longer. He moved further away from the patio, down long sweeping stairs to the bottom of the garden. Someone had hung twinkling lights in the trees and even their feeble glow seemed to stab his eyes like klieg lights. The string quartet played some festive tune but to his sensitive ears each note shrieked and screamed. He took a meandering path, not even aware of his surroundings until the pale shape of a marble bench loomed, he sank down onto it, gasping with pain when the chill of its surface sliced through the thin material of his Armani suit. The skin on the backs of his thighs and buttocks screamed in protest but he felt too weak to rise, gasping for breath, trembling, he struggled for control. Something moved near him, jerking Jim from his thoughts and his misery. "Oh, hey, sorry," a voice yelped close by. Jim lurched to his feet, barely restraining the blow that would have taken the intruder's head off at the shoulders. Instead he settled for a handful of flannel. His heart was hammering his ribs and his fingers digging into the man's arm in what must have been a painful grip but it didn't seem to phase the other guy. "Didn't see you," he said and smiled, "it's dark, you know?"

It was dark. The party lights only illuminated the lawn surrounding the patio and Jim had wandered far down into the garden. He hadn't needed the lights, his eyes adjusting to the darkness so that he could plainly make out his surroundings as well as his new companion. Jim found himself gazing into eyes like a liquid evening sky set in the most beautiful masculine face he'd every seen. His senses sharpened, honing in on the young man, he could hear his heartbeat, smell his cologne, taste the very air he breathed out. He liked what he saw - 5'8" give or take an inch, stocky build, no pushover if the corded forearms visible under his rolled cuffs were any indication. Just this side of 30, chestnut curls brushing his shoulders and framing a squarish face where those dark blue eyes vied with rich full lips for the viewer's attention. The guy was looking up at Jim with a strange expectant expression on his face, as if he was waiting for Jim to do some miraculous deed. It made Ellison uncomfortable, that look, and he shook the arm he held a little rougher than necessary. "What the hell are you doing out here, Chief?"

"Heading back to my room," the other man answered. He either had enough light to read Jim's doubtful expression or else he'd been hassled before. Probably the latter, Jim decided taking in the ripped jeans, well worn boots and gleaming earrings. "I'm staying here, okay?" Indignant, smile gone, he tugged his arm free. "My name is Blair Sandburg, I'm a guest. Want to see my ID?"

Jim closed his eyes for a second then opened them, his headache had come back, racketed up a notch by the confrontation with the kid. He released Sandburg's arm. "Sorry. I'm sorry," he said softly and dropped back onto the nearby bench. He wiped a hand across his eyes, hoping in the dim light Sandburg couldn't see the way it trembled and took a deep steadying breath. Damn, this had to be one of Naomi's menagerie, he had a waif-like air of cheerful neediness. "I'm Jim Ellison."

"Hey, you okay, man?" Sandburg asked. Jim felt the younger man's body heat when he knelt on the grass at his feet. The kid's hand rested on Jim's knee, and that warmth made its way through Ellison's body like a small invading army. The pain of knotted muscles and pounding skull began to retreat, routed by this simple touch. He'd spent a small fortune and endured hours of poking and prodding in search of this same blissful relief. Modern medicine had failed so what was it about this kid? For the first time in a long time Jim felt control within his grasp, felt as if what he'd been experiencing wasn't madness but some primal part of himself he needed. Everything took on a clearer, fresher appearance, it felt as if some kind of murky blanket had been draped over his head and this young man's touch had knocked it away. "You look a little - stressed, Jim." Jim didn't answer, he closed his eyes, lulled by the timbre of Sandburg's voice, so completely relaxed he could feel himself in danger of slipping into a boneless puddle on the ground. "Hey, are you okay? Do you need something - a doctor? You're scarin' me, man."

Ellison straightened, biting back the words he'd been about to fling. The kid was just concerned, and a little freaked. "I said I was fine."

"Okay, okay," Blair said and rose, his hand falling from Ellison's knee and leaving a cold, empty place there. A groan of despair bubbled up in Jim's throat at the loss of contact and it was all he could do to stop the irrational urge to snatch at the hand which had slipped away from him. "If you're fine, you're fine." Sandburg backed off a few feet and stood looking around, as if he didn't know which direction to go. Finally he turned back towards Jim. "If you need anything, I'm here. Just ask, okay?" He walked away without looking back but that declaration made Jim feel - safe - for some reason. He watched Sandburg with an overwhelming sense of loss, saw him open a plain wooden door, the servant's entrance in days gone by, and disappear inside. More than anything Ellison wanted to follow the kid, follow him and bask in that haven of peace which had surrounded him. When he'd gone, it was as if he'd taken all the light with him, that dark blanket had fallen back into place over his head. Jim blinked but could only dimly make out the path leading back to the patio, the buzz of noise from the party had almost faded to his ear. Somewhere up there Naomi Harris waited for him to return, she was Ellison Enterprise's last, best hope. He turned his back much as Sandburg had and carefully picked his way towards the garage. Simon greeted him with genuine concern and a few minutes later they were pulling away from the mansion. He'd have to repair the damage his quick exit had done to his chances with Naomi, but if William's information was correct, his explanation of being taken ill would not only earn her forgiveness but make her want to take care of him.

The next day proved almost unbearable. Try as he might, the peaceful numbness of his daily routine refused to settle over Jim. Like a man suffering a high fever his mind skipped and jumped, investing his single meeting with Blair Sandburg with surreal images, turning a chance encounter into some mystical inevitability. The garden became a glade, the bench a fairy ring, and the scruffy youth a jewel-eyed satyr. Reality blurred with fantasy and the memory of pain falling away, of sleeping a full night through for the first time in a year made Ellison giddy. He reached for the phone but hesitated. He was supposed to be romancing Naomi Harris, not chasing after some wild-haired creature who seemed to possess a magical ability to ease his suffering.

"How'd it go?"

William's voice startled him, making Jim jump. "How did what go?"

"You're first contact with Naomi Harris?" His father settled into the high backed leather chair opposite Jim and regarded him with an expectant gaze.

"I'm not sure. We spoke for a while," he smiled at the memory, "she's very charming, Father."

"But?"

Jim sighed. "I won't deny there was an attraction, a mutual attraction but this is more than some damn chess game. You think you can move a pawn over and capture the Queen, but what if I can't do it?"

William leaned forward. "You know how much is riding on this, Jimmy. This is your chance to prove that you have what it take, that you can pull out all the stops and make me proud." Something twisted the corners of his mouth, "You've disappointed me before and I'm willing to overlook it. You want Stephen to take over after I'm gone?"

"I don't want to lie to this woman."

"Don't lie. Fall in love with her, Jim," William barked. "I don't give a shit. All I want is what my fathers before me built not to crumble because you weren't strong enough." He rose, moving around the desk until he stood over Jim and Jim couldn't ignore the part of him that wanted his father to reach down, to pet his hair and say he was proud anyway. "I brought this over," he pulled a delicate silk scarf from his pocket, "it's Ms. Harris' favorite." William placed it in Jim's hand, "I know you're tired, Jimmy, and as soon as this is done you can rest." He turned and left the room, leaving his son sitting there with the scarf in his hand. Sunlight spilled over it, trapped in the threads and held captive there in iridescent prisons. Jim could not look away, the colors changed in subtle shifts, yellows into gold into bronze. It was like a new country opening up before his eyes and he could feel himself crossing the boundary. "Mr. Ellison?" His secretary's voice caught him, drawing him back from the brink. He fumbled for the intercom button.

"Y-yes," Jim whispered.

"There's a Ms. Harris on line one for you."

An overwhelming sense of calm settled over Jim and he pressed the blinking call light. "Naomi?"

***

He kept that feeling close to his breast, squiring Naomi to all the fashionable events, appearing in public as an attentive suitor. All of Cascade buzzed with the gossip when their picture began turning up in the society page. Jim couldn't help but gaze at the photographs, wondering if that elegantly dressed and smiling man was indeed himself. It felt like a stranger, some impostor wearing his face and doing his father's bidding. William's glee was palpable and it made Jim feel dirty each time his father patted him on the back, saying how proud he was that his son was doing such an important thing for the company. Stephen, on the other hand, never missed an opportunity to twist the knife guilt had driven into Jim's back. He knew his brother too well, Stephen understood how lying to this woman sickened Jim and only his duty to his family made him go through with it. Stephen played on that disgust, telling Jim how low his actions were, making it harder to do what he'd swore he would do. Jim bit his tongue whenever Stephen started in, he knew if Stephen ever found out the whole truth, his brother would ruin his life just to be one up with their father.

Jim hated to deceive Naomi, he liked her, liked spending time in her company and listening to a view of the world he'd never heard espoused before. It was a blend of New Age mumbo jumbo and hippy idealism - a world where everyone obtained spiritual enlightenment but no one had credit cards. Naomi Harris' ideas were the kind that would have given his father a coronary but Jim found it stimulating. He'd grown up in a household where the Wall Street Journal was read over the breakfast table and the Dow-Jones average dictated his father's mood. Naomi cared very little for wealth and less for power and she greeted the sun with chants of welcome each morning. He liked her quirky nature and spontaneous actions, one impromptu visit to his office had resulted in a rearrangement of its furnishings to banish an unfavorable flow of chi. The look on his father's face when she began expounding on the principles of feng shui had been well worth the knot on his shin from smacking into his filing cabinet. There was something about the woman and her carefree approach to life Jim found refreshing.

Over the next month if Naomi didn't breeze into the Ellison Building, Jim made it a point of dropping by Wistful Vista. The gleam in his father's eye bespoke William's pleasure but that light would have gone out like a cheap bulb if he'd known the truth. Jim liked Naomi, truly, but not in a way that could net Ellison Enterprises seventeen million dollars. She had a softness Jim admired, a womanly quality few Ellison females possessed and if they did, feared to show. Jim's own mother had never looked at him as if she cared about anything except the image he projected, the perfect son as the perfect accessory. But as much as he admired Naomi Harris it was Sandburg, the kid from the garden who intrigued Jim, who drew him back. He had sensed a power around the young man, an aura of wisdom few in his father's company could claim and it had sent the demons which haunted his every waking hour fleeing before it. Jim couldn't explain it, not even to himself, but Sandburg reminded him of a time when he had been at peace with himself. He couldn't remember when it was, or how it had come about, but Blair's simple concern, his quiet acceptance that night had touched a part of Jim long buried inside, walled over by duty and withered by loneliness. He found himself living a schizophrenic existence, torn between an ingrained need to please his father and a longing that dwelled in his soul.

"Good evening, Mr. Ellison." Wilson, Oliver Harris' aged butler, greeted Jim as he entered the house.

"Good evening, Wilson. Is Miss Naomi at home." Bent and gray, his frail frame looking as if a stiff wind might blow him over, Wilson still managed to give the impression he ruled the household.

"Yes, Sir. She's in the solarium with her - friends." Jim gave the old man a grave nod and headed towards the rear of the house. He heard them long before he got close to the room, the gentle babble of voices. Naomi's house always seemed filled to capacity with people - psychics, gurus, even strangers she met on the street. These people gravitated to her and she adored the excitement, the diversity - the spotlight. He found it wearing, the constant need to be on his guard, to remain charming and attentive to people he neither knew nor cared to get to know. He got the feeling that Naomi's interest in him sprang more from the novelty of it, he was a shiny millionaire trinket, one of the Establishment. Not that she didn't care for him, Naomi had a warm and giving heart and she'd made it plain that she liked him. She was the type to fall in lust at first sight but her rootless, restless personality made it clear she'd never give her heart to any one person. No, she was nothing like him, Jim mused. He was a fool who gave his heart away like a cheap souvenir at the first sign of affection. How pathetic was that? Ellison found himself drifting away from Naomi, though in the minds of most of Cascade, they were a hot and heavy item, a golden couple with looks and money but in reality, Naomi Harris had a short attention span even with her suitors.

Sheltered by thick palms which towered over the marble floor and nearly touched the glass ceiling twenty feet above, Jim lingered on the solarium's threshold. His sharp gaze took in Naomi's Coven, his pet name for the eclectic mix - six women, from a prim and proper middle aged blond to a tattooed chick with green spiked hair, lounged on sofas, talking together. Jim had no idea if they really practiced magic or not, but everything they talked about sounded mystical to him. He didn't want to go in there, not tonight because most evenings he found himself sitting at Naomi's side as obedient and attentive as a pampered cocker spaniel. She would smile over at him, absently petting his hair or his hand while she and her friends delved into the spiritual aspects of the world. Tonight he didn't even feel up to making that token appearance, he found himself wanting to turn around, to go looking for what really brought him back to that house night after night. He stood there a moment longer, intent on his own thoughts when he realized he'd tuned in, not to their conversation, but to a soft, rhythmic beat. It seemed to be growing louder and Ellison turned expectantly, knowing his real motive for each visit to Naomi Harris' house was coming along the hallway.

He always made it seem as if they ran into each other by accident, chance meetings, but Jim knew there was nothing happenstance about finding Blair. The moment his foot touched the property it was as if his senses honed in on Sandburg, he could hear Blair's voice, or smell the scent of herbs and old books that seemed to cling to Sandburg. He couldn't do that with other people, there were times when the odor of stale sweat or hours old lunch nearly knocked Ellison off his feet as he dealt with day to day chores. With Blair it was different, like an oasis in a scorching desert, being near Sandburg soothed the aches, he could breathe, he could think, and he craved the younger man with something that bordered on obsession. They talked for hours, inconsequential things mostly, Jim realized when he went back over the conversations in his head, but at the time they always seemed of earthshaking importance. And then there were times when they said nothing at all - sitting quietly, reading, gazing at the sky, they still communicated. Whatever it was about Sandburg, just being near him put Jim at ease, he felt better at those times, than he had in months.

"Hey," Blair greeted when he rounded the final corner and saw Jim. They stared at each other a moment both wearing identical smiles then Blair peered around Jim, taking in the clutch of women chatting. "Not braving the lioness's den?"

"Nah, all that chanting makes my head pound and it doesn't need any help tonight." He rubbed at his brow and shrugged.

Sandburg frowned, staring up at him. "Have you ever tried aroma therapy?"

"Is this more mumbo-jumbo?" Jim asked.

Blair laughed, "No, man, pure science." He took Jim's arm and a few gentle tugs got him moving back the way Sandburg had just come. After a couple of twists and turns they were in a slightly less opulent part of the mansion. Here the floors were scuffed tile and the walls merely painted. Blair opened a door and ushered Jim in. "I've got some rosemary oil here someplace. You've probably got a stress headache and rosemary oil is perfect for stimulating the brain, getting blood flowing. It helps with the loss of nerve function, too," he explained. "I know it'll take care of your headache."

"Do you get federal aid for this?" Jim asked, looking around.

"Huh?" Blair stopped pawing through the small bedside cabinet to look at him.

"Disaster relief," Jim prompted. "It looks like a friggin' hurricane ripped through here." The room was filled with books, not as if it were a library but more like some deranged person had decided to see how many books he could pack into any given space. They were on the floor in stacks, piled on chairs, lined up on shelves, and heaped on the bed. Realizing his words might have been too critical, Jim back pedaled, "But it's nice, gives the room a welcoming feeling." Sandburg stood uncertainly a second then grinned.

"Yeah, it's great. Naomi let me take what I wanted out of the library. I'll be reading for weeks!" Jim calculated how many books Sandburg would have to read per day to get this massive number done in a few weeks. Damn, the kid must spend every single minute with a book in his hands. "Ah, here it is." Blair held up a small amber bottle, shaking it. "Shirt off, face down on the bed," he ordered.

"This isn't going to involve candles or chanting, is it?" Sandburg had retrieved a white towel from the bathroom and spread it out on the bed.

"Only if it'll get you in the mood." Jim could actually feel the heat coming off Blair's face before he quickly turned away, busying himself with the small bottle of oil. Jim focused his attention on his buttons, a second later he'd stripped off his shirt and a second later than that he was regretting his rash actions. That was the second Sandburg climbed onto the bed, and straddled his hips. The surprising strength of Blair's thighs clamped around his waist sent a jolt of lust straight to Jim's groin. "This might be a little chilly," Sandburg warned and Jim prayed it wasn't just chilly but icy cold. Still, he drew in a hissing breath as Blair spread the first palm full of rosemary oil onto his skin but it quickly warmed under the friction of Blair's hands. Alternating between using the heels of his hands and his fingers, Blair kneaded the muscles on either side of Ellison's spine. After a few passes of those amazing hands, Jim forgot all about the erotic images running through his head. Blair kept the pressure firm but never painful, his touch drawing out tension as if he were a magician drawing silk flowers out of a hat.

It went on for ages, Jim could feel himself sinking into someplace warm and inviting, there seemed to be a gentle sustained hum inside his brain, lulling him deeper and deeper into bliss. Even when Blair reached his shoulders, and something in his left gave a pop and slipped back into place he couldn't muster the energy to do anything but groan. "Sorry, did that hurt?" Blair whispered. Jim gave another deep groan and Blair laughed. "Guess not." He continued massaging until every muscle in Jim's body had turned the consistency of Jell-O, then prodded his victim into shifting so that Jim lay on his back but his head was at the foot of the bed. Sandburg stuffed a small pillow under Jim's knees, and after slipping off Ellison's loafers and socks, moved around behind him. The sweet scent of rosemary had filled the air, it clung to Blair's hands when he slipped them under Jim's head, taking its weight into them. With one hand gripping Jim's neck where it met his back, the other cradling the base of his skull, Sandburg drew his hands up, one over the other, slowly drawing them all the way up into Jim's short hair and massaging his scalp. The combination of soothing scent, relaxed muscles and Blair's steady heartbeat worked like magic. Jim's last conscious thought was how long it had been since he'd enjoyed anyone's touch this much. Since Peru and the weird things happening to him, Jim had shied away from even casual contact, something this intimate with anyone else would be out of the question. Only with Blair, he thought and sank into sleep.

He woke not knowing exactly where he was but unerringly certain of who was with him. "Chief?" He asked without opening his eyes.

"Ssssh," Blair whispered. "Go back to sleep it's only 1 AM."

Jim forced his eyes open. Blair was sitting in a high backed chair beside the bed, a book in his lap and he was smiling. "I took your bed," Jim said.

"It's okay, really," Blair assured him, "you need to rest." He got up and Jim felt a light blanket being drawn up higher on his chest. "Go back to sleep, Jim." Blair ordered and Jim found himself unable to disobey. He drifted into the darkness with a smile on his face.

~~~~~~

"Is Jim coming by?" Blair leaned against the doorjamb, his appraising gaze sweeping over Naomi's blue, silk dress. She picked up a diamond earring, studied it for a moment then discarded it in favor of a dangling array of silver hoops. It had been almost five days since Ellison's last visit to the Vista, he'd called only a couple of nights earlier to cancel dinner with them, saying he wasn't feeling well. It worried Blair, he didn't want to think it was anything serious but Jim never wanted to talk about his health, preferring to wave the subject away as unimportant.

"No, sweetie, remember? The Spanish Ambassador's reception?"

"Oh, yeah." Blair took a seat on the bed, picking at the coverlet and watching her finish dressing. "So, how are things going?" He asked.

"Wonderful! I think I finally convinced that stuffy old fool of a lawyer I truly mean to give 2 million dollars to that sweet little temple we stayed at in Chulomp. He has no idea how much - "

"I, uh, meant with Jim," Blair said.

"Oh." Naomi fussed with her hair, tweaking strands back into place as she checked her makeup. "He's a nice man, honey. Once you get passed his reserve, Jim's very caring and generous. And don't forget he's gorgeous, just about the best looking guy I've dated. We don't have a lot in common but -" Naomi glanced up into her dressing table mirror and was surprised by the look on Blair's face. "Don't you like him?" she asked.

"I like him."

Naomi frowned, confusion plain on her face. "You like him," she repeated, "so what's wrong?"

"I like him." Blair picked more threads apart, worrying the thick fabric like beads between his fingers. "Don't hurt him, Naomi," he said quietly, "Jim isn't like the others, okay?"

"Blair?" Naomi turned to face him, her expression clearing as she studied the young man. "Blair, I like Jim but as a friend." .

"Really?"

"Yes, we do have fun together but he's not my type. You know how I am, I go for the quick fix, the instant solution. I like to champion the underdog but only if it won't tie me down and - Jim isn't just a rope, honey, he's a steel cable." She paused, choosing her words carefully, "There's something about him, I can see it in his aura. He's deeply troubled, he's very vulnerable," she continued to watch Blair as she spoke. "There are times I look at him and he seems so sad, there's so much pain in his eyes and then," Naomi waited until Blair met her eyes, "and then you walk into the room and he seems to light up."

Blair gulped, his own gaze flicking away from her knowing eyes. "He's - he's hurting," Blair said. "I know it. I can feel it. I want to help him, Naomi, I really do." He didn't know why helping Ellison was so important - but it was. Maybe because Jim's need seemed so overwhelming that he couldn't ignore it, couldn't turn away from it. There was something fragile about Jim, not just his health, but a man of such obvious strength who seemed so utterly adrift. It called to something in Blair he'd never realized was within him.

"I think you do, sweetie," she said. "Now get dressed."

Blair looked confused, "Why?"

"You're going to the ball, Cinderella!"

~~~~

Reporters were swarming all over when they entered and it was chaos for an hour, posing for photos with important people, chatting with the press, working the crowd, all the things William Ellison had taught his son to do well at an early age. Jim had been surprised to find that Blair was going with them when Simon drove him to Wistful Vista, surprised, but pleased. He and Blair had chatted non-stop all the way while Naomi sat beside him, her eyes filled with wonder, her smile serene. He lost them both in the mass of humanity at one point but eventually saw Naomi slipping out into one of the Embassy's galleries. He followed her a moment later and found her on a bench admiring a nude painting entitled, Eternity. It was a glorious painting, all pale flesh and bulging muscles and he wondered if a lot of women liked that.

"Hey beautiful," he greeted her, leaning in to kiss her cheek, "why are you alone?"

"It's silly, I know," she said and drew him down beside her. A blush rose in her cheeks making her look like a kid instead of one of the most powerful women in the Pacific Northwest. "I almost wish my father had left his money to someone else. It's not that I don't want it, I can do so much good with it, but so many people want things from me now." She leaned her head on his shoulder. "I hate this, Jim," she whispered, "how do I know it's me and not my father's money."

Jim swallowed the disgust which choked him. "It's not easy, Naomi, and it's not just because of the money. People want their heart's desire and sometimes they'll struggle to fit what they have into that mold. Be yourself, Naomi, and listen to your heart. You'll know the real thing when you find it." He heard her sigh and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. Naomi was a special woman, he just wished he deserved her. A familiar sound reached Jim's ear, he straightened, looking towards the far end of the gallery.

"Jim?" Naomi said, "what is it? You've got the oddest look -" Sandburg popped into view, his face breaking into a huge smile when he spied them there.

"Hey," he greeted quietly.

"Blair!" Naomi held out a hand to him, her eyes shining. Blair's eyes held the same devoted glow and Jim turned away, unable to quell the jealousy he felt in the face of Sandburg's obvious affection for Naomi.

"I better go," Jim said quickly.

"No!" Blair caught his arm as Jim rose, staring helplessly into his eyes. "No, man. I -" he broke off, looking to Naomi. Jim turned to her and caught something flicker in her expression, a wistful tenderness he didn't understand.

"No, I'm the one who needs to go," she said firmly. Naomi leaned in to kiss Blair, not on the lips as Jim had expected her to do but on the forehead like a blessing. She did the same with Jim, whispering, "follow your own advice," and then she was gone.

Ellison watched her walk away. Silence stretched between him and Sandburg, taunt and uncomfortable but he didn't know how to end it. Blair glanced around, making appreciative sounds as he eyed the paintings. Jim watched him get to his feet and make a slow circuit of the gallery, looking at the various works of art with a critical eye. He ended his inspection with a searching look at the painting Naomi had so admired before his gaze swung back to Jim and Ellison got the impression he'd just been compared to that work of perfection and found wanting. "Are you okay? Do you have another headache, because you look tired," Blair finally said.

"I didn't sleep very well last night. No rosemary oil," he joked but Blair didn't laugh.

Instead, Sandburg cocked his head to one side, frowning. Jim could feel himself blush under the penetrating gaze. He'd seen the dark smudges under his eyes growing darker each morning when he shaved, his skin had a chalky hue he couldn't ignore and there were times when his legs felt as if they were made of rubber. "I can help you," Blair said softly. He came closer, looking down at Jim with that quiet intensity he had and it was that self possessed confidence that finally snapped Ellison's control.

"Don't lie to me! Don't you fucking lie to me!" Jim shouted. His mouth twisted like a viper, spitting words that struck fast and hard. "I don't want more lies!" He leapt from his seat, catching Blair by both shoulders, his grip savage, ready to shove him away but Blair hung on to him, locking them together.

"Who's lying to you, Jim?" Blair demanded. He refused to let go even when he glimpsed the insanity which hovered just below the surface of Ellison's blue eyes. "Who's lying?"

"They are!" Ellison broke away with an ease that belied Blair's hold on him. He rammed one hand into his trousers pocket, digging out two amber prescription bottles and shaking them before Sandburg's startled face. "He said this would help. It would all go away but it hasn't. It makes no fucking difference!" He hurled the bottles away, they bounced and skittered along the floor. "It doesn't go away," he whispered. Blair's gaze flicked uncertainly from the two prescription bottles to Jim's face and back again. He seemed to reach some kind of decision, and with a frown went to retrieve the bottles, studying them. When he came back he put out one hand, his touch enough to make Jim sit down. Sandburg moved to crouch beside him, the gallery lighting throwing a soft glow over him, placing jewels in his eyes. Jim thought he'd never seen anything more beautiful than the tender smile Blair granted him.

"You're scared, Jim, but you can tell me. I want to help you." Blair reached out, his empty hand closing over Jim's.

An unfamiliar pain stung his eyes, Jim reached up, only then recognizing it as the sting of tears. He hadn't cried in years and Blair's simple, heartfelt declaration of concern had him on the verge of blubbering like a baby. "I want to tell you," Jim began, clearing his throat and calming himself. He gently pulled his hand from Blair's grip, taking refuge in the solitude which had always protected him. More than anything he wanted to confess, confess and be absolved of the sins of his father but thirty plus years of needing William's approval, his acceptance, made it so hard to do.

"I won't hurt you," Blair repeated.

"I think I'm going crazy," Ellison whispered. It wasn't the confession he should have made but it was the one his heart chose. He was scared, scared shitless and he couldn't stop shaking. Ellison began to speak, he blurted out his story in short, choppy sentences, his words tumbling out like stones from a weakened wall. He told it all, struggling with the images in his head. "It's all noise and heat and it's relentless. My skin aches, Sandburg - aches! Just trying to eat without tasting the plastic something's been wrapped in, or smelling sweat on the waitress...." Nearly incoherent, Ellison tried to paint a picture of the life he'd been living for months, existing in a world where it felt as if an alien creature inhabited his body, turning it against him. "I'm losing control," he rasped. He was at Its mercy and it was gaining strength, soon it would win and with no one the wiser, trapped and silently screaming, James Ellison would cease to exist. "I don't know what's happening to me, sometimes I just - come to and don't know how much time has passed, Chief!" he declared.

"Wait, slow, down," Blair urged. He shifted around until he sat beside Jim on the bench. "What are you telling me, Jim? Just take a deep breath, calm down. I need you to start from the beginning, okay?" Jim told it all again, but as he did he could hear it as Blair would hear it, as anyone with any rational thought would hear it and he knew he'd not conveyed the real fear, the impotence of control slipping through his fingers, of chaos and madness creeping closer.

"Dr. Vanderpool gives me pills," Jim said, gesturing to the bottles Blair still clutched, "painkillers."

"It's for migraines," Blair said, when he'd read the label. "My cousin, Bobby, gets the worse migraines in the world, Jim. All he can do is lay in a dark room for hours, he's sick for days before and after. You're not going crazy, you're just one of the ones this hits hard." He looked at the other bottle, "Ethosuximide? What's that?"

"It's for seizures," Jim said but didn't elaborate. He took the bottles from Blair's hand, staring down at the labels. Migraines, epilepsy, Vanderpool hadn't been very confident in the initial diagnosis. He'd told Jim the voices he could hear, the things he saw were more than likely all part of some strange chemical reaction going on inside his brain, but the pills should dull the pain that assaulted his every waking moment until they could pinpoint the exact cause. "Dr. Vanderpool thinks it could be something else, something much more serious and I should be prepared for that," Jim finally said haltingly. "I - I have an appointment next week at his clinic." He looked away, cheeks burning.

"Why don't I go with you?" Blair suggested. "I'll find out if anyone if lying to you, okay?"

Jim sighed with relief, and nodded, "Sounds great, Chief." He looked down at their hands, still clasped together and made a decision. "I - I've got my car and driver here, we could hangout, drive around or something?"

"Are you propositioning me, Mr. Ellison?" Blair teased.

Jim gave a shy laugh, "I must be losing my touch if you have to ask."

"Your touch is just fine," Blair assured him and gave his hand a hard squeeze. Jim used his cell phone and dialed Simon. Five minutes later they were passing through the kitchen and Banks was pulling the limo up to the door. They stopped at the door, Jim barring Blair's path with an arm.

"Wait a sec," he whispered. He tilted his head, seeming to listen to something a moment longer then nodded. "Okay, Chief, the coast is clear." They were out the door an into the car in less than ten seconds. "Drive around for a while, Simon," Jim directed and the big car took off.

"You always take a limo?" Blair asked with a grin.

"I have a truck, a '69 Ford," Jim said.

"Great year," Blair said, his grin growing wider still, "since that's when I was born."

"I knew I liked it for some reason."

"Do you drive it much?"

Jim shamefacedly admitted, "not since the - seizures."

"Oh, yeah." Blair looked around the interior, needing something to break the awkward silence between them. His eye fell on the array of gadgets installed under the partition that separated the passengers from the chauffeur. "What's all that?"

Jim shrugged and leaned back in the seat, eyes half closed and an amused smile playing across his lips. "One's for the DVD player, the sound system, interent connection, telephone," he pointed to each button in turn. "That one raises the glass so Simon can't see or hear what we do back here."

"I don't like that one," Simon said, but his reflection wore a grin.

"Aaahh," Blair said and pushed the button. Sleek black glass rose with a quite whir, sealing him and Ellison into their own private little world. He touched another button and soft music began. "I don't suppose - yes!" He lifted two cold beers from the nearly hidden refrigerator and examined the labels. "Not even imported, Ellison," he teased, "can't they throw you out of the country club for that?"

"Nope," Jim said and took a bottle, "my old man owns the place." He took a deep swallowed and sighed.

"You okay?" Blair touched his arm.

"Yeah, sure," Jim said. "I just - "

Blair took the bottle from his fingers and placed it on the floor. Sandburg was staring at him, seemingly able to read every emotion coursing through him. For a long time they sat like that, eyes locked and then Blair took his hand and Jim found his longing turning to wonder. "I hope I'm not making a mistake here, Jim," he whispered, "but I think we both want the same thing." Jim could feel the smile spread across his face, growing so wide his cheeks ached. Blair's callused thumb rubbed gently over his knuckles and that tiny gesture sent a jolt of lust straight through him. Ellison quickly reined in the joy spreading through him, steeling himself against the pain he fully expected when he said what needed to be said before they went any further.

"Blair, if this is," he paused, flushing beneath the weight of Sandburg's quizzical gaze, "if it's just a one time thing, I understand. I like you, I really like you and I know it wouldn't be fair to you if whatever is wrong with me is - serious -"

Blair hushed him with a kiss. It was gentle and sweet for all of two seconds then he moved closer, deepening the kiss until they were both gasping. "We need a hotel," Sandburg panted. Jim fumbled with the buttons on the side console.

"Simon, Blair and I would like to talk - in private."

"I know just the place," came Simon's voice over the little intercom. After that only the sound of the tires and the low growl of the engine filled the back of the limousine, the two men inside had no need for words to communicate.

Jim's eyes traced Blair's face with a primal intensity. "You're beautiful," he whispered. His fingertips traced lightly over Blair's skin, mapping the curve of his jaw, the silky arch of an eyebrow, the planes of his high cheekbones, the soft line of his lips. Blair, mesmerized by the butterfly light touches, remained still, savoring the sensual feel. The warmth of Jim's hand sent a perverse chill through him, the slightly rough scrap of Ellison's fingernails over the beginning's of his five o'clock shadow made him shudder, the knowledge that this was Jim, the man he'd been drawn to from the first instant of their meeting made his stillness almost unbearable. Jim's hands moved languidly, slowing even more when one encountered the thick mass of his curls until finally he stopped completely. Blair forced his eyes open, blinking away the fog of desire and regarded Jim with curiosity for a moment then with growing alarm. He reached up, touching Jim's chin.

"Jim?" He asked. There was no response at all. Jim sat beside him, eyes open but vacant, one hand still wound in Blair's curls the other resting lightly against Blair's chest. "Jim, hey, come on, man. This is not funny." His voice died away as he realized it wasn't a joke of some kind. Ellison did not move, except for the slow rise and fall of his chest. It was almost like he'd fallen asleep with his eyes open right in the middle of a conversation. No, that wasn't right, it was more like he'd stepped outside his body, leaving it behind. "Jim, I need you to listen to me," Blair said. He leaned in closer, placing both hands on Jim's face, willing the man in front of him to show some sign he was heard. "I'm right here. Jim, listen to me." Little by little he coaxed Jim back. "Breathe, deep breaths, Jim." Ellison followed the kid's instructions with an instinctual trust and a moment later his whole body shuddered and he pulled away from Sandburg's grip. "Hey!" Blair yelped and caught him before he could retreat too far.

"Damn," Jim muttered.

"What the hell was that?" Blair demanded.

"It's called an absence seizure," Jim said. "They don't last long, I just - blackout for a few seconds, sometimes a little longer." He wouldn't meet Sandburg's eye, just sat looking forlornly out the window, rubbing his temple.

"That wasn't a blackout," Blair told him. "I mean, it wasn't like you lost consciousness," he groped for words to describe what had just happened. "It was more like you switched off. Like your body was a cab and you ducked into a store for a paper and left it idling at the curb."

Ellison regarded him with a incredulous look before shaking his head and laughing. "Only you, Chief," he said, "would come up with an explanation like that." They rode in silence, watching the buildings and homes of Cascade become fewer and farther between. Simon turned the big car onto a narrow street, and through the window they could see the ocean come into view. A few minutes later he made another turn and they paralleled the shore. They weren't all that far from the heart of the city, Jim recognized it as an older suburb, an area where moderately to do people had built homes years ago. Long stretches of yard separated the houses, giving the illusion of solitude without giving up the comforts of the city. Simon made another turn, then pulled to a stop. "Where are we?" Jim asked. Simon jumped out and opened the door.

Jim stepped from the car, pleased when Blair got out and gently bumped against him. They'd driven around a long, low house, parking on the ocean facing side. Large glass windows reflected the shimmering waves and the surrounding yard and trees cut it off from others nearby. Simon led the way to the door, unlocked it and flicked on a light. Both men could only stare, open mouthed at the sight. "Welcome to Chez Simon," Banks said.

"It's - it's beautiful," Blair finally managed to say.

"Is this what you do with the money my old man pays you?" Jim asked, his voice soft with wonder. The house had a casual air, a secret getaway kind of feeling with its ethnic art prints and colorful rugs, but there was also an elegance in the overstuffed chairs and book lined walls. Jim couldn't remember being in a place that made him feel more welcome than this one did.

Simon beamed as he looked around the room. "I plan to retire here," he said. "I'm going to spend my days fishing and reading." He dangled a key in front of Ellison's face. "Here. I'll be back tomorrow around one."

"Where are you going?" Blair asked.

Banks gave him a bemused smile. "I promised my sister I'd stay with her tonight. The place is all yours, okay?" He didn't wait for an answer, the door closed behind him. They heard the car start and pull away.

"Well, that was nice of him," Blair said. He turned and looked up at Jim. "How's your headache?"

"What headache?" Jim leaned down, his words soft, his mouth even softer as he nuzzled Blair's cheek. He pulled back, eyelids fluttering open and a wicked grin spreading across his face. A second later he had Blair's arm in a tight grip and hauled him off in search of the bedroom. It was at the end of a long hallway, a huge room, dark wood furniture balancing one wall entirely of glass. Moonlight streamed in, washing over the king size bed, making its pale sheets look cool and inviting. French doors led out onto a deck ringed by flowering bushes and large leaf ferns and beyond the ocean glistened like some exotic creature captured and displayed for their private enjoyment.

"Wow," Blair whispered. Silver crested waves rolled almost to the foot of the glass doors. "This is the bomb, man." Jim nodded, and drawn by the shimmering water, moved to the French doors. He could see a ship out there, steaming away from Cascade harbor and felt a kinship with it - a vessel heading out into the unknown, steered by some unseen hand. For just a moment he felt utterly alone in the world and then Blair's warmth blanketed his back. "What's so fascinating out there?" Blair asked.

Ellison considered the truth for a second and then the desire to be normal, at least tonight, took hold. "Nothing, absolutely nothing."

"Good, because I see something completely fascinating in here," Blair said, licking his lips and slowly going to work on the tuxedo's buttons. He slipped the jacket from Jim's wide shoulders, then tossed aside the green vest he wore, pulled the tie off and finally peeled away the white silk shirt. Jim's chest was solid muscle and it "v"ed down to a narrow waist and slender hips. Ellison sucked in a deep breath through his nose the instant Blair's fingers started on his fly. There was a moment of tense expectation and then the black trousers puddled around Jim's ankles. He heeled off his Italian loafers and stepped from the confines of the slacks as Blair knelt at his feet and removed his socks. Naked, his skin a bit pale but smooth as satin, Jim looked as if he'd stepped from legend. Despite the well defined muscles, he didn't have the ungainly and bulky physique of a bodybuilder, but rather the athletic build of man in top condition . His limbs were long and lightly covered in soft hair a shade or two darker than on his scalp, the only imperfections on his body were several old scars, one that looked like a bullet wound just above his left kneecap. He was well endowed and already half hard. "Oh man," Blair whispered, his words more a shuddery moan than anything and then he leaned forward to kiss the deep crease between leg and torso.

Jim echoed his moan, swaying forward as Blair switched to the licking along the crevice, his curls an erotic touch at Jim's penis. It was too much too fast. Ellison was so close to ruining their first time together and that was something he did not want to happened. He caught Sandburg under the arms, pulling him up to kiss his mouth. The salty tang of his own sweat burst across Jim's tongue, pushing him that much closer to the edge. He pulled at Blair's clothes, eager to have him as naked but more as a distraction from what the scent and feel of him was doing to his control. Blair could sense something both tender and urgent in Jim's touch as if the older man wanted him very badly but was going to take his damn sweet time getting him.

They tumbled naked onto the bed, arms around each other, eyes closed and mouths fastened together. They let their passion build slowly, taking their time to explore each other's body, equally fascinated by the differences. Jim found himself intrigued by the hair that grew thick and soft on Blair's chest and the amazing strength of his shoulders and arms. Under his normal layers of clothes, no one would have any idea Sandburg had such a good body. Jim slipped his hand down Blair's hip and across to cup one butt cheek while Blair did the same to him. They shared a grin, kissing again. Their knees bumped as they tangled legs, feet sliding up and down muscled calves. Blair made an impatient noise and nudged him, pressing Jim onto his back. Ellison gave himself over to those clever hands, stretching languidly as Blair mapped his body with curious fingers. Each place Blair's palm touched, Jim could feel the life within his lover. He might have lost himself in the warmth of skin but other things impinged on his senses distracting him over and over. Blair made tiny little sounds of delight, and a heady scent filled the air making Jim's head spin with desire. Moonlight danced in Sandburg's curls, sparking colors that ranged from auburn to charcoal. Jim had never felt so alive before, so much pleasure coursed through him it made thinking impossible. All he knew was he wanted to give Blair a taste of what he was feeling.

"Want - want you inside," he gasped.

"What?" Stunned, Blair stared up at him.

"Please." Jim rolled to his knees, edging over between Blair's wide spread legs. With his weight on his hands, Ellison bent and began kissing a fiery path down Sandburg's chest, stopping to lave each nipple into a granite nub then moving lower. Blair surged up to meet his touch, pressing himself into Jim's mouth, his own hands rubbing wildly over Ellison's shoulders, arms and head. Jim took his time, pausing to rim Blair's navel, blowing across the wet skin until Sandburg begged for mercy. He laughed and shifted back on his heels, using his hands to hold Blair's legs even further apart. He bent forward again, swooping down to rub his cheek against his lover's straining cock, letting it slide along the edge of his open mouth. Blair cried out and his grip on Jim's shoulders dug into the flesh. Ellison repeated his actions, turning the other cheek and doing the same and before Blair could do more than yelp he took the tip of Sandburg's cock into his mouth, flicking it lightly with his tongue.

"Sweet Jesus, James!" Blair yowled.

Stiff, gleaming with saliva and pre-cum, Jim regarded the object of his desire. He'd only done this a few times before, with mixed results but what he lacked in experience he knew he made up for in eagerness. Scooting forward, he aligned his ass with Blair's cock, then slowly lowered himself onto it. Sensation burst through his brain, a swirling cacophony of pain, lust and pleasure that made him gasp. "'kay, Jim?" Blair questioned and his eyes were filled with worry.

"I'm fine," Jim assured him. He relaxed, sinking onto Blair's cock until his ass rested on Blair's thighs. He throbbed with the echo of Blair's heartbeat deep inside him, and it made his own cock twitch. It took a minute to adjust to the fullness then, hands on Sandburg's shoulders, rocking forward and back, he rode Blair like a 25 cent horse. The gliding slide of cock in and out made his chest heave, he could feel it pulling Blair closer to the edge, the cock in his ass, warming, filling with more blood as orgasm thundered closer. Ellison rolled them over, keeping his legs clamped tightly around Blair's waist and using his heels to tug the straining cock inside him even deeper. Blair let out a strangled cry as he ended up on his knees over Jim then instinctively plunged forward, pounding into him with speed and force. Sweat dripped off Sandburg, hissing though the air to sizzle on Jim's skin, he growled his approval. It didn't take long, both were so strung out from their foreplay that climax hurtled out of their pleasure like a train. A hot flash of semen splattered their thighs and coated their bellies, Jim coming at the same time.

He floated for ages, spinning up with the stars, watching comets hurtle by behind his closed eyelids. He could hear Blair murmuring something somewhere in the distance, something soothing but he wanted to stay there whirling out in the cosmos for as long as he could. Eventually the afterglow dimmed and he felt his body reasserting itself. His back ached, and his arm had fallen asleep but he opened his eyes and smiled. Sandburg had curled around him, his cock still buried inside Jim, and he was scrubbing his chin back and forth across Jim's nipple.

"How many lovers have you had?" He hadn't meant to ask it, didn't know why it had popped out of his mouth, and once it had been asked Jim wished he hadn't.

"Mmmm, maybe twenty," Blair guessed, still absorbed with his nipple. "Why?"

Jim tried to think of something that wouldn't sound wrong but in the end when Blair turned his dark blue eyes up at him, he could only shrug. "Did you love them?"

"Yes," Blair answered slowly. He pulled himself out of Jim's arms, just enough to meet his gaze square on. "I loved each of them but not all in the same way."

"How?"

Sandburg gave it some thought then said, "Some I loved as friends. Some just for the comfort they gave me, some because I could give them comfort. One or two I thought I was in love with and a couple believed they loved me. I couldn't do this," he gestured at the rumpled sheets, at their entwined bodies, "without love."

"Were you sad when they left?" Jim closed his eyes, not wanting to see Blair's face anymore.

"No, because I knew none of them were the right one, Jim," Blair whispered. Jim felt him shift, Sandburg's arms coming up around him, framing his face, combing through his short hair, tracing his lips. "I think people have hurt you in the past, Jim," he said very, very quietly, "I think you've loved people who walked away but I'm going to promise you something, love. I'm going to promise you that I won't leave. Do you believe me?"

"Yes, I want to but it all seems like some kind of dream," Jim said. "It has to be, because it's so beautiful." He rolled Sandburg over, propping his cheek on his hand and staring down at Blair. "When I was a kid I use to lay awake at night imagining a different life. You ever do that? I use to dream my dad was just a worker, picked fruit or something and mom, me and Stephen traveled with him in an old van. We'd stop and eat on the side of the road and sleep looking at the stars." A blush crept over his cheeks but he went on, "I always imagined a life that had unexpected surprises and everything always turned out nice but we didn't have money."

"Why not money? Wouldn't that make it easier?"

"No," Jim said, shaking his head, "you keep forgetting I've always had money. Being rich has nothing to do with being happy so when I dreamed it was about my friends and family loving me. We didn't have money, we had each other." Ellison groaned, flopping back on the mattress with one arm over his eyes. "God, that sounded really stupid, didn't it. Poor little rich boy, who's going to feel sorry for a kid who got a minor league baseball team for his tenth birthday."

"Not having anything doesn't make it better," Blair said. He sat up, wrapping his arms around his knees as he looked over at Jim. "Guess I was just on the flip side, moving around all the time from place to place, family to family," Blair admitted. "Sometimes I'd get tired of being on the move and wish I had a place where I belonged, someone who wanted me." He glanced up at Jim from beneath thick lashes, looking much younger than he was. "I don't have very many friends, not ones who love me."

"You've got at least one, Chief," Jim said and kissed him. A moment later he pulled back, staring down at Sandburg.

"What?" Blair demanded.

"That's the first time you've ever really talked about yourself," Jim said. "I don't know anything about you. Where were you born? What's your mother and father do? Do you have any brothers and sisters? Tell me."

Blair, eye brows dancing, scrambled up to sit atop Jim's belly. "Just think of me as Austin Powers, baby!"

"Huh?"

"International Man of Mystery!"

They made love again and fell asleep as dawn began its first steps across the sky. Simon arrived just after lunch and drove them to Wistful Vista. Neither wanted to part but each knew they had to for now. Jim got out with him, standing beside the limo while Blair said goodbye to Banks with a friendly wave. "Behave yourself, Chief," Jim warned. Sandburg smiled at him and kissed Jim so hard his lips ached.

"Call me," he said and disappeared up the steps. When Banks pulled the big car back into traffic he took a good look at Jim.

"You look like a man in love."

Jim darted his old friend a sideways glance and grinned. "Do I? How can you tell?" He was riding in the front seat of the limo with Banks, something he often did when they were alone.

"Well, let's see," Simon said, maneuvering the big car through the light morning traffic, "there's a glow in your eyes and a sloppy grin on your face. You were humming the 59th Street Bridge Song and half your clothes are on inside out." Jim looked down, then shot an accusing glare at the man smiling at him from the driver's seat. "If you have to look, then it's true," Simon told him.

"You are insubordinate, you know that, don't you?"

"That's why you keep me around, Jimmy," he said, laughing, "to tell it like it is."

Jim laughed with him but a moment later his expression turned serious. "What would you say if - if I told you I was in love but that it wasn't with Naomi Harris?"

"Really?" Simon asked innocently, he couldn't hold the expression, his dark face split into a devilish grin and he murmured, "Wonder who it could be. No, don't tell me, let me guess." Jim could see his friend's eyes sparkling with good humor. "Maybe it's a certain wild-haired young man named Blair Sandburg," he guessed. Now it was Ellison's turn to grin. Banks laughed out loud but then his voice turned serious. "Jim, in all the years I've known you, I have never seen you this happy - or at peace. I hope you know how worried I've been about you this last year. You don't sleep anymore, you don't eat, I know it's not my driving skills, phenomenal though they may be, that has you being driven everywhere." He gave Jim a quick searching look as he threaded the long black car through morning traffic. "To be honest with you, Jim," he said quietly, "Naomi isn't the one for you. She's too flighty."

"And Blair isn't?"

"No," Simon murmured with a considering frown, "he can be - bubbly, enthusiastic as hell, but there's something about that kid." He shook his head as if he hadn't worked it out exactly, "there's a solid-ness about him, a core of wisdom." Banks laughed at himself, shrugging, "I don't think I can describe it without sounding like Deep Thoughts"

"Or a Hallmark card," Jim teased. He watched Banks drive, thinking about what his friend had said and he agreed with every word.

"Naomi might love you," Simon went on, "right now, but if something new came along I don't think she would stick around. I get the feeling you and Blair are from the same mold, a wolf pack."

"How's that?" Jim asked as they pulled through the huge iron gates that marked the Ellison world.

"Wolves know when the right one comes along, they mate for life." A moment later Banks parked in front of the Ellison mansion and started to get out and open the door for Jim.

"Simon," Jim's voice stopped him and made Banks look over at his boss. "Simon, if something happens to me, would you - would you make sure Blair is okay."

"What could -"

Jim held up a hand, shaking his head. "Simon, just promise me you will help Blair out in any way you can. It means a lot to me, to think that he can count on you if I'm not there, okay?"

Banks looked at him, then nodded, "Of course, Jim. I promise, I'll watch out for him."

"Thanks," Jim sighed, "thanks, Simon."

***

The Golden Lamp Inn, Jim shook his head but hurried towards the last room in the line of twelve units. The doors had once all been painted teal, but now they looked gray in the flickering neon light of the sign. Number 12 proclaimed itself with rusty numerals nailed haphazardly in the center. Blair had registered as Bob Carter and his car, a vintage green Volvo sat at the far end of the lot next to the trash bins. Ellison knocked and stood there grinning when the door practically flew open. "Mr. Carter?"

"Yeah," Blair said, his grin matching Jim's. "You must be the TV repairman! Did you bring the proper tools?"

"Oh, I think I've got something that'll do the job." Jim pushed inside, kicked the door shut and stepped into Sandburg's waiting embrace. They didn't kiss, not at first, just stood pressed together, Jim's arms wrapped loosely around Blair's shoulders, Blair's arms around his waist. Ellison could feel something shift, if not inside his heart then maybe inside his brain, but the chaotic buzz that never quite left his awareness faded, he felt lighter, happier there in Blair's arms. Maybe it was love. He nuzzled against Sandburg's cheek, "What's the problem, Sir?"

"I can't find my remote," Blair whispered.

Jim said, "I can fix that." He hoisted Blair up, slinging him over his shoulder and marching to the small TV on the dresser. Sandburg gave a shout of surprise then burst into hoots of laughter as Jim waited for him to flick on the TV. They were both breathless from laughing when Jim staggered to the bed and collapsed onto it. They knew each other now, the consuming heat of their first time was still there but banked down, letting their natural affection for one another shine through. Their lovemaking was filled with laughter and teasing, building slowly towards the shimmering sexual inferno they had between them. When it exploded over them, it was a firestorm of emotion.

"You ever been spanked?" Jim asked. He was lying on his stomach, head and shoulders dangling over the foot of the bed as he channel surfed. Blair was sitting beside him, hands drawing phantom designs on the acres of smooth skin of his back.

"Yeah, once and I did not enjoy it," Blair said. Jim canted him a silent look, frowning. "You like kinky games?" Blair asked. "What? Leather - or lace? Diapers?" Jim glared at him. "I'll spank you if you want, Jim," Blair promised, "all you have to do is ask." His hand moved lower, palm gliding over the silky smooth skin of Jim's ass.

"Thanks," Jim said, "but that wasn't what I was thinking." He sat up, taking Blair's hand in his. "I was - remembering something." A blush rose up his cheeks. "I was six or seven and it was my birthday."

"Oh, a birthday spanking," Sandburg murmured.

"Yeah. Sally, that's our housekeeper, she took me to visit her mother in Chinatown for my birthday. She would always take me to Nai Nai's as a special treat but this time it was spectacular. Her mom is tiny, smaller than Sally and she only comes up to my chest but back then I would have sworn Nai Nai was a giant, she could make grown men cower with just a look. But she loved me as if I was Sally's son and she's set up this party and made a cake for me." He stopped, a smile blooming in his eyes and Blair had to wonder what kind of life Jim'd had when the people who worked for his father had provided the only source of affection he'd ever experienced. "I was thrilled," Jim said, "just happier than I'd ever been because it was beautiful. There were presents, strange things I'd never seen before and all these little Chinese kids, Sally's nieces and nephews, for me to play with. And I remember before I could blow out the candles and make a wish, they all gave me a swat, not really painful or anything but I asked Sally why." Blair squeezed his hand and Jim smiled. "She said it was to prevent the god's from becoming jealous of my happiness. There had to be some pain, some little regret or hurt to keep them from taking it all away from me." He fell silent, staring off into the distance. "I don't want them to take this away from me, Chief," he whispered.

"Jim, ah, Jim," Blair said.

"There is no way in Hell I'll let anyone take this away from us," Jim hissed. His eyes flashed and Blair only just stopped from recoiling in surprise. Once again the dangerous man, trained by the military and disguised inside a two thousand dollar suit, showed himself. Sandburg pressed his hands to Jim's face, capturing his gaze and forcing it away from whatever images lay in his mind.

"No, we'll protect this, Jim," he said, "we'll protect each other. You believe me?"

Ellison blinked, focusing on Blair. "If anything ever happens to me, get to Simon," Jim said, stroking Blair's cheek. "He's head of security and an old friend."

"Are you a spy or something, babe?" Blair asked, capturing his hand to plant a kiss in the palm.

Jim chuckled, "No, not a spy. You don't know my pop, Chief. If he found out about us, he'd have me whisked away and locked up."

"Jim! that's crazy. That's movie stuff."

Ellison shook his head. "No, it's real. If he knew I loved you, he'd have me put away." Jim's mood had darkened again, and when he spoke it was with such conviction that Blair couldn't help but feel a chill run down his spine. "The Ellison name and the damn company are the only things that matter to my father." He caught Blair's face in his hands, forcing their gazes to lock yet once again. "I want you to always remember how much I love you, Blair. More than life. I've loved you from the first moment I saw you but I'd give it all away to make sure you were safe." A kind of desperate fear lingered in his eyes and he drew Blair close, kissing him before Sandburg could say anything.

***

He knew he had to be careful but loving Blair was so exciting, so freeing that whenever they were together all he could think about was when they would get together again. Weak sunlight etched the horizon as they walked out into the gravel lot. Blair's car was parked on the north end, beneath a thick stand of trees, he'd arranged for Simon to pick him up around the corner in the Wal-Mart parking lot. "Aaah," he said, taking a deep breath, "nothing like clean mountain air to make a man feel alive."

"Hmm, I thought it was the fantastic sex," Blair said. Jim chuckled then turned to give Sandburg a long searching look from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. "What?" Blair demanded, laughing and punching at his shoulder.

"Just wanted to make sure you put your clothes on right side out."

"You are a riot in the morning, babe," Blair declared and reached up to kiss him. Ellison broke away quickly, freezing in place. "Jim?" Blair's voice betrayed his concern, his grip on Ellison tightened. "What's wrong?"

"Do you hear that, Chief?"

Blair looked at him, brow furrowed. "Hear what, Jim?"

"That whirring sound." Ellison turned slowly in a circle, listening, barely aware his hearing had sharpened until he could distinguish dozens of sounds, his mind cataloging and discarding the normal ones faster than thought. Not realizing what he was doing, Jim scanned the area his ears searched, following the path they described. He ended facing an abandoned gas station across from the motel, it's rusty sign hanging crookedly from a post. Jim focused on the dark interior, letting his hearing guide him. He heard something scrape on concrete then the soft whirring and a click. "What the -"

Before Sandburg could react, Jim cried out, hands clamped over his ears, and doubled over in pain. An ambulance, its siren wailing screamed passed the motel, receding into the distance a moment later. "Jim!" Blair clutched at the older man, as Ellison sank to his knees and managed to pull Jim up against his hip, pinning him there with his arms. "Jim! Easy, take it easy." Slowly Ellison uncurled, his hands dropped to his sides and with Blair's help he got shakily to his feet. "Not too fast, man," Blair warned.

"I'm okay," Jim assured him. His cheeks were red, his eyes watering and he rubbed his brow in the gesture Blair had come to recognize as an attempt to rid himself of a massive headache. "That was so loud. My ears are still ringing."

"It was loud," Blair agreed, "but not unbearable. We could hear it coming," he pointed out but Jim shook his head.

"I was listening to something else. I heard something over there." Jim pointed to the gas station. He checked out the dark interior but saw nothing. "I don't know, Chief," he said. "I don't know what's happening anymore."

"I'm gonna figure this out, Jim," Blair promised. He checked his watch, "Man, I gotta run. Naomi needs some help with one of her charities this morning and I promised to be there." He studied Jim with a critical eye. "You gonna be okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine," Jim said with a firm nod of his head. "Go on, Chief."

"Be careful, Jim," Blair said. They kissed, a quick brushing of lips that held promise of more, and then Sandburg headed back towards town. Jim waited a few minutes, focusing on the gas station again but early morning diesels on their way to Cascade made it impossible to hear anything else. Finally he gave up and headed in the direction Simon would be waiting and went back to the lie he found more oppressive each and every second he wasn't with Blair.

***

"Who is he?" William's voice sounded weak to his own ears as if the breath had just been knocked out of him. He forced himself to drop the photos back on his desk with casual disregard and stare at Stephen. He would have liked to wipe the smirk off his youngest son's face, but Stephen knew he had the upper hand and any show of anger would confirm it.

"That," Stephen said and his smirk grew to a smug grin, "is Blair Sandburg, no middle initial. He has no permanent address listed but he's living with Naomi Harris at the moment. My sources say he's twenty-nine but he was born in Nepal and there are no official records of him until 1985. He attended several universities in that part of the world before being granted citizenship by the American Consul in Hong Kong."

"Can they do that?"

Stephen shrugged, "they did. He joined Dr. Eli Stoddard on some of his archaeological digs in Sumatra and later in Peru. Stoddard seems to have taken him on as some kind of prodigy, brilliant kid from the looks of his record. After that he spent some time at Oxford, before a semester at Harvard and finally ending up a Teaching Associate at Rainier University here in Cascade."

William studied the top photo again. Sandburg had crammed so much into such a short span of years. His photograph showed a young man with dark, curly hair and eyes alive with intelligence and curiosity. But it was the figure beside him which intrigued William much more. The photographer had caught James in three-quarter profile, his smile dazzled the onlooker and his eyes were filled with something William had never seen before. It frightened him, that look, he wanted to tear the photo in half and burn it. Instead he forced his voice to remain level, his face impassive. "And he's gay?"

Stephen shrugged. "Plays for both teams. Sandburg has left a string of broken hearts from one side of the world to the other."

"This photo - it was taken this morning?"

"Yes," Stephen assured him, "As far as I can tell this is the third time Jim and Sandburg have rendezvoused. My sources believe the first time was after the Spanish Ambassador's party. Jim and Mr. Sandburg both disappeared about the same time. I had a man trailing the car but he lost them down by the docks. This," Stephen tapped the photo, "was taken outside the Golden Lamp Inn, a sleazy little motel on route 3. My man took this at 5:35 AM. Last night Jim had Banks drive him to a Wal Mart in North Cas, he then cut across to the motel where he entered a room registered to a Bob Carter. I paid handsomely to have one of the maids stripe the sheets as soon as they left. I had them sent to a forensics lab for testing. We'll have the results by noon."

William said nothing to that, merely stared at the photo again. "Where's Jimmy now?"

"He's at the house," Stephen replied. He flashed another grin, this one as feral as Ellison, Sr. had ever seen on a human face, "he has another appointment with Vanderpool on Tuesday." William hesitated only a second before he nodded. Vanderpool would be discreet, he'd married an Ellison cousin and all the funding for his private clinic came from the family business. The good doctor had a vested interest in keeping Jim's affliction quiet. "I'm confident Vanderpool will find our James too ill to release this time."

"You hate him, don't you?" William asked. He was surprised by the tiny flash of anger which flared in Stephen's eyes.

"Isn't that what you taught me, Pop? Win at any cost. I'm just doing what I have to; identify the problem, find a solution. That's what you drilled into us all those years." The senior Ellison stared at his youngest son, a twisted sense of pride growing within his chest. Stephen's callous disregard for James was nothing new, William had pitted them against each other since boyhood, knowing one would be stronger than the other and needing that one to run the business. There were moments when he regretted having to do such a heinous thing to his children, but not when their future was at stake. Stephen returned the stare, already anticipating the day he'd shove William into a nursing home and seize complete control.

"Yes," William said, "do whatever it takes, Stephen. Naomi Harris needs to forget all about James."

"Oh, she will," Stephen said, laughing, "she will."

***

The Finley Clinic looked like a huge Victorian home from the outside. Even the main lobby reinforced the impression, dark paneled walls and a massive oak staircase shone beautifully against the polished marble floors. Only the presence of white uniformed nurses told the real function of the big house. Blair sat beside Jim, reading over his shoulder as best he could as Jim filled out the last of a mountainous stack of forms. "They ask the same questions every time," Jim complained, "can't they just look at the old one?"

"Then what would we do all day?" A loud voice boomed in the hushed air. Blair jumped but Jim only chuckled. A jovial looking man in his late fifties grinned down at them, he wore a white lab coat and bright yellow socks with his penny loafers. "Don't tell me you had to bring a pinch hitter in case you got writer's cramp?" he asked Jim, taking the clipboard and giving the form the once over.

"Doctor Vanderpool," Jim said with a faint smile, "this is Blair Sandburg, a friend." Blair rose and shook the doctor's beefy hand. Dr. Vanderpool was a rotund man of middle years, and his gray eyes twinkled behind dark framed glasses. He wore his hair fairly long for someone of his generation but despite his friendly manner and obvious attempts at eccentricity there whirled around him an air of arrogant superiority . Blair could feel Jim tense up and wondered if it was a reaction to the doctor personally or because he associated Vanderpool with his condition.

"Splendid! Moral support, eh?" Vanderpool laughed, unaware of his patient's unease. "Done? We really need to get to it, Jimmy. It's going to be a very long day." He raised an eyebrow when Blair resumed his seat, "I really can't recommend staying, there is a chance James will be here overnight."

"That's okay," Blair said, pulling a book from his ever present backpack, "I'll wait." Jim gave him a dazzling smile as he followed the doctor down the corridor.

***

Jim lay back on the exam table, trying to ignore the cool air against his bare legs. He hated hospital gowns, they seemed designed to expose not only skin but any anxiety the wearer might have. He fixed his hearing on the strong, steady beat in the waiting area. He did not want to listen to Vanderpool or the nurses as they discussed him in low tones. If Vanderpool had taken him seriously he would know Jim could hear each and every word they uttered over there in the corner.

"Relax, Jimmy," Vanderpool said, coming over to peer down at him. "We're going to do a series of tests called evoked potentials. We want to measure the electrical activity of your central nervous system." Something icy cold pressed against the right side of Ellison's neck, right wrist, knee, ankle, and instep of his right foot, then one of the nurses moved up to his head and he felt pressure at his temples and the base of his skull. "We'll do the somatosensory evoked potential first," Vanderpool explained as if Jim hadn't heard the whole procedure laid out just minutes ago. "You'll feel a mild electric shock, Jim and there'll be minor muscle response, some involuntary movement. We'll measure the time it takes for the current to reach your cerebral cortex." Jim forced himself to lie still as the first pulse passed through him, he knew he'd received greater shocks after walking across his own carpet but to his highly sensitized skin it felt as if Vanderpool were using a cattle prod all along the right side of his body. The muscles in his arms and legs barely twitched, the electrodes sending current speeding along his somatosensory pathways so quickly only the slight ticking sound from the machine said it was working, still Jim gasped with the sudden intense pain. Vanderpool kept up a steady stream of chatter, but Jim chose to listen only to the reassuring beat of Blair's heart. He endured the switch of electrodes to his left side and when the rapid pulses finally ended Jim collapsed back with a groan of relief, feeling every muscle in his body relax as if it were melting.

"Very good, Jim!" Vanderpool encouraged. "Next we'll do a visual evoked potential. Just lie still. We're just going to look for any abnormalities, anything that might explain what's been happening, okay? Nurse Evans is going to attach a few more electrodes and then I want you to look at the checkerboard pattern above you." Jim felt a slight pressure as electrodes were affixed to his scalp at various points while the ones on his torso and limbs were removed. The nurse carefully taped a gauze pad over his right eye and used a padded strap to hold his head still. A screen, suspended about three feet above him, showed a checkered pattern and as he watched it reversed, white squares becoming black and black changing to white. It happened almost more rapidly than normal eyesight should be able to follow, two or three times per second, but Jim could see each square shift, the opposite color blinking in over the previous one. It was enough to make anyone dizzy but Jim felt as if his eyes were being pulled from their sockets. He was faintly aware of Vanderpool and the nurses talking rapidly behind him, their tone urgent but their voices seemed to fade, swallowed by the fog that grew inside his head as he watched the pattern shift. He didn't know how much time passed, he became aware of Doctor Vanderpool leaning over him, repeating his name and lightly slapping his cheek but the doctor's cavalier demeanor was gone, sweat beaded his temples and he looked decidedly pale .

"Jim? Jim, can you hear me?"

"Y-yes. What happened?" His temples pounded with each beat of his heart and even before Vanderpool said anything, Jim knew he'd had one of the strange blackouts.

"We aren't sure," the doctor said slowly. He wiped at the sweat glistening on his forehead and his hand trembled. "You showed an unusual reaction to the test." Jim bit back an anguished groan and closed his eyes.

***

"Mr. Sandburg," Dr. Vanderpool's voice startled Blair out of his thoughts. "I'm sorry," he said when he saw Blair jump.

"No, no, I was just daydreaming." Blair glanced around, looking for Jim but didn't see him. "Is something wrong?"

"No, not really. Jimmy is completely exhausted so I've decided to keep him here overnight," the doctor explained.

Blair chewed his lip, uneasy about leaving Jim. "Could I see him?"

"Of course!" Vanderpool clapped him on the shoulder. "That's why I came to find you. I thought you'd want to say goodnight to him." He steered Blair to a small elevator in the corner. "I gave him a mild sedative, so don't stay long. Second floor, room twenty." Blair thanked him, stepped inside the elevator and pressed the button. A moment later he found himself deposited in a hallway that could have been in any fancy New York hotel; plush carpet muffled his footsteps, the walls were painted a deep green and large paintings, not the kind you could buy at a home decorating store, hung every few feet. There were only four rooms on the second floor and number twenty was second on the left. He pushed and the door swung open as quietly as a whisper. The luxurious look didn't end at the patient's rooms, only the bed reminded him this wasn't a pricey hotel. It looked like something out of a sci-fi movie, high tech monitors had been built into the rails and flashing readouts cast a sickly green light over the man lying there. Blair didn't like the looks of that bed, a sudden, irrational fear enveloped him. That bed looked like it had been designed for someone who was going to be in it for a long, long time.

Jim lay on his back, a light blanket molding the outline of his long legs, an IV line disappearing into the arm resting across his stomach. The strong scent of disinfectant couldn't quite cover the underlying sour odor of someone having been sick. Blair crept closer, drawn by a need to make sure Ellison was truly okay, he could see that Jim's eyes were closed and he looked to be sleeping peacefully. The bed rails had been raised and the steady beep of a cardiac monitor filled the silence, counterpoint to the hammering of his own heart. Giving in to a deep seated need, he moved silently to the side of the bed, placed his hand lightly on Jim's hair and bent to kiss his forehead. When he straightened it was to find sleepy blue eyes smiling up at him. "Hey," he greeted quietly. "I thought you were asleep."

"Mmmm, want stay 'wake 'til you came by," Jim slurred. He blinked slowly, obviously struggling against the sedative he'd been given and reached up to catch Blair's wrist in a fairly tight grip. Sandburg noticed several dark bruises on the inside of Jim's elbow as if the nurse had had trouble drawing blood or maybe with the IV line. "They gave me sumthin' make me sleep." His eyes slipped closed but a second later he forced them open, frowning, "di' see Stephen? He' s'pose be gone but I hear 'im....." his voice trailed off. "'s trubl'," Jim mumbled then fell silent.

"Jim?" Blair covered Jim's hand, pulling it loose from his wrist and kissing the palm before tucking it under the cover. "Sleep, baby," he whispered and left. He found his way back to the reception area and saw Dr. Vanderpool speaking with one of the nurses. The doctor's jovial manner had disappeared, his mouth was twisted in a cruel line, his thick brows bunched over narrowed eyes. He seemed to be looming over the small, dark haired nurse, making her cower against the counter at her back. "Doctor?" Vanderpool spun to face him, his eyes blazing but as soon as he realized who it was, he manufactured an oily smile. The nurse shot Blair a grateful look before taking advantage of the distraction and escaping down the hallway.

"Mr. Sandburg! Did you have a nice visit with Jimmy?"

"He was a little out of it," Blair confessed.

"Yes," Vanderpool drawled, "I was afraid of that. His condition seems a bit more serious than I'd previously thought."

"What?" Blair couldn't quell the panic in his voice.

"Now, now," the doctor said, gently but firmly guiding Blair towards the clinic's door, "we're going to take very good care of Jimmy. Don't worry about a thing."

Blair allowed himself to be shown into the main lobby but balked just before they got to the front door. " Is Jim's brother here?"

Vanderpool looked startled but recovered quickly. "Stephen? No, Stephen is healthy as a horse." Blair thanked him, but some part of the connection he felt with Jim told him to get back there early and check on his lover. Sandburg got into his car and drove away. He didn't notice the slim, blond man who stood at the window of Dr. Vanderpool's office, the man the doctor reported to the instant Blair was gone and if he had he wouldn't have recognized Stephen Ellison, though Stephen knew who he was. "He asked about you," Vanderpool said when he entered the office, "that took me by surprise."

"Sandburg bears watching," Stephen said. "So, how's my big brother? Shoot him full of drugs and strap him to a bed yet?" He asked with glee.

"Not exactly." Vanderpool seated himself at his desk, taking up the file he'd gathered on his star patient in the last few months. He had another file locked in his drawer, one Stephen didn't know about, one he'd painstakingly put together about the symptoms going back generations in the Ellison family. He knew there was more to this malady, and he planned to find it and exploit it. "We will have to be very careful with the drugs we give him," the doctor warned. "James has a severe sensitivity to everything we've tried so far."

"Is this going to be a problem?" Stephen threw himself into one of the leather chairs in front of Vanderpool's desk and glared at the doctor.

"Oh, no," Vanderpool said, smiling, "no in fact most of the side effects will mimic the symptoms of several neurological diseases - weakness, incontinence, confusion. Jimmy is frightened, he knows there's something wrong, something going wrong but he doesn't know what. I've convinced him he's seriously ill. Hell, I even dropped multiple sclerosis into the conversation. Relax, once we get the dosages right we can maintain whatever state we require for as long as needed. We just need to go slowly right now, it should only take a few weeks for Jim to become accepting of his condition."

"That long! I need him out of the picture now," Stephen insisted.

"It can't be helped. This must look authentic, we're already moving as quickly as we can."

Stephen got to his feet, heading for the door. "Look, doc, you know how much is riding on this. My old man was stupid to even think this had a shot of working with Jim. I know better and once I get this company back on top I will remember the people who helped me, okay?" He leveled his patented smile at the doctor and left.

***

Jim shifted uncomfortably, whatever they'd injected him with had worn off, leaving him feeling sick, achy and weak. His mouth tasted awful, the unpleasant knowledge that he'd thrown up recently made his stomach that much more queasy and his throat felt like sand had been poured in and tamped down. He could barely swallow and the spot on his forearm where the needle had pierced his skin burned and throbbed sending shooting pains up his arm and through his skull. He'd tried getting out of the damn bed but the nurse had raised the side rails and the sedative or whatever seemed to have sapped his strength. He'd struggled with the locking mechanism, but the whole thing seemed more like some kind of futuristic torture device than a lock. Eventually he'd fallen back, panting with exertion, his arms quivering from the effort, head spinning. He shifted again, the adult diaper his nurse had insisted on putting him in was wet, his bladder had released sometime during the night, and now the thick damp material rubbed at his inner thighs. He wished her forethought had extended to arranging for someone to come in and change him but it was close to four AM and no one had come near his room. Jim lay helpless, listening to the muted conversation of the night nurse in the room next to his and the soft hissing of a respirator from the room across the hall. If he tried he could hear everything in the building, including the mouse which was creeping along a roof rafter high in the attic.

He found comfort in the scratching of its claws, concentrating on those sounds, emptying his mind of the echoing words ringing in his ears. He'd thought it part of some nightmare at first and still wasn't sure that it hadn't been a dream. He remembered waking, groggy, dizzy, his head still throbbing after the weird blackout in the exam room and somewhere in all of that had been Stephen's voice. It was a jumble, just bits and pieces and some of them could be imagined but Vanderpool seemed to have been talking about him to someone and saying something about neurological diseases and how with his sensitivity to drugs and severe allergic reactions there would be no way he could benefit from the new drug therapies being developed.

Jim squeezed his eyes shut, flashes came at him from the darkness, each one a sharp knife twisting deep inside his head, but he had to remember. Damn, it was like trying to put a jigsaw puzzle together without knowing what the finished picture was suppose to be. Had Vanderpool's tone been cajoling, an attempt to convince someone of the seriousness of Jim's condition? But why? He'd been warning Jim it might be something grave, preparing him for the worst, surely his father's spies had conveyed that to William. Ellison knew he'd been a fool to think it wasn't serious, to tell himself it was all a mistake. Why now? He'd found Blair after all these years of being alone and now he had no future. No, Vanderpool had pretty much assured whoever he'd been speaking to that Jim could look forward to a future filled with what he'd experienced tonight - being bedridden and incontinent, eventually unable to speak, fed through a tube and a complete burden to everyone he knew. The thought terrified him. Jim fought against the frustrated tears burning in his eyes, it was all mixed up in his head, he didn't know if what he'd heard was part of a nightmare or his future. Calling on the last of his strength, he fixed Blair's face firmly in his mind. Somehow even the bleak future Vanderpool had painted might be bearable if Blair was with him. He wanted so much to believe Sandburg would be with him, hadn't he seen it in the kid's eyes, felt it in his touch, tasted it in his kisses? Please let it be true, he thought. Let him endure this until Blair came back, then somehow they would get through the next hurtle - together. Despite his discomfort, exhaustion and the dregs of the sedative won out and Jim eventually fell back into a restless sleep dreaming of Blair lying beside him.

***

Blair dug through the papers on his bed, frantically searching for the ringing cell phone. He unearthed it and snapped it open with one hand, "yeah?"

"Chief?" Jim's voice sounded forlorn, like a kid waiting at the bus stop for a parent to arrive.

"Hey," Blair said softly. "I was just thinking about you."

"Really?" Hopeful, endearing, the voice made Blair smile. "Were you wondering what I'm wearing?"

Blair laughed, "uh, Jim, I've seen the gown, remember?" A warm chuckle filled the line and he continued, "No, I was thinking about your symptoms."

There was a moment of silence then Jim said, "Look, Chief, I-"

"Just listen, okay? There's something familiar in all this -"

"Yeah, read any medical journal and you get a big, sunny picture," Jim snapped.

"No, I mean I think the key is that at one time or another each of your senses have been affected. Jim, I know I've read something about this, I just can't get a handle on it. It might take me some time but I'm going to have an answer for you, okay?"

"More time, that's why I'm calling, Chief," Jim said. "Vanderpool said the same thing. He wants me to stay here at the clinic a few more days, let him run a few more tests."

"Is that a good idea?" Blair asked.

He could hear the resignation in Jim's voice, "I had another one of those blackout things. I just want to know what's happening to me."

"Ah, Jim," Blair whispered, "It's gonna be fine, I promise. Get some rest, okay? I've got a bunch of research to do but I'll come see you as soon as possible."

"Thanks, Chief," Jim said. Silence fell on both sides of the line but neither had hung up. "Blair-"

"I know, Jim," Blair said gently, "me too." He hung up smiling. A renewed sense of urgency drove Blair back to his books, he reread everything he could about psychic overload, spirit walks, sensory spikes, extreme sensitivity. He surfed the net on his laptop until his eyes burned, and his back ached. There were bits and pieces, but nothing he could put all together. Blair had no idea how long he'd worked until Naomi burst into his room, her face pale and eyes wide with fear.

"Blair! I just called Jim and they told me he was in the hospital!"

"It's not a hospital," Blair said. He caught her arm and pulled her down onto the bed beside him, "it's a clinic. You know he's been having some really bad headaches." Naomi nodded but still looked ready to cry. "He's going to be fine, really. I'm doing some research, we won't leave it all to the doctors."

"Good, you know how I feel about modern medicine," Naomi said. She still looked on the verge of tears but her next words showed the real source of her concern. "Do you think I should call Rabbi Kotterman?"

Blair frowned, "Why? Jim isn't Jewish."

"No, sweetie. The Rabbi is giving a seminar this weekend in San Francisco and I wanted to explore my Jewish heritage. I just couldn't possibly go now if Jim needs me."

"Don't be too hasty, Naomi," Blair soothed. "I've been looking over Jim's medical records," he explained. He tapped a few keys and showed the screen to Naomi. "I know there's a clue in all this, I just can't put it together - yet."

"You think this," Naomi hesitated, her dark eyes haunted with worry, "this condition Jim has is serious?"

"I'm not sure." Blair chewed his bottom lip a second. "I don't trust any of these people." He tried to quell the deep feeling of unease which had settled in his gut, Jim's paranoia was obviously catching. Sandburg typed a command into the computer and the screen changed to a long list. "Jim's reactions have always been extreme."

"What is all that?" Naomi settled beside him, her gaze locked on the screen.

"Another pattern I found. I was poking around in the Ellison Enterprise archives and I found out that William Ellison generally took one of his sons with him whenever he went overseas on business." Blair's fingers flew over the keys, sorting through links until he stopped on a record of expenses from the early seventies. "It's almost like old man Ellison made the two boys compete with each other and the winner got to go all these places."

Naomi leaned over his shoulder, "Who won?"

"It seems to be split 50-50 until Jim turned fifteen, then Stephen defiantly edged him out. My guess is that's when Jim started to rebel." He rubbed both hands through his hair and sighed. "What would it do to a kid to be punished by rewarding his brother? God, the resentment would be horrible." They both stared silently at the screen, each lost in their own thoughts. Blair, imagining the fight for a parent's affection and approval, felt sick to his stomach. He really needed to see Jim. "Let's go visit him, you can take him some of your herbal tea, that should help."

"What a wonderful idea!" Naomi clapped her hands together, and jumped up. "I'll run down and brew something up right now. Maybe I'll take some sage to burn, it should cleanse the air -"

"That might not be a good idea," Blair said.

"Maybe not."

***

"It was a simple plan, James," William Ellison hissed, taking two quick steps to the bed, his face twisting with disgust, "I was counting on you."

Jim looked up at man whom he'd allowed to control his life all these years, the man he'd wanted only to make proud, the father whose love he'd tried so hard to earn and - it no longer mattered. William Ellison and the company he would die to preserve meant nothing to Jim, it had no power over him now, all he wanted was a clean bill of health and a chance with Blair. He planned on getting both unless he was suffering from MS, schizophrenia, a brain tumor or some other horrible condition. Vanderpool had spent the morning consulting with him, he said it wasn't to alarm Jim just a precautionary discussion of possible causes. It hadn't alarmed him, Jim realized, it had scared the shit out of him. All the things Vanderpool had described - phantom smells, strange sensations, voices no one else heard, were all things Jim had experienced. And it all added up to a long hospital stay.

"This is wrong," Jim said, "I want out of it."

"Oh, you're out of it," William assured him, "Stephen will finish this. He'll clean up the mess you've made. I don't know what the hell I was thinking in letting you handle something this vital to our survival. Do you have any idea what's at stake? Our whole life, everything, without the company we have nothing!" William took a deep breath, visibly forcing calm. "At least this," he waved a hand around the clinic's expensive room, "will get some sympathy from Harris. She has a soft spot for cripples and freaks, so I guess not everything is lost. And Stephen is good at picking up women on the rebound, his specialty, I believe." Jim stared up into William's cold, gray eyes, seeing for the first time the lack of anything even vaguely parental within them. He was nothing more than a tool William could wield when the time was right. What a fool he'd been to try and win affection and acceptance from such a man. A knock broke the tension between them and Naomi breezed into the room, a lavender scented goddess setting time into motion once again.

"Jim!" She greeted and hurried to his side to kiss his cheek. Jim couldn't help but see the cunning smile which blossomed on his father's face as he stepped around the bed and to her side.

"Ms. Harris," William said, "It's so nice of you to come visit James." His hand came down on Jim's knee in a gesture both intimate and alien to his son.

"Mr. Ellison," Naomi chirped, "not at all. I just found out and we wanted to make sure everything was fine."

"We?" William asked.

"Oh," Naomi looked over her shoulder, smiling, "Blair, this is James' father, William Ellison."

A spasm seemed to pass over William's face for just an instant and then he nodded. "Mr. Sandburg," he said stiffly and shook Blair's hand. There followed a moment of awkward silence until Naomi turned back to Jim and fussed with his pillows.

"Are you comfortable? Do you need anything?"

"No," Jim assured her, "I'm fine."

"Oh, that's so good. I feel so guilty about leaving this weekend," Naomi shot him an anxious look. "I didn't want to leave you if you weren't doing okay. I have that retreat in San Francisco, you know."

"Right," Jim said. "I'd forgotten."

"I could cancel it," Naomi said.

"No, Naomi, go. Tell her, Blair," Jim insisted.

"He's right, Naomi," Blair said, "you should go."

A soft knock on the door interrupted them, a nurse popped her head in, "I'm sorry. Visiting hours are up now."

"Ms. Harris, may I speak with you privately?" William took Naomi's arm and led her from the room without a word or a backwards glance for his son.

Jim settled back, eyes closed. "Are you tired?" Blair asked.

"No. He's telling her about me," Jim said.

"You're being paranoid," Blair said. Jim gave him a withering look. "Okay, yeah, the odds are you're the main topic of discussion," Blair admitted, "but let's forget about them." He sat on the bed beside Jim, running a hand over Ellison's chest. "I have been wanting to do this since I got here." He leaned down, kissing Jim deeply.

"MMm," Jim murmured when their lips parted. Blair lay on his chest, his chin propped on his stacked hands, staring into Jim's eyes.

Blair grinned, his own gaze tracing Jim's features with admiration. "You are perfect, absolutely perfect."

Jim looked away, "Chief, I hate to break this to you but I'm nearing middle age, losing my hair and I seem to be confined to a hospital bed at the moment. I don't think that's anyone's definition of perfect." He met Blair's eyes again, his expression doubtful.

"We will figure this out," Blair said fiercely. "I know I'm missing something but I'll find it. As for you being confined to bed," he inched up Jim's body, his mouth nuzzling Jim's ear, "what's wrong with that?" He licked the smooth skin under Jim's jaw, then sat up. "I better go before the nurse come back."

Jim caught his wrist as he started to jump off the bed. "will you be back?"

A look crossed Blair's face, a look both sad and loving. "Yes," he said gently, "I will. Now get some rest."

***

There on the 6 o'clock news was William Ellison, outside Ellison Enterprises, fending off questions about Jim. "My son is ill," he said with candor, "Jim's health has been a matter of concern in our family since his heroic return from Peru." A small photograph appeared in the corner of the screen, the same picture which had graced every local news publications and several national ones. Jim looked dazed and haunted in the picture but the word HERO loomed large over him, Blair knew how important that image was to William, and the reminder of Jim's story would spark sympathy - for both of them.

"Is his condition life threatening?" A slinky blond reporter asked, wedging herself close to William.

"Jim's doctors assure me he's doing fine. He's stable and comfortable, that's all we can ask for."

"Has Ms. Harris visited him? Is it true she and James were engaged before his collapse?"

"I can't comment on that," William said and signaled his lawyer who cleared a path. Blair realized at once what was happening. William didn't need the media now, he'd gotten his message across and if no one saw Jim Ellison again, they'd assume it was because he was too ill. A cold chill crept up Blair's spine. He'd treated Jim's warning as paranoia, but what if Jim had been right? He had to find out what was going on with Jim before his father made him disappear.

***

At 2AM Blair woke, heart racing. At first he thought it had been some sound which had woken him but lying in the darkness he realized it had been a dream. In it Jim had been in a jungle, his face painted like a warrior's, a bow in his hands. Blair had watched from a distance, but some small noise must have given his presence away because Ellison turned and looked directly at him. Blair held his breath, afraid for a second that the bow would be raised and an arrow notched but Jim only stared at him, his face solemn, and gave a little nod. Blair sat up, reaching for his laptop even before he snapped on a light.

"His time in Peru," Blair murmured to himself. There had to be some record of it, probably in a forgotten file somewhere. Thank goodness for the Internet and the government's push for saving money. Almost all records were now storied electronically and a good hacker could find anything and everything with a little patience and persistence. It took nearly five hours of digging but he found it, easily overlooked in the monotonous pages of a field report, an important part of the puzzle. It was from a CIA agent, one who had helped debrief Jim after his time in Peru. The agent had commented on Captain Ellison seeming disoriented, how he would stare off into the distance moments before something occurred. Ellison got worse when they returned to base, complaining of unbearable noise and other sensory distress. The agent dismissed most of the stranger reactions and statements Jim made as PTS and recommended Ellison be given a medical leave. Jim had spent several weeks resting, recounting his time in the jungle and getting well. Whatever had affected him in Peru seemed to disappear and eventually he was discharged and sent back a hero.

Blair closed down his laptop, hands resting on the hard plastic as if it were some holy relic. He knew the answer. All along it had been staring him in the face and he hadn't even guessed. God, he was stupid. All the stories he'd heard, all the legends he'd read, and they were all true. "A sentinel," he whispered, "Jim is a sentinel." He glanced at the clock, 7AM. It was still too early to try and see Jim at the clinic, he could snag a couple of hours of sleep before going and telling Jim the news. Sandburg shoved the computer to the side of the mattress and pulled a blanket up around him. He couldn't wait to tell Jim; more than anything he wanted that defeated and frightened look to leave Jim's eyes and never come back. Blair fell into an exhausted sleep, his body trying to recoup the energy his brain had siphoned off to make such an intuitive leap. For the first time since meeting Jim, his dreams were free of the dread which had filled them.

He arrived at the clinic three hours later, armed with his notes and a couple of emails from a friend in South America. A sentinel! What Jim had, wasn't something wrong with him, it was an amazing gift. He'd suffered needlessly because no one understood that the symptoms weren't symptoms at all but manifestations of his unique abilities. Blair had written it all down, his mind coming up with a dozen theories while he shaved. Jim's heightened senses would have been with him all his life but for whatever reason he'd suppressed them. It was his time in the jungle, in a place far removed from the distractions of a civilized world that had brought them back online. Here in Cascade they had proved overwhelming, making Jim and a fleet of doctors believe he had some physical or mental condition. Sandburg stopped in his tracks - how many people in mental institutions were victims of their own heightened senses? How many autistic children were in reality sentinels?

He opened the door to the Finley Clinic and made his way to the reception's desk. The nurse smiled at his request to see Jim and asked him to wait for a moment. He was standing near the elevator when Dr. Chet Vanderpool emerged from his office. He no longer wore a benevolent smile on his face, and this time there was no hearty handshake of welcome. "My nurse has informed me you wish to see James Ellison."

Blair gaped at him. "Yes, I'm Blair Sandburg, Dr. Vanderpool. I was with Jim the first night you kept him here. Ms. Naomi Harris and I visited him the day before yesterday." A knot of blackest dread wound itself up in his stomach.

"I'm sorry, James is too ill for visitors." The doctor dismissed him with a wave of his hand. "You can find your own way out."

"To ill - Wait a minute!" Blair caught the man's arm, refusing to let lose. "What do you mean Jim is too ill. He was fine a few days ago."

"MS patients are like that," the doctor explained, "one day they're fine, the next they can barely sit up."

"Multiple Sclerosis? You think Jim has MS? You're so wrong," Blair insisted.

"Well, we haven't ruled out meningitis," Vanderpool said, shrugging. "We'll do more tests, of course."

"What? I'm telling you you're mistaken," Blair said. "You're not looking at everything. I did a bit of research into the symptoms Jim described; sensory disturbances, blackouts, I don't think it's a medical problem. I think it's a naturally occurring phenomenon and Jim is an example of genetic selection. I really need to see him"

"Mr. Sandburg, was it?" Vanderpool said. "I went to medical school, I think I have a better understanding of these things. A few hours on the Internet is not going to make you an expert. I can understand your concern, but James is a very sick man. He does not need visitors, he needs rest. I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to leave." He signaled two burly orderlies who approached, and stood waiting as Blair eyed them.

"I am not leaving. I -" The two apes grabbed him by the arms, one on each side and before he knew it Blair was halfway to the door. "You won't get away with this! I know the truth -" The door shut behind the goons and Blair, arms twisting even higher behind his back, doubled his efforts at freedom. "You can't expect to get away with this," he yelled but the two men took no notice. He was escorted to the gate and unceremoniously dumped on the sidewalk. "You won't get away with this," Blair said softly. His gaze sought the second floor windows, "don't give up on me, Jim." Blair turned and walked away.

***

A great black cloud seemed to form in Jim's mind, blotting out hope and leaving him mired in depression. It had been four days and Blair hadn't come back. He couldn't blame Sandburg, it wasn't like they were lovers, barely even friends. Sure they'd had sex and it had been absolutely fantastic but it didn't give him the right to expect Blair to go through this with him. He was always doing that, reading more into things than people meant. Jim crushed the anger inside him, it was his own fault, someone would say or do something out of simple kindness and he saw it as a declaration of devotion. Self loathing rose in Jim's throat threatening to choke him. How pathetic was he, so starved for affection that he expected Blair to drop everything in his life and take on the care of an invalid. To Blair he was probably just a "fuck buddy", a guy he could call whenever he wanted a quick, hard, lay. Still, Jim hadn't been able to keep himself from wanting more with Blair, wanting it with an intensity that fairly took his breath away but that desire had withered when Vanderpool told him Sandburg's reaction to hearing the diagnosis. Blair had been horrified, he'd wanted the details and when told the worst he'd bolted. It hurt so much to hear Vanderpool say it, but Jim knew Blair didn't need to be saddled with a virtual cripple, he had his own life to live, Jim sure as hell wasn't going anywhere. Ellison gave a small, mirthless laugh, well, he was going somewhere, wasn't he?

"We're moving you to the long term care facility today, Jimmy," Dr. Vanderpool explained gently. "You're brother has arranged excellent care for you." He nodded and the two hulking orderlies appeared with a gurney between them. Jim was lifted onto it. "Let's just give you something to make the trip a little easier, shall we?" Vanderpool rolled Jim onto his side, peeling back the top of his pajamas and pressing a syringe into his hip. Jim groaned as the sedative spread through his body like liquid ice, numbing him quickly. A blanket was draped over him and Jim barely felt the leather straps come across him, securing him to the gurney. A few moments later his eyelids dropped shut, too heavy to keep open. He drifted in a strange, limbo like state, unable to move or speak but still he could hear voices, some of them the orderlies and then the ambulance driver's but others were faint and tinny. It was like he could hear conversations on the street, or the voices from television sets turned on as the ambulance drove passed. He tried to speak but either his own voice wasn't working or the attendant was deaf.

He knew when they stopped and listened as the driver and someone else discussed weekend traffic while the gurney he lay on was pulled from the ambulance and rolled inside a building. Jim knew it was a hospital even without being able to open his eyes, he could smell that odor peculiar to hospitals, a mixture of sickness and suffering, and high-tech healing. People fussed over him and at least once Vanderpool spoke to him, but Jim could only drift, lost in the fog pumped into his veins.

***

"Hi, uh, Lily, wasn't it?" Blair dredged up the name from the fleeting glimpse of her name he'd gotten that first night at the clinic with Jim. Startled the petite woman eyed him warily.

"Yes?"

"I'm Blair Sandburg. I can in with Jim Ellison last week, remember?" She continued to stare at him a moment before recognition filled her eyes, softening the gray from slate to sapphire.

"Yes, I do. You made him laugh. I hadn't heard Mr. Ellison laugh in months before that night." Her smile dimmed, "oh, is something wrong?"

"Wrong?" Blair's brow furrowed, "no. Why should it?"

"I don't know," Lily shrugged, "since they transferred Mr. Ellison so abruptly I thought something might have happened ."

"They transferred him?" Blair stepped closer, uncaring when the woman flinched. "When?"

"Yesterday. I don't know to where but," she hesitated a second before saying, "It's all very odd. His symptoms seemed quite mild when he came to the clinic but the wrong treatment with MS can cause them to become quite pronounced."

"Jim was getting worse?"

Lily nodded slowly, "I think he was. After you and Ms. Harris visited him, they - they upped his medication. Patients in the early stages of MS need to be careful they don't over tax themselves but there's no need to be so heavily sedated." She gave him a considering look and said, "Dr. Vanderpool and I have clashed over his methods before and he doesn't like that. I've decided to leave the clinic and find work elsewhere." Lily glanced at her watch, smiling apologeticly, "I've really got to run." She turned towards the parking lot but stopped and looked back at him. "I guess this won't matter now, that I'm quitting and all, but from things the doctor said I got the impression that he planned to use Mr. Ellison's illness to his own benefit."

"How?"

Lily shook her head, "I - I don't know, it was just a - feeling. I'm sorry, Mr. Sandburg, but I have to go." She gave him a small smile and headed towards her car. Blair watched her go then spun on his heel and raced for his own car. He had no clear memory of the drive across Cascade, only a vague recollection of car horns and angry shouts as he hurried to the only place he knew he would find help.

"Naomi!" Blair burst into the room. "It's happened exactly like he said it would!."

"What? Slow down," Naomi took his arm, steering Blair towards a couch, "who are you talking about?"

"Jim! Jim's family's shipped him off to some - some nursing home!" Blair snapped, ripping his arm from Naomi's grip. "I can't get close to him. They've locked him away just like he said they would."

"Blair, honey," Naomi took his arm again, forcing Blair to face her. "We will not abandon him. You'll think of something, you're brilliant, and you love him." She kissed his forehead, smiling into his eyes when he nodded. "Now, think!"

***

"Simon?"

"Sandburg, get over here!" Blair scurried over to where the big man waited. "This is so clichéd," Banks hissed once Blair had settled into the theater seat beside him.

"Sorry, but I don't want anyone to see us together."

"I can't even see us together," Banks groused but a second later he lowered his head closer to Sandburg's. "What's so urgent?"

"Jim. I need to find him. He told me to come to you if anything happened to him."

Banks scowled down at Blair, a very intimidating expression on someone so large. "You need to find him? He's at the Finley Clinic out on Stonecrest Drive." But Blair was already shaking his head.

"No he isn't. They transferred him."

Simon sat up straighter, his hand clamping on Blair's wrist as if the information had to be forced from him. "What do you mean, kid?"

"I mean," Blair tugged but couldn't free himself from the powerful grip, "he's gone."

"How do you know this?"

"A nurse," Blair hissed. "She's not happy with how things are done there at the clinic. She told me they started pumping Jim full of drugs right after Naomi and I visited him. I went back two days later, while Naomi was in Frisco, and Vanderpool told me Jim couldn't have visitors. I haven't been able to get in since and neither has Naomi. We have to find out where he is, Simon. I need your help and so does Jim."

"What's wrong with him?" Simon, realizing what he was doing, relaxed his grip and Blair slipped his wrist free. "He's not the same guy that went into the Army." Quiet desperation filled Banks' voice.

"He's fine, Simon, really," Blair said and rubbed circulation back into his wrist. "What he's going through isn't medical. He doesn't need drugs, he needs information." Blair gave him the encapsulated version of what he'd discovered. "I think I can help him, Simon but we have to know where he is first."

"What do you want me to do?"

Blair offered him a relieved smile. "You have to find out where they took him. I hope to god it isn't someplace on the other side of the world."

"I doubt it," Banks said, "William Ellison isn't the kind of man to let something of his too far out of his sight, even if it's something he doesn't want anyone to find out about."

"Good. Do what you can and we'll meet tomorrow."

"I'll choose the place," Banks said.

Blair waited until Simon had gone then ducked out of the theater. He doubled back several times trying to determine if anyone had followed him but saw not one. It was well past midnight when he fell into bed and his dreams were all of Jim screaming his name.

***

"Mr. Ellison," Wilson announced after answering the door. For a split second Blair expected Jim to walk into the room with that easy stride, his shy smile curving gently, but instead it was a slender, blond man in his early thirties. He had the same color eyes as Jim but his seemed colder, and his smile, though dazzling, lacked real warmth. He was all flash and no substance.

"Hi, I'm Stephen," he announced. Naomi shot him an appraising look, her smile spreading easily.

"Naomi Harris," she replied.

"Jim speaks quite fondly of you," Stephen said as he bent to press his lips to Naomi's hand.

She smiled brightly, "Really? That's sweet of him. He tells me you're a deceitful snake."

Stephen gaped but recovered quickly, "Well, Jimmy's been under a tremendous amount of stress lately, he sometimes says things he doesn't mean."

"Oh, I think he meant that," Naomi said, beaming at him with charming sincerity.

"My brother is having a hard time dealing with the ramifications of his illness," Stephen said, the veneer of charm slipping thickly back into place. "Jim's always been such an active man and to be faced with a disease that will curtail that activity-" He sighed, shoulders slumping under the burden of his sorrow. "Jim needs time, Naomi, may I call you Naomi? Jim needs time to adjust to his situation." Stephen reached out, taking Naomi's hand again. "The clinic told me you'd called several times and seemed quite upset when they wouldn't put you through to my brother. I hope you won't take this the wrong way but Jim doesn't want to see anyone right now. He asked me to come by and let you know that while he's in treatment he doesn't want visitors." Naomi started to protest but Stephen shook his head, "Please. We've got to respect Jim's wishes."

Blair clenched his fists, fighting with himself to keep his temper. Right now, tipping his hand to Stephen would do more harm than good. "So, you and Jim are close?" Blair asked. Stephen Ellison looked at him for the first time, and seemed to recognize him. A chill ran down Blair's spine but he kept his voice and gaze open, friendly.

"Mr. Sandburg, isn't it?" Stephen asked. "My father mentioned you were at the clinic with Naomi the other day."

"Yes, Jim and I are friends," Blair said simply.

"Jim's - friend," Stephen said, he stepped closer, voice low and icy cold, "Well, I'm his brother." Blair had seen Jim's eyes flash in just the same way, and instinctively known the danger would come in a physical form, a warrior meeting a challenge in the age old and noble way men once had, but Stephen's eyes were a snake's poisonous glare. He would come at his enemy through deception and scheme and if it ruined more than one life what did he care. His contemptuous smirk lingered just a moment longer then he dismissed Blair by turning back to Naomi, his now gregarious smile wiping away any hint of malice. "Now, Naomi, I know Jimmy wouldn't want you moping around here on his account." With a flourish he produced tickets from his jacket pocket. "I thought you might enjoy Deepak Chopra's lecture. He's in town for just one night and sent me tickets."

"Oh!" Naomi blinked in surprise and to anyone who didn't know her well she appeared to be totally won over. Blair knew her very well. "If you're sure Jim would want-"

"He would," Stephen assured her. Naomi excused herself, taking a few minutes to freshen up and grab her wrap. Blair followed her and Stephen to the door and offered a slight nod as she slipped passed him. "We'll be late," Stephen confided, "don't wait up, sonny." He patted Blair's cheek and walked out whistling.

Three hours later Naomi sailed through that same door, slamming it behind her. "That man!" She spat as soon as Blair appeared from the library.

"You didn't have a good time?"

A withering glare answered his question. "Does he think I'm an idiot or just a slut?" Blair wisely held his tongue. "He wined and dined me, complemented me on everything from my dress to my shoes and hung on every word I said." She crossed her arms, looking like she wanted to stamp her foot and scream. "Every time I brought Jim's name up he'd pat my hand sympathetically and murmur how close he and his brother are. I didn't find out one useful thing." Tears shimmered in her large brown eyes and Blair quickly hurried to Naomi's side.

"Ssssh, it's okay. Simon's working on it, he'll find out for us." He led Naomi into the library and poured her a glass of water. "At least they'll think you're capable of being drawn to him."

"That's the maddening part," Naomi admitted. "If I didn't know what kind of two-faced, back-stabbing bastard he is, I might fall for it." She sipped her water and stared up at Blair. "How can two brothers be so different? Stephen is out for himself and damn anyone who stands in his way and Jim -"

"Jim gives his heart away knowing it's going to be broken and praying he'll be able to survive it."

"Sweetie," Naomi pulled him down beside her, guiding his head to her breast. "He's not going to get his heart broken this time. He's going to survive just fine."

***

"Have any trouble?" Blair asked.

Banks gave him a grin, "Nope. I'm a professional at this kinda thing, remember?" He produced several sheets of paper, handing them to Blair.

"Yeah, but aren't you usually one of the white hats?" Blair teased. "I'd think skulking around might be a little outta your field."

Banks clamped a hand on Blair's shoulder, nearly driving him to his knees. "Nothin's outta my field." Blair offered the older man a warm smile. He could see the strength in Banks, and not just the muscle a 6' 5" frame could carry, but a steel core that made a person feel safe in Simon's presence. Thank god Jim'd had a friend like Simon to look after him, to care about him all these years when no one else seemed to give a damn.

"Thanks, Simon," Blair finally said around the lump in his throat. Banks' large hand squeezed his shoulder.

"Don't thank me, kid," Simon said, "not yet. Jim's at Pine Hills." Banks' tone said this wasn't a good place. "It's a fancy nursing home in Bridgedale," he said, naming a suburb of Cascade. "Rich people who don't want their family secrets exposed, park 'em here for the duration." Gesturing to the papers Blair still gripped he said, "this is the layout of the place and a copy of Vanderpool's initial report to William. I got it from some folders in Stephen's office. Looks like he's the mastermind behind getting Jim out of the picture."

"A sensory disorder," Blair read, "some latent form of autism." He hurriedly flipped through the file discovering that Vanderpool had seen instances of the same disorder in other Ellison family members. The thought staggered Sandburg, how many others like Jim were there in his family? "It could be genetic," Blair murmured. Vanderpool was on the right track, he'd used the guise of MS to get Jim into a facility where he could try and unlock the secrets of his condition and maybe use it to his advantage. The doctor seemed to have cast himself in a kind of Rasputian role, the mysterious and wise witch-doctor who alone could cure the crown prince.

"It's going to be difficult but not impossible," Simon said. "We'll need some more help, someone we can trust but we don't want too many people in on this."

"I can't ask-"

"Damn right you can't ask," Simon growled. "I promised Jim I'd help you out on anything you needed and I sure as hell won't fail him."

Blair ducked his head, quickly running a hand over his cheek before saying, "Jim is very lucky to have a friend like you."

"No, Sandburg, I'm the lucky one." Banks' gaze turned distant, "I remember my first day workin' for the Ellisons. Jimmy's old man took one look at me and didn't want me around the place. He probably thought I'd make off with the silver the first time he turned his back. I was this skinny, gangly thing tryin' to make something of myself and I was so nervous I knocked over a water pitcher when I went to shake his hand. Old William cussed a blue streak but Jimmy jumped in and begged his dad to keep me, to let me be the chauffeur's assistant driver. I needed that job, my mom and my little sister depended on me and there was no way I could support them on what I'd earn workin' at a gas station or a burger joint. Jimmy went to bat for me, his old man was furious but Jim stood up to him and William gave me a second chance. I wasn't much older than Jim and my job was to drive him back and forth to school. I kinda resented having him to thank for the job but once I got to know him -," Banks let out a sigh, one filled with regret and sympathy. "Jim was a lonely kid, he grew up pretty much on his own. His mother left when he was ten, his father had decided to send him away to an exclusive boarding school in Seacouver."

"He must have had friends there," Blair said, remembering his own school days and the dozen or so kids always milling around his and Naomi's places.

Simon shook his head, "Jim was always looking out for the misfits, the outcasts, trying to help. It didn't make him popular. The bullies hated him for interfering, and the kids he protected were so afraid of their tormentors they shunned Jim for fear of making it worse on themselves. I'd bring him home once a month and for holidays and summer and those times were even worse for him. Some of the neighborhood kids called him "rich boy", they thought he was as arrogant as his old man but Jimmy was just quiet. He got into fights with them all the time, he learned to defend himself pretty good." Banks caught Blair's eye, holding his gaze, "But the worst ones just used him to get what they wanted - some of those kids wanted to come over to the house for the pool or tennis court, other wrangled an invite to the ranch in Colorado and as soon as we got back they turned their backs on Jim." He paused, the meaning behind his words clear. "Jim doesn't have many friends, Blair, but those he does have love him very much."

"I know that, Simon," Blair said softly. "He doesn't seem to expect anyone to love him and that just makes it easier to care."

***

"You know what to do?" Naomi Harris graced Sandburg with a withering glare. "Okay, okay," Blair said, holding both hands up, palms out to ward off her anger. "I was just checking."

"We've gone over it three times, sweetie," Naomi said. She took a final, critical look at her reflection as she spoke. Short red hair concealed by a blond wig, her dark eyes hidden under blue contacts and her usual diaphanous gown traded in for a starched white uniform and white hose, Naomi was the picture of a stereotypical nurse. "And you know your parts, boys?" Simon , in the white scrubs orderlies at Pine Hills Long Term Care Facility wore, and Blair in a doctor's lab coat, exchanged looks and nodded. "Then let's go."

They slipped in one at a time, Naomi tagging along with a group of nurses coming on duty, Simon stopping to toss away a cigarette as if he'd been on a break and Blair striding in with a doctor's hurried steps. They'd chosen 6 o'clock, knowing from Simon's reconnaissance that shift changes, and evening meals would make the place chaotic. Naomi made her way to the nurse's station, chatting amicably to the men and women who were going about their duties. Blair saw Banks commandeer a wheelchair and take up a position near the elevator. They couldn't be sure of Ellison's condition but it wouldn't hurt to be prepared for the worst. Naomi was still rummaging through the hanging clipboards at the desk, her movements slightly more frantic now. Blair started forward, too nervous to wait for her signal.

"Excuse me," tall and cadaverous, a woman in a dark suit placed her hand on Sandburg's arm. She reminded Blair of a very large crow dressed for success. "Dr. McCoy?"

"Uh," panicked, Sandburg couldn't halt the stuttering, "y-yes?"

Relief flooded the woman's tight features. "Good. I'm Penny Horton, I'm the administrative manager here at Pine Hills. Now, Mr. Marcison's attorney has arranged for his father's exam. I'm sure once you explain it to the elder Mr. Marcison there won't be a problem."

"Problem?" Blair glanced over, Naomi was signaling him, she flashed the numbers 4,3,3. Jim was in room 433.

The crow's sallow face took on two bright spots of color, "yes, Mr. Marcison senior has taken a definite stance against a proctological exam. He's a feisty old coot but we here at Pine Hills believe that the family's concerns must be incorporated into treatment." Blair found himself wondering why the family's wishes took precedence over the patient's. "If you'll follow me, Mr. Marcison is being brought into E5." She gestured towards a side hallway.

"I- need to," Blair made a vague wave and Horton stopped in her tracks.

"Yes, of course. The doctor's lounge is down on the left. I'll just meet Mr. Marcison and make sure everything is ready." Blair managed a nod and as soon as she turned away, bolted for the elevator. Simon had already gone up to the fourth floor and when Blair stepped out of the car, he tilted his head towards the north corridor. Sandburg hurried along it, checking numbers on the doors. A nurse passed him, smiling without taking any real notice of him. This part of the hospital was eerily silent, Blair heard the faint sounds he associated with hospitals, things he could identify as medical equipment, murmured words of comfort but this floor seemed cut off from the hustle and bustle as if the patients here were no longer part of the world.

He found the door to 433 and pushed inside. It had barely ten days but in that time Jim had lost weight, he looked frail lying in the middle of a huge hospital bed, there were smudged blue shadows beneath his eyes but a smile lit his face, beaming in the dim room.

"Can you walk?" Blair asked.

"Yeah," Jim croaked, determinedly. Sandburg nodded and swept back the blankets which covered his lover. His heart dropped - pale and gaunt, skin stretched tightly over bones that stood out in high relief, Ellison looked so very weak. He wore only pajama bottoms and there were deep bruises across his chest as if he'd been strapped down at some point and struggled against it. The cool air had raised goose-flesh on his naked torso, Jim shivered violently.

Blair lifted Jim into a sitting position, propping his shoulder under Jim's and putting his arms around Jim's waist. They'd picked 6 o'clock not just for the opportunity to slip into the hospital unnoticed but because their research had shown meds were given out at that time. The effects of whatever Jim was being given would be at its weakest just before the next dose but Jim still seemed groggy and confused. "We're gonna take it nice and slow-" Jim was shaking his head, "what's wrong?"

"Vanderpool's - coming," Jim gasped.

"No, Jim, it's just me."

"I hear - him, Chief," Jim insisted, panting out his words with great effort. "He's - in the - elevator."

Blair shifted his weight, heaving Jim to his feet. "Simon," he called, "we need the chair." Blair pulled a blanket from the bed and wrapped it around Jim. "I brought the troops, love. We'll have you outta here in a flash."

"Didn't think - you'd come," Jim said in a broken whisper.

"Oh, babe," Blair leaned forward, touching his forehead to Jim's and willing himself not to bawl. They didn't have time for an emotional meltdown no matter how much he wanted to have one. A slight sound alerted him and Blair turned to see Simon enter the room quickly, pushing the wheelchair before him. The big African American took one look at Jim and Blair could see the fire of anger blossom within his dark eyes. He knew that there would be no stopping Banks in his quest to punish the people who had done this to Jim. "We need to hurry. Jim says Vanderpool is on his way!"

"Jim," Simon said quietly, "we're going home now." He gently scooped Jim into his arms and settled him in the chair, the blanket around him. Blair quickly got in front of them, peering around the corner. The indicator said the elevator car was on 2 and still coming. He spotted a metal door at the end of the hall and headed that way. It was a service staircase. Behind him he heard Simon's soft curse, then, "Okay, Jimmy, on your feet." Sandburg pushed open the door, allowing Simon and Jim to pass through as he checked the elevator again, Jim hung off Simon's shoulder like a pale scarf. The display read - 3 - when he closed the door and hurried after them. Using brute strength but with a gentleness that couldn't be mistaken , Simon half carried Jim down the stairs, they were to the ground floor when the echoing crash of the upper door slamming open filled the stairwell.

"This way," Blair urged. They burst into the main lobby, a bedraggled group seeking freedom. Heads turned, medical staff gaped open mouthed while a look of longing seemed to cross many of the faces of patients. Blair snagged another wheelchair, and with Jim seated in it, led the way towards the entrance. He saw Naomi break away from a group and shove ahead, the automatic doors hissing open with a sound like a phantom crowd going wild. 'We're gonna make it!' Blair thought. Behind him the drumbeat pounding of feet on the stairs was growing louder. He redoubled his speed, practically running across the lobby.

"Dr. McCoy!" Penny Horton appeared like some portent of evil and Blair barely had time to recoil or run her down. "We've been waiting in E5! I must insist-"

"I'm sorry, emergency," Blair said and continued passed her. She caught his arm.

"Emergency?" She sputtered. "You're a proctologist! What kind of emergency could you have?"

"Stuck thermometer."

"Stop them!" Shouts and running footsteps drown out anything else Penny Horton might have said. Blair made a mad dash for the door, skidding out in front of the big blue Ford Expedition that sat just outside the hospital's doors.

"Go! Go!" He shouted. Naomi gunned the engine and Simon's strong hands were already hauling him in. He felt like Indiana Jones retrieving some treasure right out from under the noses of the evil Nazis.

***

Ellison lay very still on the bed, his breathing fast and shallow, his pain palpable in the heavy air. Naomi crept closer, hesitantly touching Blair's shoulder. Their gazes met, he read her silent question and gave a small nod of permission but still she hesitated, glancing towards the silent figure at the windows. Banks stood at the window like some ancient guardian, his expression somber, almost grim but he managed a tight smile for her. Naomi settled in the big chair watching her son where he sat on the edge of the mattress, Jim's hand tucked into his own as if he held a lifeline. Ellison stirred an instant later, his rest disturbed despite her nearly soundless entrance. He reminded her of a crippled bird, fighting the hand that wanted only to help it. "Ssshhh," she crooned and reached out but Blair stopped her before she could touch Jim's short hair. "What's wrong with him?" Naomi asked softly.

"The drugs are leaving his system," Blair explained. "His senses are reacting to them, to us, and everything around him." Even whispering made Jim whimper with pain, a film of sweat glistened on his pale skin and an angry red rash, caused by the hospital blanket they'd wrapped around him, made him look as if he'd been beaten. Blair had managed to get him to drink a little water but Jim hadn't been able to keep it down and now Ellison began shivering, his temperature rising as his body fought off the effects of so many chemicals. Blair rose, carefully climbing onto the bed and gathered Jim into his arms, using his own body as a source of warmth and a shield. Ellison cried out but a moment later lay quietly against Blair's chest, head pillowed on his shoulder, while Blair crooned nearly silent assurances in his ear. Simon stepped to the bedside, his hands curled in impotent fury but his eyes tender as he stared down at them.

"What do you need?" He whispered but Blair shook his head. There was nothing they could do for Jim, his natural sensitivity to drugs of any kind prevented them from giving him so much as an aspirin. All they could do was be with him, nurse him through the worst of it and let him know he wasn't alone. Jim continued to shiver, then began to sweat, fat beads of perspiration rolling off his skin soaking Blair, and the sheets. It went on and on, but Blair kept holding him, holding him through the dry heaves that hunched him over, swabbing away the sweat, his touch the only thing Jim seemed able to tolerate, his presence the only thing that seemed to matter in Jim's small world. The others watched, turning away occasionally when Jim's cries echoed against the confines of their hearts, when the pain crashed over him so hard it left him gasping for breath and curled in Blair's embrace like a child. All night and well into the morning Jim's body sought to rid itself of the toxins forced into it and his friends sat beside him willing him strength. Twice his breathing faltered and Blair, with an eerie and almost unnatural calm, propped him higher in the bed, easing his weakening struggle for air.

Just after noon on the second day Jim seemed to fall into a more natural sleep, exhausted. Naomi, too, had reached the limit of her endurance, she slumped in her chair, head sagging on her neck, hair hanging across her face. Blair showed no signs of the sleepless night, he'd shifted Jim to lie between his legs, his cheek nestled against the top of Jim's head, and his arms loosely around Jim's shoulders. The only sound he'd made in hours had been the wordless hum he crooned whenever Ellison got restless. He sat there, his eyes clear but distant, like he could see the future spread out ahead of him and was just deciding which door to open first. "How's he doing?" Simon asked from where he sat on the floor against the wall, looking tired but pleased.

Blair turned at the sound of Simon's voice, a gentle smile playing over his features. In the hours since they'd gotten Jim home, Simon had made himself indispensable, bringing juice and water to stave off dehydration, cleaning up the mess when Jim couldn't keep it down, and holding Jim's hand whenever tightly cramped and knotted muscles forced Blair to abandon him for a few moments relief. "He's gonna make it," Blair whispered. And as he did Jim stirred, shifting slightly, narrowed slits of blue focusing on the hands loosely holding him. The pinched look around his mouth smoothed out, and some of the color returned to his cheeks. Ellison blinked sleepily, and reached up to squeeze Blair's hand in his. Simon saw the exchange and crouched beside Naomi's chair, grinning when Jim's eyes found him. "Hey," he said softly. Naomi fluttered into wakefulness and made a soft hiccuping noise, something between a sob and a sigh before flinging her arms around Banks' sturdy shoulders and hugging him.

"Hey," Jim whispered.

He turned his head, looking up at Blair. Something soft and warm grew in his gaze, something that made him look much younger than his thirty five years.

"Sleeping Beauty awakes," Blair whispered.

"Where's - my - kiss -," Jim asked. His voice sounded rusty and hoarse from vomiting. Sandburg took the glass Naomi held out and placed to his lover's lips.

"Just little sips, Jim," he advised. Once Ellison had drank, Blair brushed a hand across Jim's forehead and kissed the damp skin there. "How you feelin'?"

Ellison sighed and closed his eyes. "Better, now." He heard the rustle of Naomi's dress, then felt her gentle kiss just before she left the room, it had been as loving and delicate as a mother's. He smiled to himself, she would not thank him for thinking of her in a motherly way. Naomi was too free spirited to be a mother. But what he felt for her was not the sexual desire she would have wanted. Simon's hand settled in his hair, and when he looked up Jim was surprised to see tears sparkling in his old friend's dark eyes. Banks bent, and placed a kiss on his forehead just as Naomi had and followed her out the door. It humbled Jim to know his friends loved him as strongly as they did. He took an unsteady breath and gazed up at the man who held him. "This is where I want to be," he said quietly. He wanted to be in Blair's arms, he wanted to be in Blair's life. There was only one thing that stood in the way. He had to tell the truth, Blair had to see him for what he really was, he owed it to him. If Sandburg couldn't forgive him, he didn't deserve it.

"Rest, Jim," Blair's voice encouraged and Jim turned his face against Blair's chest, breathing in the warm, wonderful scent of him. If he never got the chance to be this close to Sandburg again, he would have this memory, this illusion of unending love and devotion to carry with him. If only for a while, Jim knew he'd been loved and he silently mourned the lost of this sense of wholeness Blair brought to him. Once he said what he had to say, Blair wouldn't want him, he'd turn away just like everyone else had and there would be a cold empty hole in his soul which would never, ever be filled.

***

Jim was sitting in the big, overstuffed chair. He'd pulled it over to the window and sunlight spilled across him, masking the pallor of his skin and gleaming on his short dark hair. He was dressed in gray sweat pants and a tight fitting black t-shirt with the words DAMP APPLES across the front. Blair recognized it as his own, picked up at a concert in Kansas City six months ago. Suddenly it seemed like a lifetime had passed since that humid night with the music echoing off the walls of Sandstone.

"Hey, Chief," Jim said without turning.

"How do you know?" Blair asked, real curiosity in his voice, "heartbeat, scent, what?"

Jim looked over his should, a small wry smile playing over his lips, "all of it, I guess." He shrugged one shoulder, "the door opens and a name just pops into my mind." He shrugged again, this time apologetic and went back to looking out the window. Blair watched him a moment longer before crossing the room and sinking down cross legged beside Jim's chair. They sat in silence for some time but Blair could see that Jim had something on his mind, something he wanted to share. With a small shift of his weight, Jim finally said, "I was suppose to get Naomi to love me - to marry me."

Of all the things Jim could have confessed this was the last he'd expected. Blair blinked, opened his mouth to say something and shook his head to clear it. The words hung in the air between them, heavy, opaque.

"W-what?" Blair croaked.

"You heard me, Chief," Jim said with a bitter snarl, "we Ellisons are broke. I'm the shining pride of the whole clan, the hope for a future in the same luxurious manner we've enjoyed for generations."

Blair understood that the anger wasn't aimed at him but it still hurt. "Why are you telling me this?" He whispered.

The fight drained out of Ellison, he shook his head but not in denial of anything. "Because I can't do this to her - to you." He got to his feet, "I'm sorry, Blair. Thanks for rescuing me." He headed for the door but Sandburg's voice stopped him with his hand on the knob.

"Where the hell are you going?"

"I -" Jim floundered for some reply, looking back at Sandburg.

"You are not going back your old man's place," Blair said, "you're staying right here. Jim!"

"I'm sick and tired of people telling me what to do," Jim snapped. He acted before Blair could move to stop him, punching the door with three, quick, savage jabs that rocked it on its hinges.

"Stop!" Blair jumped forward, catching Jim's elbow before another blow could land. Ellison spun to face him, his eyes wild and unfamiliar, his arm cocked to deliver one more solid punch. Blair didn't even flinch, just stood there calm and certain. "You could never hurt me, Jim. I know that and so do you." It took a moment for his words to sink in but eventually the wildness left Jim's eyes, his arms fell to his sides. Sandburg slid his hands up onto Ellison's shoulders, solidifying the connection between them, breathing slowly and deeply and willing Jim to do the same. "I don't care what your motives were, you're here, you love me, not Naomi, right?" Ellison nodded. "Then it's settled."

"How can you do this," Jim asked and his voice sounded desolate. "I just told you I came here to deceive you, to seduce Naomi and save my family's company with her money."

Blair shrugged, holding Jim's gaze with a hypnotic look. "But you wouldn't have gone through with it," he said confidently. He said it like it didn't mater and when Jim looked deep into Blair's eyes he could see that it really didn't. Sandburg just stared at him, willing him to believe. "We've got more important things to talk about," Blair said and tugged him over to the bed, pushing him down and sitting beside him. "You know you love me and I love you. Whatever little scheme your old man came up with isn't going to change that." He took another deep breath. "this is going to sound like something straight out of a science fiction movie but hear me out, okay?" Jim nodded, his expression saying he was willing to listen. "Everything that has been happening to you is because your senses are heightened." And with that he launched into his explanation. It was well rehearsed, he'd spent every single minute since Vanderpool denied him access to Jim going over it, and he knew Jim need to hear and understand every word of it. He spoke at length about Sir Richard Burton's discovery of what the explorer had termed "sentinels", about the research he'd done on line, about the articles and books he'd borrowed, and how he thought Jim fit into it all. Blair laid it all out - genetics, Jim's time in Peru, his abilities, his symptoms, everything and Jim sat there. "I don't have any proof," Sandburg admitted. "I'd need to devise some kind of - tests but -" But in his gut he knew he was right, he could feel it. Ellison continued to stare at him, blinking slowly but still not saying a word. "Well? Jim?"

"I don't-" Jim stopped, shaking his head.

"It's weird, I know," Blair said. "Surely you've heard of people who work for perfume companies? The one hired because they can distinguish among the hundreds of scents used for any fragrance? There are other people, ones who can taste the subtlest flavors. Jim, I found hundreds of cases of people with one or two highly developed sense but, as far as I can tell, you're the only person with all five heightened senses." Technically, it was true, he just didn't want to tell Jim about the other records he'd discovered.

Ellison sat there, stunned, letting images burst through his brain, things he'd seen and done years and years ago. Jim saw himself at five, listening to his parents fight in their wing of the house. At ten smelling something dark and musty with the faint traces of Uncle Mark's cologne on his mother when she'd come home from an afternoon out. It made sense now, all the things he'd never been able to understand, the strange memories he had, it made perfect sense now that he knew he was some kind of a freak, even back then, a monster, an abomination. "I've always been like this." His words were so faint, his tone so empty that for a second they didn't even register.

"Probably," Blair guessed. "I suppose as a kid you would have had better control. Something must have happened to make you repress your senses." He bit his lip, thinking hard. "It would have had to be something you perceived as a threat, something so traumatic you had to protect yourself any way you could. Locking that part of you away would take a lot of willpower, Jim. You would have always been holding back."

"Ohmygod, Bud," Jim whispered. He looked pale, his eyes dark with memory, "I remembered, just now, when you said that. I remember Bud and what happened to him."

Blair turned and touched Ellison's arm, shocked by the cold, clammy skin beneath his fingertips. "Who's Bud?"

"He was my friend, my mentor - he died - someone killed him. I saw the man that did it but my old man told the cops it was a lie, my imagination running wild."

"Take it easy, Jim," Blair urged.

"No, goddamit!" Jim wrenched his arm free, eyes still distant. "It wasn't my imagination. I saw the guy. I saw him even though he was half a mile away. I could have picked him out of a lineup! My old man, he made me forget."

"What?" Blair frowned. What Jim was saying didn't make any sense.

"When I told the cops my father claimed I was always lying about stuff. I could see that he was angry with me but I just kept insisting I was telling the truth." His fists were clenched as he remembered it all. "When we got home he slapped me around. He said people would talk about me, be scared of me. He said - no son of his would ruin the Ellison name." Jim froze, going even paler if possible. "You - you said it was genetic. There must have been others. My family -"

"Yeah, I-" Blair shrugged. "I'm sure there were but no one understood what it was. Who knows how many members of your family carry the gene, how many have the traits. A family full of sentinels," Blair mused.

"Freaks! Monsters," Jim roared.

"No! No, Jim, listen to me-" Blair clutched at him. But Jim threw off his restraining hands and was off the bed, pacing, talking to himself.

"It all makes sense," he said in a deceptively calm voice. "My family is cursed, and I'm a crime against nature. I'm a liar and a cheat, a gigolo preying on a defenseless woman. God, what if I had gotten her to have my child someday?"

"Enough!" Sandbrug roared. He scrambled off the bed and stood directly in front of Jim, refusing to be pushed aside or ignored. "I'm gonna say this once, and once only. You are not some freak, you are a product of natural selection. That's very natural, got it? You're senses are heightened - live with it! I love you- again, live with it! You think you're some kinda stealthy, covert Don Juan? Hardly. Naomi isn't some rank amateur, she's a commitment-phobe from way back. There's no way in hell you'd get a ring on her finger, the only ring involved in this would be the phone when she called to tell you she was on her way to Bora-Bora." Ellison's gaze narrowed and Blair realized he might have gone a bit far. Backpedaling, he said, "You're awesome, babe, don't get me wrong. It's just Naomi saw the way her own mother got treated and swore she'd never marry anyone." He shrugged, half apologetic, half bewildered. "you're not a freak," he repeated. "You're not a liar, because you told me the truth. You're not a gigolo because you didn't have a chance with Naomi. You're," Blair took a deep breath, then said, "you're my destiny, Jim. You're the only thing I want in this life. You're the only thing I care about and I love you."

Jim turned away, head bowed as if he could no longer hold it up. "I never had a chance with Naomi?" he asked in a small voice.

"No. Sorry," Blair said in equally low. "But if it's any consolation," he took another deep breath, "I'm her son." Ellison's shoulders heaved, an irregular shaking that grew with each passing moment. "Jim?" Blair ducked around him. Jim had one hand over his face, fingers splayed to cover his eyes and one cheek, thumb resting on the other. "Jim?" Sandburg's voice went up a notch with worry but when he peered up at Jim's covered face his tone changed to one of suspicion. "Are you - laughing?"

"Oh, Chief," Jim said. He raised his head and there were tears in his eyes but they were from the silent laughter still shaking him. "That's the funniest joke I've ever heard." Brows knitted, Blair stared at him. "A cosmic joke, Sandburg. And it's on my old man." He laughed and pulled Blair into a rib-crushing embrace. "I love you," he said.

***

"Banks?" William Ellison sounded as if he'd swallowed not only the alcohol in his glass but the little umbrella the bartender had put in there too. He stared at Simon Banks in slack jawed amazement.

"William! So nice of you to come," Banks said with a cheerful grin. He spied Stephen just behind William and saluted him with his drink. "And you brought Stephen! This is wonderful."

"What the hell are you playing at? You haven't reported to work in a week. I hope you realize your ass is fired," Ellison Sr. barked. Banks' grin widened.

"That's fine. Fine. I'm working for Ms Harris now," he said.

"William! Stephen!"

Naomi Harris hurried up at that moment, rising onto tiptoe to kiss them both on the cheek. "You made it! I was worried you wouldn't arrive in time." She looked over her shoulder at the milling crowd of reporters. "I didn't realize the press would be so eager."

"Naomi," Stephen winked at her, his smile flashing like a fin cutting the water.

"I don't understand this, Ms. Harris," William said. "You're secretary informed us of this press conference. He said it would be of vital importance to Ellison Enterprises."

"Yes! It is."

"Does this have anything to do with," William glanced around and lowered his voice before continuing, "does this have anything to do with James? I know you were devastated by his illness but we're all trying to go on with our lives. Jim wouldn't want us to -"

"To what, Pop?"

Jim, his arm around Blair, stepped into view and stood glaring at his father and brother. "I think," Blair said, "what Mr. Ellison was going to say before we interrupted, Naomi, is that Jim wouldn't want us blabbing to the newspapers or the TV cameras how he had his own son convinced he was suffering from some incurable condition. He probably would have added that Jim wouldn't want the city to know he'd been placed in a hospital," Sandburg turned a cold look on William, "and kept sedated just because he'd fallen in love with another man, even if the man was your son." His gaze shifted to Naomi, "That reaction is terribly homophobic and not the image a 21st century business would want to project."

"Yes, that's probably it," Naomi murmured. She didn't know it but she had the distinction of being one of only a handful of people to see William Ellison taken completely off guard. William opened his mouth but no words came out, he turned to his son but Stephen, too, could only stare at her. Naomi offered them a smile, her nose wrinkling like a delighted child's before turning and mounting the small dais. Her press secretary gathered the reporter's attention and introduced her. "I'm so glad you could all be here. I wanted to announce a few changes in my father's business ventures. I will be handing over the reins of control to my son, Blair Sandburg." She pointed to Blair who nodded. Cameras erupted again and the noisy babble of surprise almost drowned out her next words. "I plan to devote my time to charitable causes near and dear to my heart and leave the day to day operations to Blair."

"Does he have any experience?" A reporter wanted to know.

"No, but he has James Ellison of Ellison Enterprises as a special consultant." Flash bulbs went off around the pair. Jim flinched but continued to smile, Blair just tightened his hold around Jim's waist. "My assistant will be handing out packets with all pertinent information in them." There were more flashes and newspaper reporters shouting questions and camera lights casting a harsh glow over everything. But Jim Ellison saw none of that. He pulled Blair back into a doorway, holding him close. He could see his father out there and the angry look frozen on his face. It was the end of that life, one of manipulation and greed, and the beginning of something exciting.

"What are you thinking?" Blair asked.

Jim looked down into the eyes which had believed in him from the first moment of their meeting. He smiled and kissed Blair's lips. "I was just thinking of the merger."

"Merger?" Blair frowned. "What merger?"

Jim kissed him again, catching his lip with his teeth and tugging gently before letting go and whispering, "The one that's going to take place tonight."

"Mmmmm," Blair hummed. "Is business all you ever think about, Mr. Ellison?"

"Yep."

The end.

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Acknowledgments: Thank you to Peter for the lovely artwork.