Blair dropped the passkey on the bed as he moved into the bathroom.
He left the hotel door behind him open, knowing Jim would follow in a
minute, could hear his voice outside in the corridor. Loose, relaxed,
finishing off some discussion from earlier with somebody Blair was
sure he knew but didn't really give a damn about.

Blair kicked the bathroom door closed with his foot and leaned back
on it, his fingers already working to turn the lock. He closed his
eyes and took one long breath after another, easing dried
air-conditioned hotel air into his lungs and out. The ultimate in
re-cycling, cleansed, purified, treated, emaciated and returned to
him as a complete package. Hideous. Some days civilization sucked.

Weary arms tugged the shirt from his body, reached into the shower to
turn water on. It guzzled and spat, streaming steam into the arid
atmosphere with the speed of vengeance unappeased. He ignored it long
enough to strip off, leaving his clothes where they landed. As the
shower settled its differences with the universe, he adjusted the
temperature and stepped in, closing the glass door behind him.

His head tipped back into the spray without aid of thought. He
allowed the water to cascade down his body, let the pressure carve
the city dirt from him, needed the pain to penetrate his anguish.

Soap felt like oil on his hands, gliding them over his skin too
quickly, leaving trails of clean white suds along his arms, his
chest, spattered by drops of water, defiled and wasted, ruined.
Losing patience, he turned and faced the water, rinsed as quickly as
he could, fingers already reaching for shampoo. He scrubbed hard, his
hair knotting up even as he eased it out. But it needed to be clean.
Blair needed it to be clean.

He stopped, pulling in a heavy breath. He held it against the
thundering water and focussed on the pale peach tiles facing him. On
that smooth surface, he counted the small spatters that marked his
presence, soap, shampoo, water, condensed steam. Marring the gentle
colour with their uncaring arrangement. No pattern, no sense, no
clarity.

"Idiot."

Clean and rinsed, he turned off the water and grabbed his towel. He
dried himself where he stood then ran the cloth over the walls of the
cubicle, cleaning it too, of the scum he'd brought in with him. He
brushed his teeth, shaved, put everything back in his washbag and
grabbed the complimentary robe he'd left hanging on the back of the
door.

No, he'd not left it there: Jim had. This morning.

Jim.

The soft cloth felt like a balm to his water-ravaged hands. He stared
down at it, noting the contrast of his tanned hands against the
fluffy white, the smoothness of his skin to the nubbly texture that
had always reminded him of his childhood.

"Such an idiot."

He opened the robe and slipped it on, pulling it around him, the belt
following to tie it in a double knot, fingers fussing over it,
absently putting everything back, putting them right, making them
work the way they were supposed to.

Knew this was going to happen. Did nothing to stop it. Idiot.

Could have done something, somewhere, somehow. Could have made sure
it kept working. Could have stopped the slide. The end.

An idiot.

Gripping the door handle, he undid the lock and stepped out into the
room. Jim was on the phone and barely glanced in his direction.
Pausing only a moment, Blair retrieved his dirty clothes and went
back into the room to drop them over his backpack. Then, more because
he needed something to do, he drifted to the minibar and pulled out a
beer.

"Hungry, Chief?"

Blair shook his head, his gaze on the glass bottle, feeling the
ridges of impressed letters, the weight, the hard coldness, rippled
sharp cap. With a viscous twist, he removed it and took a deep
swallow. Hops, malt and yeast stung his throat.

"Maybe we can get some room service later, eh?" Jim was walking away
from him, towards the bathroom. "Can't have Simon thinking we didn't
at least make an attempt to abuse the expenses, can we?"

Unthinking, Blair looked up to find Jim standing in the bathroom
doorway, one hand on the jamb, relaxed, an easy expression on his
face, eyes cool and undemanding.

In control.

Oh, he knew what Jim was thinking. Knew exactly. Knew enough not to
ask the obvious questions, try to get from Blair some reason for his
silence. He knew too damned much.

And he was aware Jim knew what Blair was thinking about those
questions, about why they weren't being asked. They both knew too
much.

It had never been a problem before.

"I need to wash this dust off, Chief. I left a message for Simon.
Told him about the arraignment and that we'd be back late tomorrow
night. If he calls back just…"

"Yeah, okay." And then Blair knew how Jim did it: spoke in such
normal tones. His own voice came out untouched by his dread, his
need, his emptiness.

"Okay."

And then Jim was out of his view, the door closing behind him. Blair
heard no ominous click of the lock, heard the water pound almost
immediately, the clatter of a jeans zip landing on the tiled floor,
the snap of a cubicle door, groan of glass against metal. Sinuous,
sleepy water gliding over muscled flesh, plastic bottles extracted
and replaced on the wire rack, a hum beneath it all; Jim's voice,
soft and low, idle, like a car engine, picking out favourite threads
of some tune he'd heard in the last hour.

Blair emptied his beer down his throat, guzzling all until his lungs
demanded air. His hands automatically reached for another, pushing
the fridge door closed with his knee.

He wandered through the room, removing the new cap and tossing it
onto his bed where it smacked against the passkey. The noise made him
stop and look down. And the shower turned off and his feet began to
move again, taking him to the window.

Not drinking this time, he leaned a shoulder up against the tall
glass and gazed out over a city too busy with itself to worry about
the outside world. Vegas appeared before him like a fairy wonderland,
all lights and elemental towers, darkness hiding the self-indulgent
bestiality of greed and ruthlessness. A city for those who wanted to
leave the real world behind, for those wishing never to return and
for those who wanted to take it with them. A city designed not for
pleasure, but for taking. Those who gambled did so to take what they
could get. Those who didn't, took the rest.

Would he smile the next time he came here? The trial was scheduled
for six months, when the plains around this place would be swept with
icy winds at this time of night, when the few drops of rain which
graced this land would fall with incandescent fury, seeking to drown
what no wind could blow away. Returning here would be difficult,
would be impossible - and yet, he knew he would come, knew he had to,
knew, more than anything else, there simply wasn't a choice any more.

He took a single sip of his new beer and listened as Jim emerged from
the bathroom, put his clothes away as neatly as ever, collected the
passkey and cap from Blair's bed, put the first on the minibar, the
second in the bin, pour himself something that sounded like bourbon,
carry the glass across the room until the man stopped beside Blair.

A gentle swallow and Blair could smell the fiery liquid in the air
around him, sharp, tangy, desirable. Jim's robe matched his, but was
midnight blue, mysterious, mostly in shadow.

"Interesting place, eh?"

Blair took another mouthful and nodded. "Pity we had to spend so much
time in the city, though."

"Wanted to see the Canyon that bad?"

"Would have been nice. It's a long way from Cascade."

"Yeah." Jim drained his drink and put the glass down on the table
behind him. "We'll take a couple of extra days after the trial, go
see the Canyon, do a bit of hiking."

"Yeah?" The beer bottle was so cold it was making Blair's fingers
hurt.

"You really should see it, Chief. It's incredible. First time I saw
it, I just couldn't believe how big it was. Goes on forever."

"Nothing goes on forever." Blair's soft words were real, and he'd
only meant to think them. Even the Grand Canyon had its limits, its
boundaries, its rules, a contained depth that could take forever to
climb out of. The Colorado river rushed along at its base, an artery
of life through a dead hole, gaping in the ground. Yet that very
artery had carved the canyon in the first place, destroyed as it
created, took as it gave.

And when the river dried up?

The brilliantly-lit city took on a different, hazy appearance as
tears formed in Blair's eyes, leaked over onto his cheeks and fled
south. He made no sound, moved no more than breathing required. And
he listened to the silence. Listened to the emptiness filled with
traffic and life and air-conditioning and distant doors opening and
closing and Jim standing beside him, breathing and being there but
saying absolutely nothing.

The silence alone was deadly.

Not taking his eyes from the view, Blair drew into himself, listening
now to the only thing he had to focus on: Jim. His dark presence a
weight of memory, of experience, of creativity. Immobile and yet not,
living and still made of stone. Still silent.

Blair spoke, his tears unchecked, his fingers no more than ice. "It's
time, isn't it?"

"Isn't it?" A question and an answer, both equally certain, equally
hesitant.

"Didn't know," Blair answered, little more than a whisper now, "when
we came here. I suppose I wasn't paying that much attention. Haven't
needed to, I guess. Should have, though."

"Why?"

A faint shrug was all Blair could manage. "Dunno. Thought maybe…"

"Blair," Jim took the bottle from his hands and put it down,
returning to his position, his sentinel stance, beside Blair, inside
the silence. "The time was always going to choose itself."

"Yeah." And Blair couldn't help it: he closed his eyes and let the
tears go, let them fall, let them drown the pain, though he knew they
wouldn't. Angry then, he opened them again, blinking, forcing it
away, aside, anywhere but where he was. It wasn't supposed to feel
this bad.

"Chief?"

"What?"

A pause, lighter than he'd been expecting. "I don't… want you to hurt
like this. Please?"

"I'm not hurt, Jim, just…" But he couldn't go on. No words were going
to make a difference and they both knew it.

The smallest sound warned him that Jim had moved. A cool graze of air
by his shoulder and Jim's hand brushed hair back from his face.
"Chief? If it isn't time, just say so. I don't like making you cry."

Blair pulled in his bottom lip as that hand touched his face, so
lightly, so gentle he couldn't help but lean into it, feeling the
shudder that ran the length of his body. "It's not you, Jim. You know
that. I'm an idiot, forget about it."

"Why are you an idiot?"

"Well, I… kept hoping…" His voice cracked at that and he turned to
face Jim, knowing he had to face him to say it. "Was hoping it
wouldn't have to end, you know?"

A single, slow nod gave Jim's understanding depth and challenge. "But
it has."

"Yeah." Blair swallowed as Jim's fingers caressed his cheek, warm and
smooth. The hand dropped then, to Blair's hip, gently tugging him
closer. Blair went with it, noting idly how his heartbeat spiked, how
a shiver set his skin on edge, how Jim's gaze never left his.

And then Jim's arms came around him, holding him but not imprisoning
him, a cage of flesh and bone rather than steel. Blair lifted his
face, placed his hands on the cloth-cloaked chest, touched the coarse
covering on hard muscles. His heart-rate jumped again but he paid no
attention. All that he had, everything that he was now focussed on
what he could see in Jim's eyes, what he knew he was admitting with
his own.

"Is this…" Jim's voice was husky and restrained.

"What?"

"I was just wondering if this… was how you pictured it." Jim's head
tilted slightly to one side, a corner of his mouth lifting Blair's
heart and carrying it away.

"There was never a particular place, Jim." Blair was moved to shift
closer with that tiny smile, places in him relaxing at its warmth,
its mere presence. "You?"

"I think I've imagined this moment a thousand times - and nothing
compares to the reality."

"No?"

"No. You're right. It does hurt. And maybe it's because we are here
that it's time. I don't know. All I do know is that I wanted there to
be starlight around us the first time I kissed you."

Blair felt another tear leave his eyes and smiled as well as he
could. "There is, Jim. You brought it with you."

And then Jim's eyes looked misty, his smile gone, his face hard and
deadly, trapping Blair where he was. The words, when they came, were
harsh and withering and loaded with self-doubt and absolute
certainty. "God, I'm so sorry, Blair."

And then his face came close, his breath hot on Blair's skin and
Blair moved with him, always with him, never against, and together
they met in the middle of the space that separated them and Jim's
lips covered his own, present, necessary, unavoidable and so very
much needed.

And then Blair's tears dried as he took in the taste and texture of
Jim's kiss, the feel of his lips, hungry and desperate, almost lazy,
but always delicious, surprisingly so, making Blair hungry and
desperate, his arms going around the bigger man's neck, pulling him
closer, deeper, Jim pulling him closer, driving his kiss deeper and
unending and on it went, time standing still, making the moment,
creating it from nothing and everything and making it whole.

And then Blair thought he was going to die when it did end because
he'd never thought for one moment, not one single second over the
last three years that finally kissing Jim would feel so monumentally
and absolutely right.

Shock left him standing with his mouth open, his eyes wide, gazing up
at a Jim who was smiling again, pleased, even happy. The moment
stretched between them but neither felt disposed to mar it with
words. Instead, Jim's arms moved across Blair's back, feeling and
dispersing the earlier tension, his body speaking in more volumes
than an Encyclopaedia.

Blair suppressed a laugh. This was so not the moment for laughter.
And it seemed Jim knew he wanted to laugh because he bent his head
again and again kissed him, taking him, making him, bringing him back
to life.

"Jesus, Jim," Blair breathed, when he could speak again.

"Yeah, exactly." There was certainly laughter in Jim's voice. "More
than time, I should think."

And Blair pulled him down this time, taking his own kisses, melting
his body up against his sentinel's, feeling so much more than he'd
expected to, wanting so much more than he'd thought possible. Jim's
mouth was like a whole new world to him and he needed to explore it
fully, his hunger now becoming ravenous. But when he heard Jim moan,
his knees almost buckled beneath him.

Jim felt it and held on tighter, drawing back, his eyes glazing over
every aspect of Blair's face as though he needed, after three years,
to memorize it anew. "We're going to do this, aren't we?"

"Yeah, we are." Blair's certainty sat beside his regret, like twin
peaks, equally powerful. For tonight though, they would have to learn
to co-exist. After that, regret would have a clear field.

But tonight?

Jim pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, his cheek, his chin, hands
came up to push his damp hair back, "You are so beautiful, Blair, so
amazingly beautiful." A short laugh was followed by, "God, I've
wanted to say that for three years. Nearly killed myself trying not
to."

"Against the rules, man."

"Don't I know it."

Blair took more kisses, short and sweet, playing with each of Jim's
lips, a toy for him alone. "You taste of bourbon."

"Not surprising."

"S'nice."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Blair caught a flash of smile before Jim's face buried itself against
his throat and suddenly he couldn't breathe. He gasped in air as
teeth nipped at his skin, felt Jim send gusts of hot steam over his
flesh, setting him alight.

He let out a groan, ripped from his belly. And then Jim's hands were
at his robe, undoing the belt, letting it fall, opening it wide to
carry his kisses down Blair's chest.

"Oh, god, Jim, please…"

But his sentinel knew exactly what he was saying, even if Blair
didn't. Sweat broke out all over him, pouring oil onto the coals
burning within him. It was never supposed to be like this… never
supposed to…

Suddenly he was too close, without Jim hardly touching him and he
knew, finally that, yes, it was time. Time they did this. Time they
gave into to this desire, time they swept aside everything else, time
to forget how much they would have to do to put it back together
afterwards.

Three years of looking and listening and feeling and touching. Giving
and taking and never allowing this to get in the way. Never. Not
once. Not even talking about it but knowing, both of them knowing it
would happen, one day, that they wouldn't be able to stop it one day.
Both knowing the risk they took, giving in; knowing that the very
centre of their lives would be ripped apart by it, that the thing
that had kept them both alive, had constructed their survival through
all their trials - the so very-precious bond between sentinel and
guide - would be split and shredded by this act.

But after three years of denial, of avoidance of pretence and
sublimation, in the end, it seemed there had been no choice at all.
They had to do this. Had to be together. This one night. Had to go
through with it and hope one night would be enough - and yet not too
much to tear them apart. That bond would be able to survive this,
wouldn't it? Please?

When Jim's tongue reached Blair's nipple, he groaned deeply and Blair
knew what he was doing, tasting him, cataloguing him, his guide,
memorizing texture and taste, contour and colour and Blair wanted him
to. Wanted Jim to do all of that and more.

Feverish now, Blair grabbed at Jim's belt, pulled it apart, slipped
his hands beneath the cloth to feel solid flesh, fingers craving
more, moving frantically, pushing the robe up and out of the way,
trapping Jim's arms until one by one, he let Blair go enough to let
it fall to the ground, leaving him naked.

Blair looked but couldn't take in the massive expanse before him
properly. He was already too dizzy so he tried steadying his
breathing, knowing he had to last the night, that Jim would never
forgive himself if he killed his guide somewhere in the act of making
love the first time.

But then, he very nearly did when his hands finally reached lower and
took Blair's shaft between them, not pulling, but simply feeling,
touching lightly, driving Blair closer to the edge, quicker than ever
before in his whole life.

"Jim, please," he managed, succeeding only a little with getting air
into his lungs.

"Bed?" His sentinel, mind-reading, knowing him, understanding.

"Yes. Now. Before I fall down."

And with a gust of laughter, Jim caught him around the waist, lifted
him and took him to the bed, where he was laid down on his back so
gently, it almost made him cry. Jim was leaning over him then, his
gaze grave and yet laced with delight. A single finger traced its way
down Blair's throat, onto his sternum where the hand spread out,
carding through hair.

"Jim?"

"Yes, baby?"

"You know how we said it's time?"

"Uh huh?"

"Well, did you… know?"

Jim's face was a picture of blazing fire one second, feigned
nonchalance the next. He nodded, "I've got supplies, if that's what
you're asking."

"Yeah, that's what I'm asking."

"And?"

"And… you gonna use them?"

"Yes, Blair." Jim bent his head to rasp his tongue over a nipple
again, his hands already slipping Blair's robe from his shoulders.
"We do this, we go all the way."

Swallowing heavily, but already reaching for Jim again, Blair nodded,
"Just wanted to make sure, you know."

"That we both know what we're doing here. Don't worry, baby. I've
done a lot of research. Experts we may not be, but we will make it
good."

With a wide smile, Blair pushed Jim back and rolled over on top of
him. His mouth hungry again, he commenced an assault on Jim's smooth
chest, as he'd wanted to do for so damned long. "You… did… research?"

"Yep."

"Me, too."

"Of course. You're the scholar." Jim was rasping in each breath now
as Blair shifted and deliberately brought them into line. The first
touch of silky flesh against his own made him freeze where he was,
surprise again filling him, coursing over Jim's face.

"Jesus, Blair!" Jim grabbed hold of him, fingers sinking into the
soft flesh of his ass. And suddenly Blair was thrusting against him,
no longer able to control anything and getting no help from Jim on
that subject either.

Mouths locked together, they rushed towards the end, dizzy,
desperate, raw and needy until as one, they released and let go,
flooding themselves with hot wet fluid, gushing and greedy, hard and
full.

Wasted utterly, Blair sank onto the island of Jim's chest, hoping his
heartbeat would return to normal sometime this year. Jim's hands held
his head close, caught up his hair while the heart beneath Blair's
ear thudded hard, gradually slowing.

Moistening his mouth, Blair managed a whisper. "Jim? Promise me
something?"

"Anything, sweetheart."

"If we just have this one night? Can we please use the whole night?"

Helpless laughter made him smile.

"You bet we're going to use the whole night!"

________________________________________
 

Jim could hear a faint dripping from a tap somewhere down the hall.
Drip. Nothing. Drip, drip. Nothing.

He lay stretched out on the bed, half a pillow under his head, right
foot hooked over the side, uncovered by the rumpled sheet. Parts of
him were draped over by parts of another warm body, one he had been
allowed to memorize during the night, memorize and discover, love to
the point of exhaustion and beyond.

After three years of looking and wanting and doing nothing about it.
After three years of discovering the wild and eclectic diverging
aspects of his guide, of learning about him, of growing to understand
him, Jim, this night, had finally been allowed to love him.

They'd mentioned love, once, a while ago. He couldn't remember
exactly when. But the words had been spoken, a kind of off-hand
casual tossing of wretched fact that had said way too much and way
too little. The kind of love a man must have for his best friend.

But they'd never actually talked about *this*. Not in words,
certainly. Though of course, there was that other language they
shared, just the two of them, something nobody else really
understood. Something that gave them a kind of short-hand dialogue, a
partial guessing, partial predicting, partial just bloody-well
knowing what the other was going to say/do. Like when Jim told Blair
to stay in the truck. Blair knew Jim would say it - Jim knew Blair
would ignore it. But it just wouldn't be the same if they did it any
differently. That was the way it worked with them. That was the way
*they* worked.

No, they'd never sat down and had one of Blair's famous discussions
on the subject of this… thing… going on between them. Not with each
other. He didn't know whether Blair had ever talked to anyone about
it - but Jim had. One drunken night at Simon's place, when Blair had
gone to see Naomi for the weekend. Simon had plied him with good
beer, a pizza and asked him when the hell he and Blair were going to
get together.

The question had thrown Jim only slightly. Largely because he was
very much under the influence of alcohol - which was probably why
Simon had thought it was okay to ask. Not that Simon had been exactly
sober, either.

But though he'd been drunk, Jim clearly recalled his response to the
question.

"Never."

Simon had frowned, handed him another beer, sat forward in his big
chair and asked why.

"Can't afford the distraction."

Highly affronted, Simon had snorted at the concept, grumbling under
his breath until Jim had insisted he stop it. Simon had watched him
for a minute then sat forward again.

"I've seen the way you two look at each other, Jim. You telling me
you're not already distracted?"

"Not the same thing at all. Not what I'm talking about."

"Then explain it."

Jim had felt like shit then because he knew, though Simon was doing
his best to understand, he never would because he wasn't in this
thing with Sandburg, he only got to watch it from the outside. Didn't
know what it felt like.

"You in love with the kid?"

"Sure."

"Do you know how he feels about you?"

"Sure. I'm his sentinel."

"No, I mean is he in love with you?"

"Dunno."

"Have you asked?"

"No. Never will."

"Shit, Jim! Why not?"

"Can't afford the distraction."

Over the last few months, that feeble explanation had become
something of a mantra to Jim. Every time he caught himself watching
Blair at the dining table, head bent to his laptop, unaware of the
scrutiny.

But then, sometimes, when he least expected it, Blair would look up
and their eyes would meet and Jim simply knew that he didn't need to
ask how Blair felt about him. About them.

No, they'd never discussed it. Never needed to. They both knew it was
impossible.

And now he was here, in bed with Blair for the first and last time.
His infallible internal clock was ticking away the last seconds of
the night, waiting for those fingers of dawn to come creeping across
the sky and trigger a new day.

He rolled onto his side carefully, not disturbing the woeful package
of slumber next to him. No, he simply shifted until he caught Blair
in his arms properly, head on his chest, legs entwined. Blair was so
exhausted, he didn't stir - but his subconscious understood, moving
his body to snuggle closer to Jim, making Jim lose the smile that had
been emerging.

Impossible.

Never.

Absolutes. He'd always relied on them. Right, wrong, good, bad. Black
and white. Sentinel and Guide. Jim and Blair. A pair of absolutes,
the two of them.

He'd been a little surprised by Blair's responses - though delighted.
Since they'd never discussed any of it, Jim hadn't known one way or
the other whether Blair had had any previous experience with men.
Jim's own experiences were nothing much to boast about, just the
usual army stories, a little desperate relief when absolutely
necessary. Nothing too heavy, certainly nothing hard-core. And, as
brief and hurried as they had been, he'd enjoyed them. But since
then, he'd stayed away from the male body. Far away. Had accepted
society's dictates on the matter and learned to satisfy whatever
urges he felt with the opposite sex - even if those urges weren't
entirely focussed on that opposite sex. But it was just too damned
difficult for him to try an alternative. People liked to joke about
it - but Jim knew better than anyone how hard he found it to relate
intimately to anyone, how dangerous it was for a cop to go cruising
for trade, to enter into any relationship with either male or female
where he couldn't trust his partner with the secret of his senses.

Casual sex with women was safe and easy. The same with a man was
dangerous.

Long term relationships were out completely. Always would be. As long
as he had these senses, Jim would remain alone.

Only - he was never really alone - just alone in bed, at night, when
he only noticed it occasionally. Blair filled those other gaps in his
life, was the kind of partner who gave a full dimension to the word.
They were by no means the same - but they were equal, each giving his
own share towards the whole. Together, they were certainly much, much
more than the sum of their parts.

And Jim liked it that way. Maybe it was a guy thing - but he'd never
met a woman so far he felt could equal him in the same manner. And it
wasn't a physical argument: Blair had a strong, sturdy body - but in
a real fight, he wouldn't have a hope against Jim. No, it was
something else that made him and Blair the way they were. Something
he'd grown to see was a bond he now protected on a daily basis.
Except for tonight - and even then, the release of their pent-up
passion had been an expression of protection. It had been time for
them to do something about it before it became a big problem.

A distraction.

Jim allowed his fingers to brush over the silky texture of Blair's
back, allowing himself to be distracted for a little longer,
remembering, enjoying the memory, reliving while he could, knowing
that to go over it now would entrench it more firmly in his memory
for recall later, when this night was done.

And how Blair had wanted him. How Blair's body had responded so
electrically to every touch Jim made, every gesture, every kiss. Jim
now understood why the women flocked around him and had no idea why
any of them would ever want to let him go. He'd never had a bed-mate
so dazzling, so wanting and needing and giving and loving. He'd had
sex with men - but he'd never made actually love to a man before. The
differences were mind-blowing - and all of them were centred around
Blair, who he was, what was inside him, the beautiful body that
encased him.

Jim had been Blair's first. One of those little things they'd
explored during the night. Blair's curiosity knew no bounds - but his
sense of adventure had been piqued by trepidation, concern for his
physical safety and a not-uncommon hope that maybe the gazes he cast
in the direction of a great-looking guy now and then were nothing
more than artistic appreciation.

But last night he'd let go of all that. He'd revelled in Jim's body
and how Jim had loved it, wanted it, swam through it and drowned in
it. Images now came back to him of Blair exploring him, kissing and
tasting him, uninhibited by the maleness of him, taking joy and
delight in it. And so much more. Of Jim tasting the essence of his
guide, of running his tongue across places Blair had never
experienced before. And that moment, burned forever in his mind, when
Blair, on his stomach, body covered in a sheen of sweat, writhing and
trembling close to insanity, had invited Jim to enter him, had
demanded it.

If they'd not done that - if they'd managed to go the whole night
without either entering the other, Jim knew he would probably be able
to deal with it, with the ending of it. But they had done it. He had
taken Blair his first time, had become one with him, had loved him
from the inside. And later, keeping to their promise to fill the
night, Blair had taken him his first time, joining them once more,
encrypting the night with its own language, mostly of love, and only
now, of despair.

One night. Just one. And soon, as the morning glow raised its ugly
head across the ugly city, they would separate again and become what
they were born to be, sentinel and guide.

Without distraction.

Jim closed his eyes and sent a silent prayer up to every god Blair
had ever mentioned, that when the moment came, minutes from now, that
he would be strong enough to let Blair go.
 

________________________________
 
 

Blair watched the sun come up over Jim's chest, forced his eyes to
pay attention as the sky outside the window grew more and more light.
He knew Jim knew he was awake, but fortunately, the big guy knew
better than to say anything. Blair had slept the last hour or so and
now he wished he hadn't. Now he wished he'd had more of this, just
lying here, Jim's arms around him, feeling and listening to him,
breathing in his unique scent. So he stayed where he was, eking out
the last of the night until it was all gone, until it was nothing
more than a memory.

"You okay?"

"No."

Jim let out a short sigh, "Yeah, I know, Chief, I know."

"Yeah." Blair had his head resting on Jim's chest, could hear the
voice from the inside, his hand arranged across the shoulder and all
of him, every single atom in his body wanted to move and caress,
place small morning kisses across the beloved flesh.

He remained unmoving.

"On the road after breakfast?"

"Okay." Blair paused, knowing he had to make a contribution, knowing
it wasn't fair to make Jim do all the hard work. "You hungry?"

"Are you kidding?"

Blair didn't laugh. It was too close a reference to what they'd done
last night, what they'd spent all night doing. Even though it was
silly with them lying here, wrapped around each other, naked and
covered in the evidence. Still he couldn't laugh. "We could order
room service. Could be up here by the time we're showered and
packed."

"Great idea, Chief."

"Jim?"

"Yeah?"

"Will we really go and see the Grand Canyon when we come back?" Sound
interested. Try to. Should be.

"If you want to, sure. You know there's a host of Indian legends
surrounding the place. I'm surprised you've never been before.
Probably too many other places on the Blair
Sandburg-I-must-investigate-this-tribe list."

"But it's beautiful, right?" Be interested. It's important.

"Very. We'll hike down the Bright Angel Trail and camp at the bottom.
We can spend a day exploring some side canyons then go up the other
side of Bright Angel the day after."

"Sounds nice." Small voice, soft now, hoping for that trip.

"It is. You'll love it."

"I love you."

A gasp, "Jesus, Blair," and then he was pulled up by strong arms and
turned around and held so tight he was going to break but it didn't
matter because he was already breaking inside, already crumbling
apart and he couldn't do anything to stop it. Jim held him fiercely,
kissing him with none of the passion of last night but so much more
than that. "God, Blair, I love you. Love you so much."

And Blair knew he was crying again; as he'd begun this night, so was
he ending it. But Jim simply kissed him, kissing away the tears,
kissing away the pain. Or trying to. And then he was holding Blair
again, tight, hard, determined and uncompromising. A grip Blair made
no attempt to free himself from.

Finally, when he could actually see the sun creep from behind the
eastern city, when his heartbeat returned to normal, he lifted his
head and turned his gaze onto the man he loved. Jim said nothing and
so Blair, wise and full of anger, kissed him one last time, slowly,
gently and deeply. Jim replied, perfectly in kind.

And then it was over.

Blair swallowed, hating himself, hating his fear, hating everything
in the whole world in that moment. He knew he was trembling. Hated
that too. "Jim…"

His sentinel heard the question in his voice, raising his eyebrows.
"Blair, you need to…"

"I know, Jim, but god, I don't know if I can. I'm sorry, god, I'm so
sorry but I don't think I can do this. Really I don't. I don't want
to, god, I don't want to, I don't want to leave you, Jim." He gulped
in air, fighting new tears, hating the look he'd caused on Jim's
face, hating to make Jim be strong for both of them. "Please, Jim,
help me?"

Chiselled in stone, Jim nodded, "If you want me to do it…"

"I don't want you to Jim, I just don't think I can…"

"Ssh, it's okay, Blair. Trust me, it's okay. I'll do it."

And that was enough, the voice, the calm absoluteness of it was
enough to steady Blair again. In silence now, he watched his sentinel
close his eyes a moment, pausing, gathering himself. Then the eyes
opened, Jim took a breath and spoke, his tone now firm, not harsh,
but not to be ignored. "Blair, get up and get in the shower. We have
to get moving. Now."

And he did. Didn't wait to hear it a second time, didn't want to,
didn't want to make Jim insist. He just got up and went into the
bathroom, not looking back.

Not looking back.
 

____________________________________
 

"Ellison! My office, now!"

Jim didn't bother looking up first. He just saved the file he was
working on, turned off the screen and got to his feet. Simon was
already inside his office and pouring coffee by the time he got
there. It was a blend Jim didn't recognize, though he knew he would
given a few minutes more. Simon however, wasn't interested in his
observations.

"How far have you got with Salvatori?"

"About as far from here to your desk."

"That good, eh?" Simon moved around said desk, gestured Jim towards a
seat and took his own. "Well, the DA's coming in tomorrow morning and
wants a full brief. He goes to court on Monday so you've got three
days to dig up whatever you can on the financial side."

Jim shrugged, "I'm not sure there's any more to dig up. Either that
or he's covered his tracks so well, we'll never find them. You know
how long we've been working on this case."

"Three years, five weeks, yes, I remember. It came in here the first
day Sandburg arrived. I'll be glad when we finally wash our hands of
it."

Jim only nodded at that, only partially aware of what Simon was
talking about because somewhere between his last two sentences, Jim
had caught the familiar rhythm of Blair's heartbeat coming closer.
Any second now he would step out of the lift, his gaze immediately
going to Jim's desk, looking for him.

"Jim?"

Realizing he was staring at the lift doors, Jim snapped his head
around. "Sorry, sir, what was that?"

Simon raised an eyebrow and pushed himself back in his chair. He
pulled out a fresh cigar and chomped it between his teeth. "Okay,
spill."

Jim said nothing.

"I'm warning you, Jim, if you don't…"

"If I don't what, Captain?" Yeah, Jim was a sentinel. He could give a
cold stare to his superior while keeping tabs on the elevator,
listening as the doors swished open, caught every footstep as
Sandburg crossed the bull-pen. Didn't need to be a genius to manage
that.

But for once, the steely-gaze thing didn't work. Simon just shook his
head, got to his feet and closed his office door. He returned and
perched on the edge of the desk before Jim, cigar forgotten between
his fingers. "Jim, I need to know what's going on, here. I know you
think I'm invading your privacy - but do I have to remind you, I'm
also your friend? You know you can trust me."

Jim looked up, read the genuine concern in his captain's gaze and
nodded, "Yes, of course I trust you." But it wasn't a matter of
trust. It was a matter of impossibilities and those, he knew, Simon
wouldn't understand.

"Then talk to me."

"Nothing to tell you."

Not to be outdone, Simon nodded, "Okay, then. I'll guess. You can
confirm or deny as you wish."

"Look, Simon…" Jim was ready to leave - but his captain stopped him.

"Ellison, I need to know if you and Sandburg can continue working
together."

"What?" Jim almost bounded out of his seat but Simon held up a hand,
his own version of the steely gaze pinning him to his place.

"Did you ever do anything about that matter we discussed some months
ago?" When Jim didn't answer immediately, Simon stuck his cigar in
his mouth and gave it a chew. "Well? See, my guess is that you did.
My guess is that something happened when you went down to Vegas to
stick Vanetti behind bars. You've been back, what, five, almost six
weeks - and you and the kid haven't been the same since. And I don't
see you smiling at each other the way lovers do when things are all
rosy in the beginning. I don't see you laughing and joking around the
way you used to before all this happened. Basically, what I'm seeing
here is little more than a pile of shit - and I don't like the
implications at all. Now, you gonna confirm or deny any of this,
Jim?"

"Why should I bother? I mean, you've already got it worked out,
haven't you."

"Damn it, Jim!" Simon leaned forward, towering over Jim without any
trouble at all. "What is wrong with you? Just tell me and I'll back
off."

Jim stuck out his jaw and let his gaze go through the glass to where
Blair sat at his desk, feigning interest in a file he held, while Jim
knew without asking that Blair was in fact, totally focussed on the
fact that Jim was in Simon's office.

How did he do that? How did he know, without sentinel senses? How
could he know so damned much when they spoke so little? How was it
that Blair could anticipate so much of what he did without any real
basis for comparison?

"I don't suppose giving you two some time off is going to solve this,
is it?"

Jim shook his head. "No. It's too late for that."

"Then something did happen."

"Yeah."

"But it didn't work out?"

"No, it worked out just fine."

"So, you two are together?"

"No. We ended it the next morning."

"What? Why?"

Jim shook his head again, his gaze still on Blair. "Doesn't matter.
We're back to normal now."

Simon snorted at that. "Call this normal?"

Jim came to his feet. "No. I don't call this normal. But Sandburg and
I need a little time to adjust, that's all. Look, Simon, I know you
don't understand and I know you're trying to do the right thing - and
I do appreciate how open-minded you're being - but you can't do
anything at all. And me talking about it won't help. In fact, this is
one of those rare times when ignoring it actually does make it
better. Just give us a little space."

Simon nodded slowly. "Okay, I can do that. What about the kid? Is he
okay?"

"No. But he'll get better. I'll go get back on the Salvatori trail.
Blair's had a few ideas on places we could chase up."

"Yeah, sure, go." Defeated, Simon waved him off and Jim left.

Blair looked up as he came out, a smile ready. "Hey, Jim."

"Chief. You got some time this afternoon?"

"That's why I'm here. Anything big on?"

"No, nothing so exciting. We're still scrounging up stuff on
Salvatori."

"God, still? Trial's on Monday, isn't it?"

Jim reached his desk and sat, switching his screen back on. "Yep and
the DA wants a brief in the morning - so whatever we find, we have to
find it today."

"Okay." Blair pulled out his notebook and immediately began to work,
steering Jim through the Internet along a path he'd plotted the night
before.

There was nothing there, either. Nothing on Sandburg. Nothing he
could pinpoint. But Simon had noticed. Not in what they did - but in
what they no longer did.

Like touching.

Laughing.

Being easy with each other.

Every part of their friendship that had spoken to them each day,
every aspect that had filled the emptiness of being alone - was gone.
As though it had never existed. A seamless join between the days
before Vegas and those after. Nobody but a skilled surgeon would see
where the scar lay - but it was there nonetheless.

And Jim could only wonder how long it would take to heal - or drive
them apart forever.

_______________________________
 

The deafening bellow of laughter from around the table nearly made
Blair choke on his beer. The smoky bar was crowded to the max, filled
with loud students and louder music. He sat squashed by the wall,
being royally entertained by a dozen of his anthro students desperate
to impress him with stories of their summer exploits. Most had
organized work placements on a number of projects, some in South
America, one in Spain and two in Africa. The tales were tall indeed -
and Blair happened to know for a fact that three of them were
complete fabrications - but he didn't let on. At least, not yet. Time
to impress them with his own smarts when it was more useful - in the
classroom.

Friday nights were becoming a habit now. His last class finished at
six and then, before he knew it, there were four or five students at
his door, tapping their fingers and urging him to hurry up, that all
the beer would be gone if he didn't. So, he'd grab his laptop, throw
a few books in his bag and off he'd go, the smile on his face reeking
of the days when he'd been like them, a carefree student with nothing
but finals to worry about.

And it was good, this going out habit. Getting away from the loft and
Ranier and the station for a few hours. Talking about stuff that
nobody gave a shit about. Made him feel good, warm and gooey inside.

Or maybe that was just the beer.

"Hey, Blair? Did you hear about Stevens in Colombia?"

He looked up to find eight pairs of eyes on him - somebody must have
left to get more drinks. Nope - they were there, on the dance floor,
flinging themselves around with the abandon of youth. God, how he
missed that.

"No, I didn't. What about him?"

"Well, he…"

And Blair didn't hear the rest. He was watching the dance floor.
Watching the dancers. Watching the bodies move with the driving beat.
Watching one body in particular…

"Then, to top it all off, he said…"

Tall and dark, smooth square face, eyes of chipped brown, shoulders
broad…

"the silly fart didn't even look where he was going and crashed right
into…"

Dark eyes, wonderful eyes that turned from his partner and looked
right into Blair's soul.

"Sorry?" Tearing his gaze away, Blair hurriedly drained his beer and
turned back to his students - but as though they'd known he wasn't
really listening, they were already plunging into another story. A
story he couldn't have cared less about right now.

He had to get out of here.

Now.

Grabbing his bag, he got to his feet. "Sorry, guys - but I've got
papers to grade before morning."

Universal groans and pleas for one last drink.

"No, sorry, you enjoy yourselves and don't forget you've all got
essays due first thing Monday." God, he felt so old when he said
stuff like that. Old and dull. When had that happened? How had
becoming a teacher dried him up so he couldn't even leave the kids
with a little fun on a Friday night.

He pushed passed his neighbours, lifting his bag above their heads
until he could make for the door. The press of people around the bar
was life-threatening and for a few minutes, he thought he'd have to
stay after all. But then, before he could get injured, a figure
appeared beside him, firmly pushing one body out of the way after
another, clearing a space for him to get through.

He didn't need to look up to know who it was.

Once past the bar he paused, throwing a glance back the way he'd come
before looking up at his personal security. "Uh, thanks for that.
Thought I was gonna get flattened."

A smile greeted his words. A very nice smile at that. "No problem.
You on your way home?"

"Er, yeah. Long day."

This guy was tall - and built. And looked… Blair tore his gaze away,
not wanting to think about this, not wanting to have to.

"Maybe some place quieter might help you unwind after such a long
day?"

Blair swallowed, glancing up again, not answering.

"I'm Marc, by the way."

"Blair."

Another smile, open, generous and…

"Look, maybe another time, eh?" Blair took a step towards the door.

Marc spread his arms wide, "Hey, man, it's cool if you're not
interested. I'm no sleaze."

"I didn't mean… I mean.." Blair gathered himself, pulling his coat on
while trying not to put his bag down. "Look, I'm sorry, I'm not
trying to be rude, really."

Taking the bag from him, Marc waited patiently for Blair to get
wrapped up against the winter cold then graciously handed the bag
back. "Well, the offer of a drink still stands. There's a place,
literally around the corner. No band, no loud music and they do a
half-decent garlic bread that goes real well with a beer."

To say that he was tempted would have been an understatement - but
temptation wasn't the problem. "Are you trying to pick me up?"

That got him another smile, amused, rather pleased - and Blair found
himself warming to this guy without any trouble at all. "Am I
succeeding?"

Blair couldn't help replying with a grin of his own. "Maybe. But it
was the garlic bread that did it."

"Always believe in details, man," Marc added, grabbing his coat from
the hook by the door. "People remember the details."

_______________________________________
 

Blair wasn't even remotely surprised to find the bar half-populated
with same-sex couples. He'd recognized the name over the door, seen
it advertised on notice boards at the U. Had, about a year ago,
wondered about coming here on his own.

But now he was here and he wasn't the innocent he would have been a
year ago. Now he actually had an idea of what he was getting into.
Not that he actually wanted to get into anything, really but…

Four months was a long time. A long time to think and process, to try
not feeling, to work at making things work with Jim again, climbing
back from that terrible cliff. A very long time. A time during which
he'd abstained from sex and even pretty much from dating. It had
always seemed too much of a… betrayal. Stupid, yeah, but there it
was.

Things weren't very good between him and Jim but they weren't falling
apart. At least, not yet.

Marc took him to a booth table and ordered both garlic bread and a
couple of beers. Blair sipped his slowly, a mind to having to drive
back home. Once settled, Marc rested an elbow on the table and gave
Blair his full attention. It was quite breathtaking.

"So, Blair, what do you do for a living?"

"Start off with the easy questions, first, eh?" Blair grinned and
shook his head, leaving his hand fingering the condensation around
his glass. "I'm a lecturer at Ranier."

"Oh?" Marc sat up a little straighter. "Studying post grad? In what?"

"Anthropology."

"Really?" Marc's eyes widened, genuine, not faked. He was impressed -
and Blair tried to ignore how that made him feel.

"You?"

"Don't laugh."

"Sure."

"I'm a music teacher."

"Hey, that's cool! Where?"

"I have my own school, on the other side of town. I also teach at the
Karate Club on the south side. It's good fun, gives me breathing
exercises I can use when the music students make me want to commit
murder."

Blair laughed, "Maybe you could teach me a few. Anthro students
aren't much better."

"No, but they are at least quieter." Marc sat back and glanced around
the room, waving vaguely at someone Blair couldn't see. Without
altering his tone, Marc said, "So, who broke your heart and where is
he now?"

And there was something so calm and so reassuring about the man that
Blair couldn't stop himself from answering. "He didn't break my
heart. And he's at home."

Marc's gaze returned to him, even and flat. "So you're still
together?"

"No. We never were, really."

"What does that mean?"

Blair looked away, his hands toying with the cold glass, not really
wanting to talk about it but finding no good reason why he shouldn't
- except that he didn't know this stranger and couldn't trust him
with much in the way of specifics.

"Come on, Blair, I won't bite." Marc urged gently. Carefully, he
reached across and rested his fingers on Blair's hand. "I just need
to know I'm not getting in the middle of something here."

"You're not. There's nothing to get in the middle of. It's over.
Never really started."

"But you live with him?"

"Share an apartment."

"And what, he's married, straight? What?"

"Neither. We just… aren't together, that's all."

"Will you get together?"

"No," Blair's voice dropped. "Never."

"Hence the broken heart." Marc paused, then shifted a little closer,
taking Blair's hand into his own. "Look, I'm not going to pry. And
I'm not just on the prowl here, right? I want you to believe that.
I'm really not a sleaze - I don't go in for that at all. But, if you
want the truth, I was watching you from the first moment you walked
into that bar tonight. Had almost given up hope of you seeing me. So,
I'd just like to know, and I'd like the truth, please, Blair? Look at
me?"

With a gentle plea like that, Blair had to comply.

"I'd like to ask you out. Dinner, maybe. Tomorrow? And I need you to
tell me if you're ready to do that because I'd really like to see
you. But if you're not, just say so, okay?"

It was probably the most incredible offer Blair had ever had.
Acceptance, understanding, interest, all rolled into the one deep
brown gaze and - to be brutally honest, here - one very sexy guy.

Suddenly Blair didn't want to do this any more. Didn't want his life
ruled by missing something he could never have again. Didn't want
that and knew, even better, that Jim didn't want that for him either.
And this was quite an offer. A real one. One he thought he could live
with.

"Yeah. I'd like that. Dinner, tomorrow." And to back it up, he gave
Marc a smile.

Marc nodded, grinning. "Okay. I'll call you in the morning. What's
your number?"

And Blair had to work hard to keep his smile at that - until he said,
"I'm out and about a lot during the day. My cell number is - " and
Marc jotted it down on a napkin, tucked it into his pocket and picked
up his beer.

"Dress nice, okay?"

"Okay. Any reason?"

"Think I'll take you somewhere special. To celebrate."

"Oh? Celebrate what?"

Marc laughed and gave his shoulder a squeeze, "Why, our eyes meeting
across a crowded dance floor, of course. What else?"

And Blair just had to laugh because it was silly. Very, very silly -
and he was glad.

________________________________
 

It was late when he got back home. Keeping the noise down to a
minimum, Blair parked and grabbed his stuff from the car, closing the
door with a gentle push rather than a slam. Jim had been working a
lot of late nights recently and needed all the quiet he could get
when he was home.

With his keys in one hand, his bag in the other, he came around the
car and headed for the door - and stopped as he saw Jim come out
towards him, bulky coat warding off the winter's night.

"Hey, Chief. You just get in?" An easy smile, welcoming.

"Yeah, you going out?" Blair watched as Jim walked around him,
heading for the truck. "A bit late, isn't it?"

"Simon called. Salvatori was just found dead in his hotel room."

"Shit!" Blair blanched and took a short step forward. "You want me to
come with you?"

Jim unlocked the truck door, turning to gaze steadily at Blair, as
though looking him up and down. Blair couldn't read anything in that
gaze, half-shadowed by street lights. "No, it's okay, Chief. You get
some sleep. Have a good night?"

"Yeah," and Blair paused, biting his lip. This was not really the
best time to tell Jim - but he would have to. Tomorrow. Yeah, he'd do
it tomorrow, when Jim had slept and rested. "Look, are you sure you
don't want me to go with you. I'm okay, really."

"No, I'll be fine. Probably won't be more than a few hours." Jim gave
him an appeasing smile and got into the truck, winding the window
down. "By the way, I forgot to tell you - Vanetti's trial has been
put back. Got word this afternoon."

"Put back?" Blair frowned, not wanting to think about going back to
Vegas. "How long?"

"February, after the holidays."

"February? Hell, Jim, I don't know if I can make it then. I'll have
papers to mark and everything."

Jim simply shrugged, starting the motor. "Sorry, Chief, but you're a
witness, just like me. At least you'll have time to make
arrangements. I'll see you tomorrow. Get some sleep, will you?"

"Uh, sure." And Blair didn't say anything more because Jim was
driving away from him.
 

_____________________________
 

The mournful wail of ten-out-of-tune voices made Jim wince - but
didn't stop him from joining in. His workmates sang Happy Birthday
with all the gusto required for the situation - making the target,
Megan shake her head in utter despair. Predicably, that only made the
guys sing all the louder, finishing up with a particularly terrible
version of 'Why was she born…'.

He'd never known a musical cop in his entire life.

For some reason he was sure he'd never uncover, the restaurant
management didn't throw them out. Instead, the vast collection of
waiting staff joined in on the second chorus, emerging from darkened
doors with a massive cake bristling with candles. Way too many
candles as it happened - and of course, Megan noticed.

Raising her voice above the others as they laughed and applauded
themselves, as though their efforts deserved such an ovation, Megan
said, "I just want you all to know that you have my fervent and
undying hatred, okay?"

"All or nothing," Rafe bellowed back.

Laughing, Megan nodded, "Now - aren't there supposed to be some
expensively wrapped consolation prizes to be awarded tonight?"

Jim could only chuckle. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the
small package he'd deliberately hidden, passed it to Sandburg sitting
next to him who then placed it in front of Megan, along with others
that mysteriously appeared.

"Now, that's more like it!" Connor proceeded to unwrap her gifts with
delicate finesse, as though the exterior was more important than the
interior, engendering more shouts of impatience from her audience.
Blithely, she ignored the lot of them.

"Hey, Jim," Joel leaned across the table and refilled the wine
glasses he could reach. "How did it go today? That lead work out?"

"No," Jim shook his head. "Complete dead end. To be honest, I'm
starting to get a bad feeling about this case."

"How?"

"Well, Salvatori's been dead almost three weeks and so far, the only
real suspect we have couldn't have done it because he has no less
than five unimpeachable witnesses to him being out of Cascade at the
time of the murder."

"And none of them had anything to do with his case?"

"No, not one."

"But his death must have had something to do with it, surely. I mean,
we had a strong case, right? The DA was certain Salvatori would go
behind bars and stay there."

"No case is that strong," Blair murmured, making Joel frown.

"What?"

Blair roused himself, placing his arms on the table. "I said, no case
is that strong. We never did tie down the finance aspect. There was
never any guarantee Salvatori was going away. He had a pretty good
defence counsel. I'd say the odds were about fifty/fifty."

Not unkindly, Joel raised his eyebrows. "The voice of experience?"

Blair shrugged, "I'm an analyst, Joel, that's what the department
pays me for. "

Chuckling, Joel sat back, "Hey, no offence meant. But, honestly, I
thought they were paying you to keep Ellison here, out of trouble."

Jim watched as Blair's gaze darkened visibly. "Are you saying I'm not
doing my job?" Bristling instantly, Blair prepared for battle - and
Jim swooped in to ward off the attack.

"Hey, Joel, you know Blair had nothing to do with that. He wasn't
even there. The guy barely scratched me with the knife and there's
not even a scar left a week later - so let's just cool it, okay?"

Heeding the warning, Joel nodded, his frown confused rather than
angry. Exercising discretion, he sat back and turned his attention to
Rafe, who sat next to him.

For long minutes, Jim simply sat there, absorbing the noise of the
restaurant, the shreds of conversation from the table around him,
sipping his wine and picking at the remnants of his meal. He didn't
look at Blair.

"I'm sorry, Jim."

"Don't worry about it, Chief. Joel won't take it personally." He
offered this as an attempt at a bridge - though they both knew the
apology had nothing to do with Taggart.

There was another long silence, ended when Blair pulled in a huge
breath, sitting up, turning to face Jim. "Listen, I have to tell you
something."

"What?" Jim looked at him then, tried to read the confusing mix of
expressions which wound across Blair's face - and failing.

Blair's gaze flickered away for a second, as though he were gauging
the likelihood of anyone over-hearing him. Then he fixed Jim again
with that penetrating blue, a wall of defence. "I've… been seeing
someone."

Oh, this was good. So damned good. So perfect that he had to do this
here, in a fucking restaurant full of people where Jim couldn't say
anything or do anything or any fucking thing at all, just couldn't…

Move. Breathe.

Take his eyes away.

"His name's Marc."

And if he'd ever been able to cry, if he'd ever been the kind of man
who could release anything with floods of tears, he would have chosen
that particular moment. But here he was in prison. No words available
to him, no gesture, no expression, nothing that could in anyway
communicate how he was feeling. Because for him to say so, for Blair
to know, would mean they would cross that last line, actually
acknowledge in words what was happening, what had happened, what
would never happen. If they ever talked about it, if it ever left
that Vegas hotel room…

Blair didn't say anything more. His short words alone were not a
condemnation. No. He'd said nothing other than what he would have
said, a year ago, if things had been different.

And so Jim took the cue, forcing a single word from his constricted
throat, strangling it. "Good."

Blair studied him for a moment longer, a moment too long, then turned
away, leaving the subject, leaving the cold hovering between them,
letting it get colder. Letting it consume them.

_____________________________
 

As Blair's body slid to a halt against the wall, he instantly curled
into a ball, his hands covering his ears against the deafening
gunshots flying overhead. Wet snow and slush soaked into his jeans,
freezing his skin almost instantly. He was shaking so hard though, he
couldn't tell whether it was the cold or the fact that he'd nearly
got himself killed again.

"It's okay, Chief, I'm on my way!"

Hearing Jim's call only calmed him a little. He lifted his head,
tyring to make out anything in the darkness, some shape, something
large and solid he could hide behind. More gunfire had him scrambling
along the wall, pressing himself against it, hoping it would be
enough. Shouting and crashing, the noises now coming in waves,
sirens, the stench of gunpowder and gutters, a wailing scream as
someone fell, wounded, landing in the snow.

And then Jim was there, Rafe at his side and Blair realized the
noises had stopped. At least, the shooting had. He lifted his head
again and saw a string of ambulances pour into the street, other
flashing lights, uniformed cops herding crowds back from the
warehouse.

Something was burning. Flames leaping into the night, stinking of
something rotten, something decayed. Flashing weird yellow shadows
across everything.

"Damn it, Chief!" Jim bellowed, reaching down to put a hand under his
elbow, helping him up. "What the hell are you trying to do?"

"I'm okay, Jim!" Blair snapped back, his hands automatically trying
to brush clinging snow from his clothes. "I saw that guy coming up
behind you and…"

"And if Rafe hadn't shot him, you'd be dead now!" Jim's bellow cut
across the street, merged with the sirens.

"Come on, Jim," Rafe tried to calm him. "It's not like this is the
first time the kid has…"

But Jim wasn't listening. He towered over Blair, as though mere size
could intimidate him. "Christ, Sandburg, how many times have I told
you to stay in the damned truck?"

"You didn't say anything about staying in the truck, Jim, so don't
give me that."

"Oh, come on! You know I did!"

"You didn't! You didn't say a fucking word!"

Rafe stepped between them, a brave move, his gaze hard, his hands
raised in placation. "Jim - you didn't tell the kid anything. I was
there. Now back off."

Jim's gaze snapped to the other cop, his chin coming up, jaw
clenching.

And Blair wanted to hold him. Wanted to reach out and just hold him.
Hold him close. Hold it together. Hold it and not let go.

Jim spun on his heel and walked away.

"You okay, Sandburg?" Rafe was watching him, checking him over for
unseen injuries.

Blair let out a pent up breath, his gaze still on the distance, where
Jim was, where he wasn't. "Yeah, I'm fine. And Rafe?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

"Anytime."
_____________________________
 

"And so, there he was, without so much as a lap-lap on - but with a
dozen strings of beads around his neck - as the BBC camera crew
thrashed four hundred miles through the jungle to find him. It was
such a big moment, you see, that they had the camera on. Filmed the
whole damned thing."

Marc chuckled and ducked around Blair to take a pot off the stove.
"What did he say to them?"

"'Say one thing about Livingstone and I'll sue the lot of you for
invasion of privacy.'"

Blair was rewarded with a burst of laughter from Marc. "Jesus, you
anthropologists are a strange lot. You wouldn't catch me without my
CKs with a camera crew around."

"Well, I doubt Professor Conrad was planning such a tabloid
exposure." Blair grinned as Marc began to serve up the meal. "From
what I hear, he didn't have too much to fill the lens with."

"Blair, you're absolutely impossible!" Marc picked up a piece of
carrot, popped it into Blair's mouth and followed it with a soft
kiss. "Come on, let's eat before this gets cold."

Marc's apartment was overcrowded in the same way the loft was almost
bare. Virtually every wall was covered with tall ancient bookcases,
overstuffed with the oddest collection of literature Blair had seen
outside of his own. Everything from books on the gay movement to
journals on current mathematics. Poetry from Marlowe to Dickinson,
fiction from Hubbard to Tolstoy. Marc had admitted early on that he
hadn't read more than half his library - but he was working his way
through it, a kind of life's objective he was determined to achieve.

And now, there were a few tomes on basic anthropology there hadn't
been before.

Blair had instantly fallen in love with the place, the very first
time he'd walked in the door. Kind of fulfilled very scholarly
fantasy he'd ever had.

There was an upright piano along one wall, piled high with sheet
music covered in layers of dust. The first night he'd come here, he'd
insisted until Marc had agreed to play something. A haunting melody
Blair couldn't recall now, his only memory was that it had been
beautiful.

The large living area was devoid of any kind of dining table. Marc
had an office in his spare room. This area was left for practice and
rehearsals - and so was softened by large quantities of bulky
cushions, a coffee table and lots of rugs. Almost hippie-like.

They sat on the floor, putting plates on the table, grinning at each
other as they ate. Marc was a good cook, regularly producing meals of
various different eastern flavours, some mild, some spicy. All of
them an adventure. A lot like the man, himself.

"Hey," Marc said around a mouthful of rice. "Aren't you off next
week? To Vegas? I'm sure you said the trial was rescheduled for the
end of March."

Blair groaned. "Yeah, I did - except that it's been postponed -
again. I swear, Vanetti will die of old age before I get to testify."

"When is it now?"

"April 16 - allegedly. I'll believe it when I walk into the
courtroom."

Marc tilted his head on one side, a mischievous grin on his face.
"Well, I'm sorry, but I refuse to be sorry about it. Means I won't be
losing you for two weeks." He backed this up by taking Blair's hand,
squeezing it.

Blair studied him for a moment, placing his fork down. Slowly, he
brought Marc's hand to his lips, flicking his tongue over one finger.
"Some spilled sauce here, I think," he murmured softly, watching with
glee how Marc's eyes darted to his and down to his hand, how the
pupils dilated. Forgetting the meal for a moment, Blair took the
whole finger into his mouth, sucking just enough to make Marc start
to breathe heavily. Then, sure he had his audience captive, he crept
forward until he could take that mouth with his own, pushing Marc
back from the table.

Marc's arms caught him as they landed on the floor, held him as his
mouth devoured Blair's, moving his hips so that Blair would know just
how captive an audience he had. Blair could only laugh with delight.

"You're a cruel, hard man, Blair Sandburg," Marc managed after a
moment, bringing his hands up to cradle Blair's head. "The emphasis
being on…"

"Cruel?"

"Um, yeah. Exactly." He took another soft kiss then rolled them both
over, until Blair was his captive. He was silent a moment, then shook
his head slowly. "You know, I didn't think we'd last more than a
couple of weeks. And now it's been what? Four months?"

Blair nodded.

Again, Marc was silent, simply watching Blair. Then he said, "Will
you stay tonight?"

Blair tried not to frown - but failed. They'd had this conversation
too many times lately.

Again, Marc shook his head. "And it doesn't bother you? To go from my
bed, back to your loft with your man?"

"He's not my…" Blair said the words before he could stop himself.

"Yeah, I know, he's not your man. You keep saying that." Carefully,
Marc rolled off him and sat up, collecting the plates and taking them
back into the kitchen. Blair scrambled to his feet and followed him,
unwilling to leave this again, as they always did.

"Come on, Marc, talk to me. I need to know how you feel."

Marc shot a hard glance at him as he began to clear up, no violence
in his movements, no bitterness in his voice. "Why don't you just
have him and be done with it?"

"It's not that simple."

"No, that's right, it isn't. I keep forgetting. I keep thinking, for
weeks at a time that I might have some affect on you, that somewhere,
down the line, your poor heart might not be so broken, that you
might…"

Blair came up close, put a hand on the taller man's shoulder, "What?"

Marc slipped an arm around his waist, pulling him closer, but not
looking at him. "What would you say if I told you I was falling in
love with you?"

Totally unsurprised, Blair said nothing, making Marc finally look at
him.

"Would you say the same to me?"

The force of the soft-voiced question hit Blair like a blow to the
stomach. He almost flinched - and Marc saw it.

"You've never even told me his name, Blair. I don't have your home
phone number, I don't even know where you live. We've been together
four months. Sure, I knew what I was getting into at the beginning -
and believe me, I did a lot of hard thinking. I've never enjoyed
being the wall in a game of rebound - but hell, Blair, I really
wanted you. Doesn't that count for something?"

"Your wanting me counts for a lot," Blair murmured. "But… you know, I
don't talk about him, do I? I don't bring him up in conversation. I
don't say his name when we're making love. I like you wanting me.
You, Marc. I promise you, he's not in this room with us."

"No," Marc sighed, placing a hand over Blair's chest. "He's in *this*
room with us."

When Blair said nothing, Marc dropped his hand, leaning down for a
kiss, impressing himself in that simple gesture. "I really want this
to go somewhere, Blair. Somewhere permanent. I don't mean you don't
give me your full attention because you do, and believe me, knowing
you, that's extremely flattering. I love that attention. And no, you
don't talk about him and yes, I'm always the one who brings him up
but the truth is, Blair, sometimes I look at you and I know I'm not
getting all of you. Can you understand that?"

"Sure," Blair reached up and put his arms around Marc's neck. "But
you know already, I doubt I'm ever going to be able to give anyone
that much - and it's got nothing to do with him. Not in the way you
think, at least."

"Then…" Marc pulled in a breath. "Give me the next best thing. Move
in with me."

Blair recoiled as though he'd been slapped, so shocked by the
suggestion that he couldn't cover his reaction. "I… I…"

Leave Jim?

Fortunately, Marc had no real idea of what he was asking, so entirely
misread Blair's response. "We could clear out half the study, put a
desk in there for you. I've got a lot of junk in the lounge that
could easily be stored in the garage. Or we could get a bigger place
together. Somewhere near Ranier…"

Blair took another step back, his chest heaving, knowing he was close
to having a panic attack. He had to calm down, had to stop his…
terror… this consuming…

"Okay, okay," Marc held up his hands, turning away, his face closed
in. "Forget it. Forget I said anything."

And Blair couldn't do it. Couldn't do that do him. He took one step
forward and reached out, turning Marc and throwing himself into
strong arms that gripped him tightly. "God, I'm sorry!"

"No, sweetheart, I'm sorry," Marc whispered against his cheek. "I
don't want to push you but I… hate seeing the way he makes you so
damned miserable. You're not happy living there, in the same place as
him. You work with him and have to go home each night and maybe you
need to get away from him.  I know you keep telling me it's not that
simple but maybe it is. Maybe you can make it that simple. Please,
Blair, will you just think about it?"

"Of course." And as Blair uttered the first real lie he'd given Marc,
he bit his lip until it hurt. Then he covered Marc's face with
kisses, desperate now, desperate to fill that void, to rid himself of
the panic, the terror, the hate and anger. "Leave the dishes. Make
love to me."

And Marc pulled him closer, already removing layers of clothing and
as Blair closed his eyes, he knew he would stay the night.

_____________________________
 

It was 8.45am before Jim finally went out to his car. He knew he was
going to be late for work. Knew he didn't have an excuse. Knew Simon
would demand one. Knew the icy spring morning wouldn't reach the ice
in his gut. Knew Sandburg wasn't coming home.

Knew he was likely to kill somebody for that.

Oh, this was getting so easy now. Easy to fill each and every day
with absolute nothingness, as though life had become an endless zone,
his only waking moments were when Sandburg was with him. There was no
office, no university, no drinking friends, no life outside of work.
No Marc. No, Sandburg only existed now when he was close enough for
Jim to hear his heartbeat.

So he didn't exist now. Now, Jim was alone.

And Sandburg wasn't. He was doing exactly what he was supposed to do,
have a life. A real life. He'd adjusted and changed and gone on,
forgetting everything that had happened eight months ago. Forgetting
what it had meant.

What it had cost them.

He knew he was jealous. Almost thrived on it. Even though it was
bleeding him dry.

Didn't matter. There was almost nothing left to take.

He got into the truck and started the motor, pulling into the road
before he could stop himself glancing the other way in the hope that
he'd see the Volvo cruising towards him.

Got to get to work. Sandburg is due in this morning. He won't forget.

The windscreen fogged up quickly but he couldn't be bothered waiting
for the demister. Instead, he just opened the window wide and let the
cold air in. Didn't make any difference in the long run.

He wanted Blair to be happy. Really, he did. Honestly and sincerely.

So why couldn't he rid himself of the burning jealousy that rankled
within him, crushing such generous thoughts, sharpening his anger
until it was a gleaming blade within him? Blair had to be happy, or
the whole thing would have been for nothing. No sacrifice too small,
no job too big…

But Blair didn't seem to be happy. Not that Jim could really tell any
more. It wasn't like they spent any time together outside of work.
Certainly none alone. And they didn't talk, didn't even discuss the
latest Jags game. They kind of just kept passing each other, like
proverbial ships in the night, without navigation lights on at that.

And in those vague passings, Jim had seen the one thing that
terrified him more than anything. It was going. All of it. They had
almost nothing left now, nothing but regret.

_____________________________
 

The first thought Blair had when he woke up was for the shower. Marc
was already up, Blair could hear him in the kitchen. Without even
giving his body the chance to get used to life again, Blair rolled
out of bed and dashed into the bathroom. He scrubbed and scrubbed and
anguished over which shampoo smelled the least man-made. When he was
rinsing off, Marc called to him that coffee was ready.

Not bothering to shave, Blair dried off, cleaned his teeth and
rummaged around the bedroom for his clothes. By the time he got into
the kitchen, Marc had poured him a cup, put a plate of toast on the
bench and was reading the paper. Blair stopped and watched him for a
moment, a smile all over his face.

"What are you grinning at?" Marc asked without looking up, hiding his
own smile.

"If I say nothing, you'll make me pay, won't you?"

"Maybe."

Half-laughing, Blair just went with it, allowed the flow to pick him
up and carry him, hoping it knew where it was going. He reached out,
pulled a section of the newspaper out of Marc's hand and thrust it
under his nose.

Puzzled, Marc looked up. "What?"

"I think a house would be nice."

Marc's eyes widened as his mouth opened in surprise. "A house?"

"Yeah, a house. Doesn't have to be near Ranier. I don't mind
driving."

For a second, Marc didn't move - then he clamped his mouth shut,
ducking his head, trying to pretend he was capable of suppressing the
smile already invading his face.

"If a house is okay with you?" Blair continued, enjoying that
expression, enjoying the moment, the sudden freedom of it.

"Yeah," Marc sounded a little choked up. "A… house would be great."

Satisfied, Blair finally picked up his coffee and in the process, saw
the clock. "Shit!"

"What?"

"I'm gonna be late. Hell, he'll kill me!" He spilled his coffee in
his haste to put the cup down. He turned to find his bag and coat but
Marc was there, handing them to him, helping him get out the door in
a hurry. Blair was so frantic that it wasn't until he reached the car
that he realised he hadn't kissed Marc once this morning.

_____________________________

At least Sandburg had the decency to look grovellingly apologetic as
he rushed into the interview room, half an hour late. He would have
stammered some kind of excuse - but Simon stopped him, a hand raised,
head inclined in deference to the visiting Arizona cops. Some grim
sliver of satisfaction made Jim pull up a chair for him, made him
take his bag and coat - even if he did then just cast them towards an
empty corner.

Then Jim spent the next two hours making no effort to forget about
where Blair had been and what he'd been doing to make him late. It
didn't require effort. It came quite easily.

For two hours both he and Sandburg answered questions about Vanetti,
covering aspects they'd gone over a dozen times before in the lead up
to the trial - now postponed until April 16. But they also went over
other things and in the process, Jim developed an idea of why the
case was still put off. He tried once to question but the Arizona
guys gave him nothing, didn't want his or Blair's testimony to become
tainted. Seemed they had some other fish they wanted to fry and
thought he and Sandburg might provide a little kindling.

In the end however, he had no idea how useful they'd been as, once
done, the two men thanked Simon and left. Relieved that it was over,
and nursing something of a headache, Jim rose and went back to the
bull-pen to find Simon waiting for him.

"Interesting little scene in there."

"Which one?"

Simon's glance was sharp and hard, "Don't play cute with me, Ellison.
And stop treating your partner like he was a cancerous growth on the
side of your face. I'm talking about Vanetti."

Jim ignored the jibe and raised his eyebrows, falling into his seat,
ignoring Blair as he trudged towards them. "They tell you anything?
What they're looking for?"

"As if I would tell you. How long have you been a cop, Jim?" Simon
turned for his office, "And I don't want to remind you about those
reports a third time. My desk, by 1pm."

"I hate paperwork," Jim breathed, to no one in particular.

Blair sank into his chair, holding his coat and bag between his
knees. He stared at the ground for a minute, then looked up, as
though he'd only just remembered Jim was there. "I'm sorry I was
late."

Something in the forlorn gaze held Jim in a vice, from which he could
not release himself.

"Jim," Blair continued, not shifting his gaze, dropping his voice to
keep his words private. "We need to talk."

"About?"

Blair swallowed, "You know… about… Marc."

And Jim was free again, sitting up straight, turning to the reports,
pulling the first one he reached, flipping it open.

Blair's voice came to him, sentinel soft, the way he used to - and
Jim hated him for that betrayal. "Please, Jim, we have to talk. We
can't put it off any longer."

Jim turned the pages savagely, holding his pencil so hard it snapped.

"I'd… I'd like you to meet him."

"NO!"

Jim didn't even realize he'd yelled until a voice from across the
room complained. Then he looked up, frowning before turning at last,
to Sandburg. For a full minute, he just let his eyes gaze on that
face, the one he'd held and loved and cherished for such a short,
tiny infinitesimal spec of time, the face that he wanted in his life
every day, lying there on his pillow when he woke and when he slept,
soothing and calming him when he raged inside, smiling and laughing
at him when he deserved it, giving to him as it had always done,
simply giving without question, without cause.

Slowly, Jim shook his head, his voice coming out leaden. "Never."

Never. Like never have Blair. Like never do anything to destroy the
unique bond they shared. Never hurt him. Never have him, never touch
him, never love him. Never again.

The ultimate absolute.

Blair got to his feet and pulled on his coat. "I'm sorry, Jim, but I
think this is as close as I want to get to the Grand Canyon."

He turned to leave, but Simon yelled and that broke the freeze they
were trapped in.

"Ellison, Sandburg! My office. Now!"

And idly, Jim wondered if the captain ever bothered talking in real
sentences.

_____________________________
 

They had a lead. On Salvatori's murder. An ex-lover had turned up
dead, on the other side of the city. Six months of nothing and then
this?

Blair took a look around the seedy suburb as he climbed out of the
truck. The cold hit him immediately and he suppressed the desire to
complain about it. After all, it was spring, wasn't it? Summer would
be along soon. Summer and sunshine and warmth. Couldn't be that far
away, could it?

Jim was already at the stairs, taking them two at a time, flashing
his badge at the uniforms as he went by. Blair followed, hoping the
exercise would warm him up a little. He got to the top of the stairs
and ducked inside.

The first room he found was a kitchen where another uniform nodded at
him, "Morning, Professor."

"Hey, Clive. Howy're doing?"

"Fine, fine. He's in there."

Blair nodded and walked through into a bigger room, automatically
looking around for Jim, dodging the forensics team as they cleared
up. He found what he was looking for and moved forward, his gaze
dropping to the point of focus for everyone in the room…

And suddenly he couldn't breathe.

The body was hideous, rotting, carved up like, like… Oh, shit!

With desperate futility, he spun around, dashing for somewhere safe,
knowing his guts were going to do it to him again…

He made it as far as the kitchen where the sink caught the worst of
it. Not that he'd had breakfast or anything. Didn't matter.

"Hey, Professor, take it easy."

A hand on his back, soothing, voice speaking softly. He was grateful
for that. Intensely grateful.

Slowly, he regained himself, rinsing his mouth out with water as a
damp cloth was pressed into his hands.

"You okay, Prof?"

"Yeah," he managed, "Thanks, Clive. I'm fine now. Just a bit of a
shock. No warning."

"Sorry about that. I shoulda said something. Forgot you do that."

"It's okay. Kinda forgot, myself, you know?"

"Yeah."

Blair took in another breath and felt his stomach steady.
Nonetheless, he didn't go back into the room until he saw the coroner
guys carry out a clean white plastic bag. Only then did he venture
back into the nightmare space.

Jim wasn't there. Blair could see him through into the bedroom.
Determined, Blair went in after him, stood there a moment, watching
the other man wander about the place, picking things up, looking at
them before putting them back down.

"Find anything?"

"Not yet. Still looking."

"Uh huh." Blair pushed his hands into his pockets, feeling the cold
even more now. "So how does this guy tie in with Salvatori. They were
lovers?"

"About three years ago. This guy, Feleni, used to run cash for
Salvatori."

"But we never found any record of a Feleni."

"Exactly. There wouldn't have been any connection except for the fact
that the uniforms found an address book when they were trying to ID
the body. Had Salvatori's name in there with his previous five
addresses. Phone numbers, cell, office, the lot. And this diary."

Jim tossed him a slim volume, the year printed in fading gold on the
outside.

"Marks dates and times they met, places even. There are records here,
I can feel it, Chief. Anybody so meticulous would have kept records."

"And that's why Feleni was murdered - and maybe Salvatori, too?"

"Seems likely." Jim came to a halt at the window, his fingers resting
lightly on the dirty sill, his gaze pasting through the fine net
curtain, his back to Blair. "I really want to nail this case. I'm so
sick of it hanging over us. It's been around as long as you have and
we're still no closer to resolution than we were the day you walked
into that hospital room."

Taking a deep breath, Blair walked up behind him, pausing close,
keeping his voice quiet. "Marc has asked me to move in with him."

Jim nodded, "I guessed it was something like that. When you didn't
come home last night."

And Blair couldn't bring himself to ask if Jim was okay with it.
Couldn't bring himself to get that close. Couldn't go anywhere near
it. Even though Jim's silence sliced him in two.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, knowing he was going to cry if he stayed
there much longer, knowing he was going to fall apart, knowing it was
too late to stop any of it. "I'm so sorry, Jim. Sorry we didn't see
what a terrible mistake it was going to be. Sorry we've got so bad.
Sorry we can never talk about it, never understand it. We were trying
to protect what we had and instead, we've just destroyed it. I'm so
sorry."

And that was it. He literally couldn't stand there any longer. When
Jim said nothing, didn't even move, nod, shake his head - nothing,
Blair had to go. He turned and left the room, swallowing the
destruction deep inside, waving a thank you to Clive and going
outside. Down the stairs, along the street, around a corner, further
away, walking and walking, just keep going, keep going away, further
away.

It began to rain. He kept walking. His coat took the worst of it to
begin with, but soon he was soaked to the skin. His feet took him
towards Marc's place but he turned off before he could so much as see
the building. The streets emptied of pedestrians and still he kept
going, on and on until at last, he could see Ranier, in the distance,
familiar lines on familiar buildings. On and on until he got there,
climbing stairs, freezing cold, dark with heavy clouds and into his
office.

Numb and frozen, he stood there.

The phone was ringing. Like an automaton, he picked it up, held it to
his ear.

"Sandburg?"

"Yeah?"

"Sandburg, are you alright?"

"What?"

"Is something wrong?"

He knew the voice, but it took a moment for him to call up the name.
"Captain, no, nothing's wrong. Why?"

"You just sound really odd. But if you're okay…"

"Fine. What's up?"

"Well, I just thought you might be able to shed some light on what
happened to Jim."

Blair shunted out of his fog, his heart pounding. "What's happened to
Jim?"

"He's okay - now. Look, I thought you went to the Feleni place with
him."

"I did. Captain, tell me what happened!"

"He zoned, Sandburg. At Feleni's. Clive Schenker found him standing
in the bedroom by the window half an hour after you left. Couldn't
get him to respond."

"Ohmygod!" Knees suddenly weak, Blair sank onto a chair, his stomach
churning, head dizzy.

"He's okay now. Came out of it about five minutes after I got there.
What the hell happened?"

"Nothing…" Blair was in trouble. He was scrambling. For. Something.
For. A. Reason.

Shitgodnodon'tdothistomeJesusJimIloveyouIloveyou…

"Sandburg, how the hell could nothing have happened! The man went
into a zone for more than an hour. He won't talk about it but it must
have started while you were there. How could you not…"

Notice, Sandburg! How could you not notice the man was zoning? You
love him more than your own life! How could you? How could you?

"… don't understand exactly what you did but I managed to get him out
of it without any trouble. No real harm done except the boys from
uniform got a little spooked. Sandburg? You still there?"

How could you!

Blair snapped to his feet. "Yes, Simon, I'm still here." Not that it
makes a difference. Could be in Zambia for the good it would do.
"Yeah. Is he home now?"

"I just took him back to the loft. Been trying to ring you for the
last couple of hours. Where the hell have you been?"

"Nowhere, Captain. Absolutely nowhere. Look, I'd better go and make
sure Jim's okay."

A pause. "Um… look, I think maybe you should wait a bit, okay? Jim's
alright, I just checked on him, myself. He sounded fine. I just don't
think you should go back home at the moment. Do you…"

"What?"

"Well, if you have somewhere else you can crash the night, I'd do it.
You're seeing someone, aren't you? Could you perhaps stay with her?"

"Him."

"Oh, shit, Sandburg, you're not telling me…"

And Blair's voice came out so hard, he shocked himself. "Don't go
there, Simon. Don't even think about going there. Look, I'm soaked to
the skin. I have to get out of these clothes before I get pneumonia.
Don't worry, I won't go anywhere near the loft. I'll call you in the
morning to see how Jim is."

He could hear Simon puffing on a cigar, thinking in gestures. But
little of it came out in words. "Right. Call me in the morning. And
don't worry about Jim. I'll make sure he's okay."

Blair put the phone down with an amazing gentleness. Calmly, he
turned to his locker and pulled out a pair of old sweats he kept
there for emergencies. With no thought at all, he headed down to the
gym, showered, dressed, dried his hair then went back to his office
and sat behind the desk. There, on his left, was the stack of paper,
drafts of his dissertation, old and new. He'd been sorting through
them yesterday, culling stuff he didn't need, filing what he did. In
one week, he had a review board meeting. In three months, the
dissertation was supposed to be completed. This next review was to go
over his final draft format.

He bent down and pulled the bin to the edge of the desk. Then, his
hand firmly on the stack of paper, he simply pushed and watched the
whole lot fall into the trash. Where it belonged.

Then, without pausing, he pulled his laptop close, switched it on,
waited for it to load and opened a new file. The final chapter. The
last, final chapter. The one he'd never expected to write, never once
in all the last three years. The chapter where he admitted that
despite three years of working closely with his main subject study,
he, as guide, had learned absolutely nothing of value. Nothing that
meant anything except that he had failed his sentinel.

_____________________________
 

The morning was grey when Blair left his office. Grey and dry. His
coat had survived his excursion into Noah-land and he did up the
buttons as he got to his car. Keeping careful track of the traffic,
he drove the short distance required, found a park and walked along
the pavement.

It was a nice street. Trees just budding with new leaves,
anticipating the summer just as much as he was. Yeah, a very nice
street.

Marc was waiting for him, a smile on his face, hand raised with keys
jangling in the air. "Didn't think I'd find something so nice, so
quickly - but I rang them yesterday after you left and they want a
quick decision. Have you got time to look around?"

"Sure." Blair nodded, "Let's go in."

Marc contained his excitement as he went up the front steps of a
small house. He opened the door and let Blair go in first. It was a
little dark. Not too dark for sentinel eyes, of course. Jim would
have had no problem finding if there were cracks in the ceiling, damp
creeping up the walls. But for Blair, who was pretty much blind, it
seemed as nice as it could be.

He walked from the entrance hall through into the lounge area, his
shoes clattering on bare floorboards. There'd been some renovations
done to the old building, revealing two tall roof supports and a red
brick wall surrounding the fireplace.

Blair smiled at it. Like it was an old friend.

"There's two bedrooms upstairs," Marc said evenly, "and another tiny
thing out past the kitchen. The garden's not much but that can be
fixed."

Blair shook his head at the fireplace and turned to look up at the
ceiling, glance out the windows. The place was nice. Very nice. His
things would look great in here, gathered together with Marc's
massive book collection. The rugs would fit fine on the floor, maybe
a lounge there by that wall, close to the fireplace. Something in a
red, to match the brick.

Very nice indeed.

"Where were you last night?"

"At work."

"The station or Ranier?"

Blair wandered through to cast an eye over the kitchen. "My office."

"I tried calling you but…"

"I switched my cell off. Had a lot of work to catch up on."

Back out in the living room, Blair cast one more look around. One
last look. "I can't do this, you know?"

He could hear the frown in Marc's voice but didn't want to see it.
"Do what?"

"This." Blair raised his arms, indicating the house, them,
everything. "Us. This. I can't live with you. I can't see you any
more."

Marc strode up to him, put solid hands on his shoulders, forcing his
gaze up to meet hard brown eyes, "You do this for a living? Breaking
hearts?"

"I'm sorry."

"Bullshit! It's him, isn't it? Your guy? Where were you last night?"

"I told you, at work. I slept on the floor of my office. And no, it's
got nothing to do with Jim."

"Jim? Jim? You tell me his name, now, in the same breath you tell me
it's all over? Jesus Christ, Blair!"

And Blair dropped his voice, took the hands from his shoulders, held
them between his own, speaking softly, gently, "You knew all along
this was going to happen. That's why you kept reminding me, so you
wouldn't lose track. So you were guarded against this."

"Didn't stop me falling in love with you!"

"No - but I never asked you to. Never really… wanted that. You knew
all of this that first night we sat in the bar. You were clever and
perceptive enough to notice how bad I hurt, smart enough to be direct
about it from the start. I've never hidden from you how I feel about
him. Please, don't be any more angry than you have to be. You'll heal
quicker that way."

Marc looked away then, pulling in a breath, holding it, letting it
out. "Okay, go, then. Just do it. Go back to him. It's what you
wanted all along."

"Marc, look at me." When finally that gaze met his once more, Blair
continued, "This has nothing to do with Jim. This has to do with you
and me. We've had a lot of fun and I really did enjoy it - but… we're
not cut out for each other, really we're not. We're too alike. Too…
easy. I push you and you don't push back. And you've never pushed me
at all. It's not right, it's not good and if I moved in with you, in
six months, I'd be moving back out again. You know that as well as I
do."

Shaking his head, Marc stepped back, let go Blair's hands and turned
away. "Just get the hell out of here!"

And Blair turned then, walked to the door. It stood wide open before
him, a thin grey sky beckoning him onwards. He began to walk out -
and only at the last second did he cast a glance back the way he'd
come - to find Marc standing there, watching him go.

_____________________________
 

It had taken the greatest force of discipline Jim had ever exercised
to stop himself from listening. Instead, he kept his place, leaning
against a van parked down the street, keeping watch on the house
through the rear mirror, his presence out of sight.

He watched them go in and he waited. And not too long after, he
watched Blair come back out. Alone.

Then he listened to the unique sounds of Blair's car start up, drive
off. Only when he was sure it wasn't coming back this way, did he
finally move from his place. He crossed the road and approached the
house in time to see the other man come out, shut and lock the door
behind him. Unaware that he was being observed, the man sat down on
the bottom step, put his head in his hands and stayed there.

Jim paused at the gate, not needing to go further. "You're Marc?"

The young man started and looked up, eyes wide for a moment. Then
quickly he scrambled to his feet. "It's… you're him, aren't you.
Jim?"

>From the look on Marc's face, Jim didn't bother to confirm the
assumption. "Where's Blair gone?"

"How the hell should I know?" Marc came down the short path a way,
stopping and just staring at Jim. "Jesus - have you any idea how much
alike we are? God, we're even the same height! Fuck this!"

"Look…"

"Oh, man, just leave me the fuck alone. This is exactly what I wasn't
looking for. Blair's gone, okay? He's left me. We've just broken up
so I don't want to hear whatever it is you've got to say to me. Hell,
this just isn't my day."

Frowning, Jim shook his head, "He's left you?"

"Yeah, just now. Won't be coming back, won't be moving in. Got the
picture?"

"Why?"

"Oh, fuck off!" Marc pushed past him then, began stalking off to his
car. Before Jim could move however, he paused and turned. "Look, I
just need to know one thing. Why can't you love him?"

For long seconds, Jim couldn't form a response. Then, without
replying, he simply turned and headed for the truck.

_____________________________
 

How the hours ticked by, Jim never really knew. He finished one
report after another, hoping for some desperately horrible major
crime to be committed just so he could get out of this place. Away
from these walls, away from Salvatori and Feleni, away from murders
that wouldn't solve and from captain's eyes that wouldn't leave him.
Away from questions and paper, humming computers and harsh
fluorescent lights. Just the fuck away.

He looked at his watch again, for the tenth time in an hour. He could
go home soon. Hell, he could go home now. But home wasn't home any
more so what was the point?

Neither was work - so what was the point there?

What was the point to any of it?

Letting out his hundredth sigh for the day, he lifted the pile of
finished files from one side of his desk and stood to put them on the
trolley.

And that's when he saw Blair. Standing at the door to the bullpen,
his gaze on Jim, ignoring the greetings thrown in his direction. It
had been a quiet day all round, only a few people about.

Even so, Jim hadn't noticed that familiar heartbeat enter the
building, come up the lift. Hadn't noticed a thing.

And now Blair stood there, like an ancient Greek statue, neither in
nor out of Jim's space, but treading on a line between them,
unwilling to commit. Cool blue eyes watched him as though for the
first time, the palest of frowns creasing the brow, hair pulled back
revealing a steady jaw.

He was wearing different clothes to this morning, so he'd been at the
loft some time today. That was the only other thing Jim noticed
before Blair moved and came slowly towards him.

After what seemed like hours, Blair finally reached his desk. Jim
sensed he had something in his hand but for the life of him, he
couldn't break that gaze, so steady, so complete it frightened him.

Blair moved again, placing something on the desk before him. He
glanced down at it, forcing Jim to do the same. It was small, square,
leather and Jim recognized it immediately. Blair's consultant ID.

Ice flashed through him and he looked up. Once more his gaze locked
with Blair's, knowing so much and knowing so very damned little. Too
little. Almost nothing. Only enough to make him speak. One single
question. Letting it kill him as he did.

"How long will you need?"

Blair seemed to be struggling - then let out a breath. "A couple of
hours. Most of it's done already. Just a few more boxes and that's
it."

"Yeah. Okay. A couple of hours."

And then there was silence again. No movement. Nothing.

Emptiness had never weighed this much before, pressing down on Jim,
making him work hard just to stay alive. But it was like there wasn't
anything else, just him and Blair, watching each other, saying
goodbye without uttering a word.

"I love you." Blair's whisper broke the silence, soft and deadly,
invisible to the real world. Eyes clouded for a second - and then he
was walking away, leaving.

Gone.

_____________________________
 

The banging went on and on, louder and louder until it was joined
with yelling, fierce and angry.

"Damn it, Jim open this door or I will personally kick it down!" Bang
bang bang, kick kick. "Jim! This is not a request. It's an order. I
have a sledge-hammer with me so you've got five seconds to open this
door before you lose it forever! Damn you, Ellison! Open this door.
NOW!!!"

"Okay, okay," Jim swung unsteadily from the couch and ambled towards
the door, stepping on something as he went. He glanced down and
noticed it was last night's pizza. Squashed.

"Jim!"

He left the pizza where it was, largely because he heard the first
swing of the threatened hammer. He undid one lock after another and
stepped back before opening the door, just in case.

Simon stood there, a blazing tower of fury, arms raised, ready to
force entry, cigar clamped firmly between his teeth. "You're gonna
kill me one, day, Ellison and I swear, you won't even bat an eyelid."

"Oh, come on, Simon, it's not that bad." And to back it up, Jim gave
him his best smile - at least, he hoped it was his best smile.
Without a mirror, it was impossible to tell.

Slowly, Simon lowered the hammer and pushed passed Jim into the loft.
"Not that bad? I've been calling you for the last week. Twice you
bothered to pick up the phone to tell me to fuck off. The rest of the
time you ignored me. You've had Connor, Rafe, H and Taggart and half
the bloody force down here one time or another, all trying to get you
to open that damned door and you remain oblivious to the lot. I've
had to assign all your cases elsewhere because the DA wants something
done with the Salvatori matter and isn't interested when I tell him
my best detective has just told me to fuck off."

"You told him I said that?" Jim let out a giggle and pushed the door
closed. "How did he take it?"

"Are you drunk?" Simon paused in his tirade to peer closely at Jim,
staring in his eyes. "Christ, you look like shit. Where's Sandburg?"

"Dunno. Somewhere. Not here. Bring any food with you? I'm hungry."

"Are you drunk?"

Jim shuffled around him. "Nah. Haven't had a thing to drink in, oh,
um, maybe an hour. Why, wanna beer?"

"No, I don't want a beer!"

"Only I haven't got any. Rang an order through just before you
started making all that racket. Should be here soon but it's not
always cold. I hate it when they don't deliver cold beer. Come and
look, Simon."

When Simon didn't move, Jim felt it necessary to grab his sleeve. The
cop wasn't much interested but Jim persisted, tugging with just
enough force to get him to move. "Come on, it's good. Really." Jim
tried to fire a little enthusiasm in his boss and eventually, Simon
went with him. Smiling now, Jim brought him to the door of the
downstairs bedroom and waved his arm inside, displaying proudly the
new décor.

"Like it?"

"Jesus, Jim, what have you done?"

Jim frowned. Gazing around the small space, looking for something
he'd missed. There was nothing there that he could see, no stick of
furniture, no floor covering, no curtains, no paint on the walls.
He'd even managed to remove not only the light fittings, but the
wires as well - all without electrocuting himself. He'd gone over the
room in almost microscopic detail only that morning. He was sure he'd
removed every single spec of matter Blair might have touched in three
years. How could he have missed something?

Simon was shaking his head. Jim couldn't understand it. Hadn't he
done a good job? Not that it wasn't a little typical of his captain
not to notice his hard work, but this was an extra special effort.
Surely it deserved at least some recognition.

"So you don't like it?"

Simon turned and faced him, saying nothing for a second. Then he
nodded, "Yes, it looks good, Jim. Now come on and sit down. I need to
talk to you."

"Okay."

Happy now, Jim turned and headed back to the couch, carefully kicking
away last night's - no - the night before's pizza, so his captain
wouldn't have to step in it. He flopped down and stuck his feet on
the table, dislodging three empty bottles which clattered to the
floor. "Oh, don't worry about those. They're empty. Go on, Captain,
sit, sit."

Simon took the chair, pushing a wad of newspapers off before he sat.
"Listen, Jim…"

"Do you know anything about anthropology?"

"What? No, not much. Why?"

"Good. Just thought I was going to get a lecture, that's all. They
usually start with the words 'I need to talk to you'. Not always of
course. Sometimes they start with, 'Hey, man, that is so not the
case.' Or, on a really good day, the lecture begins with the answer
to a simple question like, 'Yeah, thanks, Jim, I'd love a cup of
coffee and hey, man, did you know that coffee originally…' Actually,
there's about a dozen others I could entertain you with - but of
course, without the backup material, it just doesn't work, does it?"

"No. Jim… I'd like you to see a doctor."

"Nah. Don't like them much. Besides, I'm not injured and you know
they always want to give me drugs that muck up my senses. Don't
worry, Simon, I'm not going mad. Actually, I feel better than I have
all year so there's no need for a doctor is there?"

"Still, I'd like you to see…"

"Damn, where's that delivery? I'm thirsty. Hey, Captain, fancy a
pizza? They deliver real quick."

"Why? You don't seem to be eating them."

Jim raised his eyebrows and glanced around. "Yeah, well, they were
cold by the time I wanted to eat them and I don't know about you, but
I hate cold pizza. Blair says it tastes good with mayonnaise but he
never lets me eat that much fat in one meal. Actually, Blair says
that there's the same amount of fat in two slices of pizza than a
whole normal meal."

"Where is he?"

"Dunno. Well? Do want a pizza or not?"

Simon just stared at him and, a trifle annoyed now, Jim just sat
back, "Okay, suit yourself. No pizza."

"Jim, I need you to tell me where Sandburg is."

"I don't know why you keep talking about him. He doesn't live here
any more."

"I can see that."

"And I've already said a hundred times, I don't know where he is."

"That's the point, nobody does. He resigned from Ranier, took his
dissertation with him. Didn't leave a forwarding address. I need to
find him - today."

"Well, what are you waiting for? Go, go. I can drink on my own. Come
back later and we'll have that pizza."

"Forget the fucking pizza, Jim!" Simon stormed up. Without preamble,
he grabbed Jim's shirt and hauled him to his feet. "I need to find
Sandburg! And I need you to pull yourself together! Don't make me use
violence to do it."

"Hey, Simon, what's your problem?"

Simon was so close, Jim's nose was instantly full of cigar breath and
he turned away, wrinkling his face up.

"You two are due in Vegas in three days - or had you forgotten?
You're to testify to put that bastard Vanetti behind bars. Remember?
Almost a year ago to the day, you and Sandburg witnessed the murder
of a fifteen year-old girl and Vanetti was holding the knife. We're
going to put him away and you're going to go to Vegas and help do it.
Now I need to find Sandburg and make sure he gets there and you," he
gave Jim a shake, "are going to help me find him."

"Okay, okay. I can do that."

Simon let him go. "So you do know where he is?"

"Aw, hell, Simon, forget Sandburg. He's gone, I told you. No, I'll go
to Vegas. I'll testify. It's not a problem. Just point me in the
right direction. Glad you reminded me. Knew I had something in my
diary this week but I haven't seen it since Blair left me and now I
can't find… can't find…"

Jim landed on his knees without any idea how he got there.

Simon met him down there, his voice nice and quiet, just the way Jim
preferred it. "What can't you find, Jim?"

"Anything. He just moved it out with him. Sentinel supposed to have a
guide but I lost mine." Jim took in a breath. "Simon?"

"Yes?"

"Why are you crying?"

"I'm not crying, Jim."

"Don't worry. I'll shape up. I promise. I'll be able to testify."

Simon's voice sounded like sticky molasses. "Of course you will.
You'll do fine."

"Only I'll need a bit of help is all. Just thought I'd tell you. I
know you can't read my mind. Blair always did that for me. That was
part of it."

"Part of what?"

"The thing. You know? What we had. Before…"

"Before he left?"

Jim had to shake his head to get his point across. "No, way before
that. Before we went to Vegas, to identify Vanetti. It was good then.
I mean, we were in love and we knew that but we never did anything
about it, you know, because it would have been a… dis… a distr…"

"Distraction?"

"Tha's right. Hey, you're not as drunk as I thought you were."

Simon smiled at him. A nice smile and Jim appreciated it, would have
said so if he thought he could get the word out. "A distraction from
what, Jim?"

"The bond. You know, sentinel and guide, me and Blair."

Simon settled on the ground before him, pulled out his cell and
pressed a button. Quietly, he gave orders and Jim only listened to a
few words. Something about coffee and food and clothes from his
apartment. He could hear Connor's voice but didn't bother about what
she said. She was a good girl. She'd follow orders.

Eventually, Simon put the phone away and turned back to Jim. "Tell me
about the bond."

"Nothing to tell." Jim shrugged. "S'all gone now." Jim was tired.
Wanted to close his eyes and go to sleep. But that would be rude with
Simon here and all.

"Okay, tell me how it used to be. Before Vegas." Simon put his arm
under Jim's elbow. "Come on, lie down on the couch and get
comfortable."

"That's what it was like." Jim nodded, doing as he was told. He'd
help me with my senses and I told him what was happening. Like you
know I'm tired. Like he knew what I needed, sometimes before I did.
Like I always knew where he was if he was around. Like if he needed
something, I didn't have to think much about it, I knew. If he wanted
some coffee while he worked, I'd be making it before I noticed his
cup was empty. It jus happened that way. And if I was hurting he'd
know what to say to me, how to make it right. Knew how t'make me say
the words, made 'em make sense.

Jim stretched out and closed his eyes. "Blair was so sad." A light
humming sigh came out of him and he wondered if he should try a bit
of singing - but he was too tired. Really way too tired. "Everything
made sense. I could be a sentinel 'cause Blair was my guide."

He felt a blanket being drawn over him, and he sighed, rolling onto
his side. "But we threw it all away."

Now the sentinel has no guide, and the guide has no sentinel.

"Go to sleep, Jim. I'll be here when you wake up."

No guide, no sentinel. No nothing.

_____________________________
 

As Simon heard another car drive up, he headed towards the door,
opening it softly, not to disturb Jim. The man had been out for an
hour already and hopefully would stay that way for a few more yet.

He heard the lift rumble and waited for the door to open. Connor and
Rafe emerged, carrying bags of things. He took Rafe's share but
remained in the doorway. "Thanks, Rafe. You go back to the station
now."

"You sure, Captain? I mean…"

"Just go. Jim will be okay - and the fewer who know about this the
better."

Rafe nodded, "Okay, sir. I understand." He caught the lift before it
closed and a moment later, Simon was alone with Connor in the hall.

"Look, I just want to say this once, okay?"

"What?"

"You don't talk about this to anyone but me. Not to Jim, not
Sandburg, not even to Rafe. A man's dignity is a precious thing,
Connor and Jim's already been through enough - and there's more to
come when he sobers up."

Connor nodded, "Don't worry about it, Captain. She'll be right."

So Simon took her in and noted with satisfaction how she made no
comment about the mess - even though Simon had spent the last hour
trying to clean some of it up.

They worked quietly, between them, getting the place back into some
kind of shape so that it was at least tidy if not clean. Not Jim
Ellison type clean, anyway. Then, as Simon took the trash downstairs,
Connor began work on a meal, brewing up a large quantity of coffee.

It was almost seven pm by the time they were done. The nights were
drawing out longer but not so long that they didn't have to put any
lights on. When Simon finished his share of the work, could smell
something good from the oven, he wandered over to where Connor stood
by the door of Sandburg's old room.

"He's really done it, hasn't he?"

"Done what?" Simon peered over her shoulder but the room only made
him uncomfortable.

"Killed Sandy off."

"You don't mean that literally, I hope?"

"No, of course not. What I mean is, he's acting like Sandy's dead -
not just gone. Jim's in mourning."

"No kidding," Simon replied dryly. Maybe he could afford a few
minutes on the balcony, actually light up the cigar he'd been chewing
since he got here.

"Are you going to tell me what happened?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"Captain," Connor turned to look at him. "I'm a human being, too, you
know. I care about these guys. We all do."

"So, what do you think happened?"

To that, Connor only shook her head, turning away from the room.
"'That which does not kill us, makes us stronger.'"

"Yeah, well maybe you should try telling Jim that."

"He knows already, Captain. That's what this is about."

_____________________________
 

Simon had his cigar and finished just as Connor was bringing the food
out of the oven. He hadn't asked her to cook - but was glad she'd
offered. He turned to head back inside in time to see Jim roll
himself off the couch. Without a word to either of them, he trudged
through to the bathroom and the sound of running water filled the
silence for a while.

Connor served up for all of them, putting plates on the table. Jim
finally emerged from the bathroom showered, still unshaven but
looking a little less like something the cat had dragged in. With
little more than a grunt, he took a seat at the table, regarding the
plate of food as a man on the executioner's block would view the axe.

"Jim…"

"Yeah, I know, I have to eat. I just need to take my time, okay?"

"Okay."

So they ate in silence. Simon and Connor finished long before Jim.
Connor stayed out the way, cleaning up, washing dishes. After a
minute, Simon joined her in the kitchen - less because he wanted to
help and more because he didn't want Jim thinking he was being
watched.

After another ten minutes, Jim brought his plate in, stuck it in the
sink and rubbed his hands over his face. Then he leaned back against
the counter and folded his arms, his gaze on the floor about ten
paces away. "Have you tried Naomi's number?"

"Twice. Enough to worry her," Simon replied.

"Well, don't call her again so she thinks she has to fly in. Only
call her if we find out something bad has happened, okay?"

"Sure."

Jim paused a minute, obviously thinking, "He has a friend in New
York, Ruth I think her name is. Don't know her last name but she
works at the Met. At least, she did last September."

"I'll put in a call."

"How long's he been gone?"

Simon threw a glance of warning at Connor before replying, "Ten
days."

"Well, that's enough time for him to get to Calgary - assuming his
car could make it that far. A couple of guys he went to college with
own a bookshop there. He's kept in touch."

"Names?"

"One's Phil - but the shop's called Mackie's. He used to order
history texts from them. I saw the packaging a few times. Oh, and you
could try the Elliott Bay Bookshop in Seattle. He'd ordered something
really important from them a few weeks ago. I heard him. He might
still think it's important enough to call them, change the delivery
address."

"Good idea. Connor?"

"Getting it all down, Captain."

Turning back to Jim, Simon continued, "What about here, in Cascade?
You must know a few people he would go to? I… er… understand he was
seeing a guy?"

"He's not in Cascade, Simon." Jim looked up at this, a dead finality
in his eyes. "I know. He's not here."

"Well," Simon shrugged, "maybe one of them knows where he went."

But Jim was shaking his head. "Simon, he's lived here for upwards of
three years, worked with us almost that whole time. Don't you think
he's learned by now how to avoid us tracing him? I wouldn't even
bother putting an APB out on his car. He's probably sold it."

"You're saying he doesn't want to be found."

"No, he doesn’t."

"How can you be sure?"

And Jim levelled a gaze at him that spoke all the words Simon didn't
need to hear. Yes, Jim would know.

"That's all I can think of for the moment. I'll call you if I get any
other ideas. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to go to bed."

Simon sucked in a breath and nodded. "You'll be okay?"

"Sure," Jim shrugged. "I'm a big boy. I can manage on my own."

Turning for the door, Simon gestured to Connor to precede him. "Just
don't do anything stupid."

"Captain?"

"What?" Simon glanced back at him and saw the frown.

"Don't expect me to be grateful you pulled me out of it. I might be
tomorrow - but not tonight."

"Okay," Simon ventured a smile. "I can roll with that."

_____________________________
 

For what seemed like the first time in months, the sun was shining as
Simon helped Jim pack the truck. He'd offered again and again to fly
the man down to Las Vegas but Jim wanted to drive so there was no
argument.

There were only a couple of bags, enough for two weeks, should the
trial go that long. As a major witness, Jim had to remain on standby
the whole time - and Simon was well aware how waiting around wore on
the patience of his best detective.

And Jim had pulled himself together. Sharply. Simon had called by the
day before to find Jim just returning from a ten mile run. He found
out later that the run had been followed by a three hour stint at the
gym.

Punishing himself?

Or trying to forget?

Jim closed the back door of the truck and opened the driver's side,
ready to get in. "I guess I'd better get going if I want to get there
before Christmas."

"Right." Simon stepped back a little, trying to see some shreds of
life in the dull grey eyes. "Look, Jim, I know Sandburg cancelled his
order at Elliott Bay - but that's not necessarily a bad sign. At
least it means he's still aware and focussed."

"As opposed to what?" Turning slowly, Jim levelled a look of patience
at him. "Behaving like I did? Pathetic? Drunk? No way would he do
something so damned stupid. Besides, he doesn't need to. He can pack
up and leave. I'm the one who has to stay and live with it."

"Christ, Jim, don't hate the kid!"

"I don't have any choice. Until he went, all we had left was love.
Now there's not even that. Look, just forget it, okay? Hopefully I'll
be back in a week and I promise things will be normal again." He
started up the motor and placed his hands on the wheel, ready to go.

Simon's phone rang and he grabbed it, holding up a hand to make Jim
pause. The message was delivered without preamble and Simon let out a
huge sigh of relief. Ending the call, he stepped closer to the truck.
"That was Connor. She's just had a call from the Vegas hotel.
Sandburg rang them this morning to book a separate room. He'll be
flying in tonight."

If he'd expected any reaction, he wouldn't have known Jim Ellison
very well. As it was, all he got was a brief nod. "See you."

And then he drove off and Simon could do no more to help his friend.

_____________________________
 

Cars, trucks, bikes, vans, on and on they went, behind him, in front,
passing him. He was an island on the road, watching other lives drift
past him, effortlessly.

Hours and hours.

Mile after mile.

Fleeting glimpses of towns and cities, flashes of warmth in the
sunshine.

He was going back to Vegas. Back south. Back in time.

And there would be no trip to the Grand Canyon, no gentleness to
break his fall, no hands to soothe the sharpness inside.

But he'd been here before, in this place, on this island. Alone in
his life for more years than not, he'd learned the game of survival,
as a boy, as a soldier, as a castaway in Peru. As an outcast. He'd
learned the rules, knew them by heart, had taught them to…

He was dead. And he knew it. Dead but still moving, the body yet to
decay. He was dead because it no longer hurt. He felt nothing - and
feeling was life.

So he was dead.

And still his island travelled through the sea of life.

_____________________________
 

The instruments of torture were no less than five coach-loads of
Japanese tourists, the majority of whom appeared to want to pass
through the hotel lobby at pretty much the same time.

After spending all night on the road, that was probably about the
last thing Jim wanted to deal with. At first, he tried standing just
outside the permanently open doors, which stopped and started,
groaning and clunking in some desperate effort to be allowed the
dignity of safe operation. But the crowd didn't appear to want to
move far so Jim pushed his way inside.

He forgot to dial down his hearing.

Stifling a groan, he adjusted quickly - or as quickly as his
exhausted brain would allow - and crept forward, towering over the
excited clumps of black-haired gangsters, robbing him of his own
semblance of dignity.

The journey to the desk seemed to take as long as the one from
Cascade but eventually, bruised, shin-kicked and wrung-out, he
finally got there, dumping his bags between his feet, just in case.

A weary but smiling clerk greeted him, handed him the usual cards and
paperwork and eventually, a passkey. When he could finally bring
himself to, he glanced down and didn't even register relief to
discover it wasn't the same room as last time.

Of course not. Why get a twin room when he was alone now?

The crush of people around the elevators was only a little less
intimidating - but he needed the warm bed he knew was waiting for him
so didn't even consider pausing at the restaurant to get some
breakfast. Simon had saved money on the flight - he could damn well
fork out for room service.

But he did consider asking a question of the desk clerk. After all,
it was only sensible. But when he opened his mouth the words came out
forced and not at all sensible-sounding.

"Has Mr Sandburg checked in yet?"

The clerk  made a 'customer service' flurry of checking up, running
the name through his computer, nodding, smiling, doing his level best
under the most trying circumstances.

"Yes, sir, late last night. Would you like his room number?"

"No." The answer was out before Jim had registered the question.

"Would you like to leave a message for him?"

"No." He registered this one - but didn't stay long for more. He
nodded thanks and headed for the lift, raising his bags over those
heads again, desperate for some bloody quiet.

Pressing the button, waiting and waiting, that road seeming to go on
forever only now his island was being overrun with a plague of ants
and if he didn't get some sleep soon he was going to…

The door opened and he was almost swept away in the rushing tide of
more bodies, all shorter than him, all raising the cacophony to the
point where he wished he could simply switch his hearing off.

He stepped inside and turned around. The doors were about to close
when an elderly couple, no less ravaged by the torrent, hurried to
make it in time. On reflex, he put his hand on the door, keeping it
open so they wouldn't have to run. They smiled their thanks, squeezed
past him and he -

Saw the crowd by the desk clear -

…went to move his hand and -

Saw the Black Sea part -

…doors jerking under his hand, requesting to shut and he -

Saw Blair.

By the desk. In profile. Hand on the surface.

Blair.

Who seemed to be talking. Then not. Then turning. Turning as though
he knew, just knew…

And he looked at Jim -

…his hand slipped and the doors closed with a grateful clunk.
Immediately, the lift swung into action, effortlessly sweeping them
upwards.

When it stopped and let the couple out, Jim didn't notice.

He wasn't dead. Not dead at all.

Jim was alive. And he felt - everything.

_____________________________

It had been okay, yeah okay. Right, fine, no problem. Not even
getting on the plane. That had been okay, too. Flying, well, not fun,
but okay, like he could survive it and get back down in one piece so
that wasn't a problem. So it had been okay so far and he was doing
fine, you know just fine. Like he could do this.

But then, coming back in this morning, from a walk, trying to clear
the air-conditioning from his head, he'd gone for a walk and that had
been a good idea too, remind him what this place looked like from the
ground, in daylight, so he'd gone for a walk - and come back to find
all these people here and all he could think of was that he hoped Jim
would miss it one way or the other because that kind of thing always
bothered him, so much noise, you know, too much noise and too many
smells, all this pressure on his eardrums and he'd have to dial
everything down so low, but he wouldn't remember to do it in time and
he'd end up with a headache.

So he'd managed to survive getting through all these people, hoping
Jim was gone already or not arrived, because he didn't know when Jim
was coming here only that he was coming, right, because he had to,
like Blair did, you know, simply because he had to and they had to
testify, so he made it to the desk and was asking, well, trying to
ask if there were any messages for him because, knowing Simon, he'd
leave a message and say something sharp about being damned glad that
Blair had bothered to turn up to do his duty, so he was asking about
that and not asking about whether Jim had arrived when he'd felt
this… this… thing… this…

And he'd turned his head, thinking this is all crazy and there is way
too many people in here to think let alone see and then he did see
and he did see Jim, in the lift, watching him -

Then he was gone.

And then it wasn't okay any more and he just had to get out of there
and just turned and almost knocked over some people and headed for
the stairs because he needed some exercise, and had to get somewhere
safe and quiet, so he ran up the stairs, all of them, ten flights,
all the way up because he just didn't have the energy to risk trying
the lift, but he had all this other energy so he ran all the way up
to his floor.

So he got to his room and he got the door closed before anybody could
see there was a lunatic pacing the floor and he couldn't sit still
any more, couldn't just sit around and wait for it to happen because
it had already happened, hadn't it. Already ended and finished,
cremated and ashes scattered across three lives maybe even more,
though of course he hadn't really considered how Simon and the others
were feeling about it. Stood to reason they must know something, but
certainly not much, not as much as Jim but probably less than Marc
and as for Blair, well he didn't know shit.

_____________________________
 

Yeah, he listened. Sitting in his room he listened. Now that he knew
it was there, he couldn't drag his attention from it. Couldn't hear
anything else, not even the Japanese mayhem downstairs. He zoned. Did
it deliberately. Focussed on one sound and one sound alone.

The heartbeat.

Fast, pounding, exerted, blood rushing, lungs forced, feet running,
door slamming and then just the heartbeat, feeding on air, thriving
on it, living on it, slowing, steadying, returning.

And then Jim returned too, emerging from a self-imposed zone without
any trouble at all. Still he kept a light touch on that pulse, a fine
thread of attention, a connection, an invisible filament reaching
from his room on the 17th floor to Blair's on the 10th.

Seven degrees of separation.

He didn't bother showering. Didn't bother eating. Didn't even bother
taking off more than his shoes. He simply laid back on the bed, got
comfortable and went to sleep.

_____________________________
 

They were waiting for him. He'd known they would be and he'd known he
would end up taking so long to get his head around all this that he'd
deliberately started getting ready early. By his watch, he was only a
couple of minutes late, this time. Better than last time.

Not that he wanted to go in there. Into the restaurant where the
Vegas prosecutor et al were waiting for him, to have a chat before
court tomorrow. Not that he exactly wanted to go in there. But he was
calm, mostly. Calm. Better than before. A hot shower and two vodkas
had given him that much. Hadn't caught up on last night's sleep, but
he could do that later, after this chat.

And of course, Jim was already there, wasn't he? On-time, square-cut,
reliable, impossible Jim. Sitting at the table with his back to the
door so he wouldn't be staring at it waiting for him to come in.

Not that Jim was likely to acknowledge his presence. Safe bet, that
one. Would have offered odds on it in a place like this.

So he got to the table. Only a little short of breath but basically
about as calm as he was ever going to be. The guys in the suits stood
and shook his hand, sat down again, leaving him a chair next to the
big block of stone wearing black jeans and a polo shirt. Said block
didn't so much as turn a hair.

Big winner, Sandburg! Congratulations! You have just won…

Zip.

The questions started, nothing too hard, a quick run over the way
they thought the first day of the trial would go. No need for them to
go down there since they wouldn't be testifying until the next day
but if they wanted to, they could, just in case. No problem. Yeah,
okay, this part was easy.

But the day after, Tuesday, Blair would be testifying first, a
tactical move, expert witness kind of thing, him being a trained
observer and all, then back that up with Jim's testimony the day
after. Both expected to occupy the stand - or at least, needed to be
there for a whole day. Then on-call for any cross that came up. So it
was going to take a week, maybe two to put this guy away. Would have
been easier if he could have got himself arrested in Cascade. But no,
the idiot had gone and robbed a pawn shop, killed the owner and was
being tried for both crimes at the same time. He was bound to go away
for at least one of them. Since the girl's folks had come from Vegas,
nobody had argued the jurisdiction angle. So it was all happening
here, in this spot, this dried up little twisted lump of electrified
metal hogging the centre of an otherwise decent bit of desert.

So he hated Vegas. They could just try suing him.

The busy guys in the suits stood again, some more hand-shaking went
on and then they were walking out of the restaurant and Blair was
going along behind because he really didn't think he wanted to be
accused of sitting next to a block of stone in a place like this.
With hair like his, somebody might think he was the Sphinx.

_____________________________
 

It took a moment for Jim to realize that he was actually surprised
the district courthouse didn't have flashing neon lights the way
everything else in this city had. Shouldn't be surprised - after all,
he'd been here before.

Never much liked going to court. Seemed a little pointless as a
detective, going over bits of evidence that way. On the other hand,
there was the boundless satisfaction of watching any number of
bastards get put away.

But he'd gone anyway, the first day, Monday. Had nothing else to do.
Wasn't about to go gambling. He'd already taken all the risks he'd
ever wanted to. Was pretty sure there wasn't an establishment in this
place who would bankroll any efforts he might make.

Not sure why he was here today, though. Today was Blair's day, though
of course, Jim might be edged in late in the afternoon so he did have
an excuse.

He didn't watch.

Couldn't stand the way the heartbeat always spiked when he was
around. Didn't like knowing that Blair was afraid of him. Didn't like
feeling there was a good reason for it.

So he sat outside, on the stone steps. Kept track of things without
much effort. Listened to the voice, calm, not provoked by the
cross-examination. Left nothing out. A little husky and worn as he
recalled watching a sixteen-year-old girl murdered before his eyes.
Did a good job.

When it was time, when court was adjourned, when he could hear the
heartbeat drift closer towards the door, Jim rose and left.

_____________________________

He was free of it and that felt so damned good, you know? Great in
fact. Wouldn't, with any luck, have to go over any of it ever again.
Something had been buried yesterday and it felt fine knowing it was
unlikely to be exhumed.

He'd been congratulated by the suit-guy, more hand-shaking and told
he was free.

Yeah, free.

So why did he come back on Wednesday? Why sit here, in the gallery,
knowing who was down there in the witness box, knowing he was sitting
up here? Why?

But he listened. Tried not to watch. Mostly listened, watching his
hands until he remembered who they had touched, in this city, so long
ago. That's when he'd gone out for a while, ten minutes or so, so he
wouldn't distract anybody with some idiot panic attack.

He went back, of course. Stayed the rest of the day. Stayed in his
seat until he was sure the place was empty. Then he left.

He crossed the street and wandered down to where all the big lights
were gawping at passing trade, their cash almost visible in their
pockets. He chose a place at random, drifting through pale pink
palisades decked in trite gold trim and grotesque greco-roman
parodies. If the Visigoths had only known.

Easy to get lost in a place like this, one door looking much like
another, rooms set out in a deliberate maze; once having trapped the
fly in its lair, this spider wasn't letting go. But the noise and the
constant buzz of bandits going off, clattering coins and glasses
jingling gave him some sense of balance, some median strip he could
tiptoe across and not worry about falling off.

He found what he was looking for. A vacant machine. Flashing at him,
tray open below a gaping maw, pretending to give rather than receive.
Flying spaceship motif promising all the wealth in the world if only
he would put that first coin in, if only he would make that move,
calculate those odds. It was all there, just waiting for him.

He fished into his pocket and pulled out the coins he'd gathered that
morning. Ten bucks. A week's worth of gas in Cascade. A down payment
on a really good book. A cheap t-shirt. Half a visit to the barber's.
Five or so beers. Pizza for two.

He weighted the coins in his hand, fingers flicking over each one,
feeling softened edges, shallow-relief, but not looking. His gaze was
drawn to the flashing motif, the impossibly pretentious space craft,
darting from one side to the other, ostensibly firing shots in a
battle of gargatuan proportions. Behind it all however, was nothing
but a field of stars.

Starlight…

"… wanted starlight around us the first time I kissed you."

He pushed a coin in, feeding it, stuffing it full again and again,
pressing the buttons, collecting the coins from the tray and pushing
them back in again and again and again…

Until there were no more and he could stop now because he couldn't
afford to lose more than ten bucks.

The air left him and he closed his eyes, leaning his forehead on the
smooth, plastic star-filled backdrop.

It was okay now. Better than it was before. About as okay as it was
going to get. And he was hungry. It was time for food.

Time to rest.

_____________________________
 

"Hey! Mr Sandburg? Blair! Wait up!"

Blair was almost at the elevator when he heard the call. Turning, the
suit-guy waved and smiled, gesturing him over to the hotel restaurant
door.

"Dinner? My treat. I've got good news."

Blair didn't really want any kind of company right now but there
wasn't really a way out of it without sounding rude. So he nodded and
re-crossed the lobby. It was only when he began following the
suit-guy in that he realised what a mistake he'd made. There, on the
other side of the room, engaged in conversation with the other
suit-guy, and sitting at the table they were obviously heading
towards - was Jim.

He clenched his hand, digging nails into his palms, anything to ward
off the panic, the unholy, blinding, screaming panic which threatened
to consume him.

Mostly, it worked.

The first suit-guy pulled up a chair for him, thrust a menu in his
hands and refused to let him only order a glass of water. Numb, Blair
picked an item at random. Didn't matter, he was unlikely to stick
around long enough to eat it. The order was taken, beers delivered
and then the suit-guy was holding court, regaling them with his
summation of how well the case had gone so far, all a build-up to the
moment when he said:

"And two hours ago, Vanetti cracked - just like I thought he would.
He knew we wouldn’t do a deal on two counts of murder - but he wants
some protection largely because the people he's been working for
populate half the prisons in this county and he knew what was coming.
Apparently, listening for two days to absolutely shit-sharp
convicting testimony, he decided enough was enough. Gave me enough
names in fifteen minutes to keep our boys here occupied for a year.
Not only that, but he gave me an interesting line on a case I think
you two were working on, when you came here last year. Salvatori?"

Blair looked up at that, the shift in the corner of his eye, telling
him Jim's reaction was the same.

"Yeah, gave me a few dates, times and places, and a name. I hate to
say it, guys, but I think I've just cracked Salvatori's murder."

"You've…" Blair didn't need to look to hear the smile in Jim's voice.
"You've done all that - in fifteen minutes? Want my job? Take it!"

Hands came across the table, congratulatory handshakes. Blair didn't
need to look to hear Jim's laughter.

But he did.

Then wished he hadn't.

Cold grey/blue flashed once at him before he ducked his head,
compounding the error by focussing on his hands and suddenly there
was no way he could control the panic attack…

Except that suit-guy extraordinaire chose that moment to clap a hand
on his shoulder, forcing him to look up, forcing him to focus on
something else. "So I guess you boys in Cascade can take a holiday
now that we're doing your jobs for you. Any other cases you want us
to clean up?"

Blair managed a weak smile, a shake of his head. "I don't work for
Cascade PD any more. You'd better ask Jim."

A frown, a glance across the table. "Eh? They didn't sack you, did
they? 'Cause you're not a cop? I thought you two were supposed to be
the sharpest team on the block. What happened?"

Everything happened. Everything thing except…

"Blair decided it was time to move on. His position was only
temporary, while he finished his dissertation. Now he's gone on to
greener pastures."

"Well, okay, that's fine. Congratulations, Sandburg! On the
dissertation. Been accepted already?"

He couldn't help it. His eyes just took on a life of their own and
blindly rose to meet Jim's gaze. Across a table, across a restaurant,
across a million miles, a chasm so vast not even space could fill it.

But Jim did. A nod, half a smile for the suit-guys. "Yeah, it was
accepted." Half a smile for the suit-guys, yeah, and a hard, hard
gaze for Blair.

Blair looked away. "I'm really sorry, but I don't think I can manage
dinner. I've got this headache and I really need to get some sleep.
Been a pretty long week with the travelling and everything." Blair
stood, placing his napkin on the table. He offered a smile to the
suit-hangers, a shrug and then turned, walking steadily, keeping his
back to the room, making it eventually to the safety of the lift.

Where he sagged against the wall the moment the doors were closed.

Yeah, he was free alright. A free canary with an interest in
anthropology, flying around frantically inside a tiny little cage,
patrolled by a panther.

_____________________________

It was so easy to hate. Remarkable how easy it was. The path was
terribly straightforward, clearly signposted. Most fools found it
without any trouble.

Funny though, Jim wouldn't have picked the prosecutor for a fool. Not
at first. Unfortunately he gave himself away the moment Blair
disappeared out the door.

He leaned forward, hand raised in a gesture at the missing partner,
eyebrows furrowed, ready to be convinced otherwise and yet, allowing
his words to be laced with sickly quantities of disgust. "Hey, is
there something going on between you two? Something… you know…"

And Jim smiled, mentally ticking off one signpost after another. He
took his napkin from his knee, rose to his feet and tossed it on the
table. "Yes. There is. Goodbye."

Sensitive sentinel ears collected the word 'faggot' tossed after him
as an afterthought but his path lay elsewhere and like a true
pilgrim, he wasn't to be swayed.

He went right past the lift and straight for the stairs, following
the path, one foot after another, pausing only long enough to read
each sign clearly, understand the warnings each displayed. A true
believer, he carried on, leaving curses at each stage of the cross,
one after another as his hatred grew and blossomed, hearing, tasting
and smelling his goal draw nearer.

Ten. Ten flights and out. Flights of stairs, leading up and now out.
The door? He knew which one, could feel the connection in his hands,
the thread thicken and contract as he got closer, burning now,
pumped, ready and timed perfectly.

Hate made him free, made his senses so sharp he would have been dizzy
except that it kept him more grounded than Blair ever had, more
centred, more balanced, more certain.

He removed the stolen passkey from his pocket, listening softly,
gently to the sounds beyond the door, sounds he knew so very, very
well. Blair's heartbeat, Blair's breathing, Blair's body beneath the
shower. Calm now that he was away from the danger.

The door opened without a sound and he slipped into the darkened
room. The last signpost waited before him, the last chance for him to
commit fully, to end this once and for all.

But there was no choice, never had been a choice for choice required
a variety of paths, the will to decide and he'd never had any of
that. He'd only ever had what he had to do, what had to be done, the
time, the place, the person. The perfect murder.

Death of a soul.

The bathroom door was opened, his own fingers the instrument of
salvation, of damnation -

And there he received the first blessing. The spiked heartbeat,
triggered by a change in the air, unexpected. Terrified.

Head turning, eyes squinting through frosted glass, steamed up,
blinding…

"Who's there…" Hammering now, that heart. Dear heart. Hammering. "…
Jim…"

Freight train, feeding and fuelling, firing him on, making his feet
move, taking him to the cubicle door, making him open it.

"Jim! What are you… Jesus Jim I… I…"

Hands reaching in, stepping in, hot water burning over burning flesh,
putting no flames out, forcing them higher, brighter, incandescent.

They touched flesh, wet flesh, shaking flesh, gasping flesh,
terrified flesh, backing away, fighting, pushing, slipping,
stumbling.

To a halt against the wall. Eyes shut tight, mouth moving, saying
useless words.

"Jim, please, don't do this, please, Jim, don't…"

Silenced by his own mouth, crushing, wounding, defiling, pouring out
hatred in a gushing torrent. Hands grabbed those fighting him
together, held them up against the slick tiles, pushing body against
body, hurting, wanting to hurt, having no choice but to hurt.

Face twists away, more words clashing with the spray of water
crashing against them both, "Jim, you don't want to do this! Not like
this. Please, Jim, oh god, please wait…"

"Have to," he replies, grinding words out like meat through a mincer,
bloody and mangled. "Have to do this."

And he pushes the body hard against the wall, hand going down to the
throat, other hand pinning him, holding him helpless, holding him in
gaol, making him pay. Hand on the throat tightening, more pressure as
eyes squeeze open, raining shower-water onto tender cheeks, mouth
opening but no more sound coming out. Taking that mouth with his own
again, making it his own again, making it stop.

A last frantic twist and his prey can't escape. Neither can the
hunter. But it's too late now. Far too late. Hunter and prey are one.

"Have to do this." Hand leaves throat, moves down, down, past
pleasure, past delight, down to hatred. Pushes legs apart, releases
himself, positions himself. "Have to do this."

"God, Jim PLEASE NOT LIKE THIS!" Voice little more than a wail,
deafening against his heightened senses.

"Have to have your face, see you, see you. Have to do this, Blair,
have to…" And then, inside at last. At last. A howl of anguish, hands
struggling, letting them go, letting them fall to his shoulders,
holding him, crushing him, hating him in return. "Have to do this…"
Beating slows, heartbeat slows…

Not Blair's; his.

Heartbeat. Both.

Have to…

Nothing.

"Jim?"

"Jim? Can you hear me?"

"Jim?"

"I know you didn't mean to hurt me. It's okay."

"Please, Jim. Please."

"Listen to me, Jim, listen. It's okay, Jim, you haven't hurt me. You
have to hear me."

"Jim? Jim?"

"God! Help me! You can't make him go through this alone, please!"

"Jim?"

And that mouth was on his again, so startling, snatching his air,
moving against him… moving… moving with… him…

Arms holding him, holding him close, tight, wanting him, noises,
needing, needing so much…

Kissing him, lips of fire, greedy, needing. Yes, needing -

Him.

More movement, against his body, action and reaction, grasping,
electrifying, dizzying and consuming.

Trembling need, shaking voice, "Love me, Jim. Please. Need this,
Jim…"

Fire raking up his body.

"Jim, please… move… need you…"

Skin beneath his hands, so soft, so wonderful, wanting him, needing
him. Touching it more as it presses closer, more of it to touch, more
of it wanting him.

"Yes, Jim… yes…"

Finding him. Touching him, yes, touching him, feeling arousal grow,
wanting to feel it.

"Need this, Jim. Yes…"

And they were one, moving as one, breathing as one, urged on as one,
towards the edge, the terrible, wonderful, glorious edge.

"Jim… please…"

And over it, tumbling as one, falling, falling, all as one, one fire,
one rage, one fury, one desire.

_____________________________
 

Blair held on as what were left of his lungs finally caught up,
finally managed to give him some air. He could feel Jim's shoulders
shaking, hear laboured breathing and simply held tighter.

The shower was already washing away the evidence of their crime. The
water, from a tank the size of which he couldn't imagine, was still
hot, not chilling as it should have been.

He hadn't wanted this.

No. That wasn't true. He had wanted it. Wanted it enough to be afraid
of it, afraid of Jim. And his fear had brought it this way, carried
it to him on wings of need.

Not just his need, but Jim's. A need to be exactly as they were.

Trembling now, Jim began to move, to steady - but Blair didn't let
him. Instead, he took Jim's head in his hands and held it to him,
comforting where he knew no comfort could live.

Minutes now, only seconds left. And then it would happen.

_____________________________
 

"Oh, my god, Blair!" It was sharp, this pain, so damned sharp. Jim
grabbed the body in his arms and held on tightly, hating himself more
than he'd ever hated Blair. "Blair, I'm so sorry, so sorry… so…"

But hatred ran out of words. He had none left. He had killed tonight.
Killed his own soul.

Still he held on, afraid to let go, afraid the arms around him would
want to.

But then Blair didn't let go. Blair just held him. Breathing steadily
against his neck, his body flushed and hot under the water. And he
spoke, "It's okay, Jim, it's okay. It's over. You didn't hurt me.
Didn't rape me, okay? You didn't. It wasn't rape."

"It was. It is." How Blair heard the whisper over the shower he
didn't know.

Then Blair's head lifted up, his face coming close, his mouth leaving
soft kisses across Jim's, so very soft. He had to move. Those kisses
made him move. Carefully, gently, he withdrew, setting Blair on his
feet on the hard floor, softly, gently, tenderly. But still Blair
didn't let him go.

"No, Jim, I won't let you. You owe me this. It's only rape if I say
so. And I don't. I wanted you." Blair's hands crept down his chest,
touching him through wet cloth, down and down until they could lift
the shirt up, up and over Jim's head.

The relief was enormous. Weight coming off him, falling away. He
swayed on his feet.

"Do you love me?"

"Yes." Swaying, ready to fall.

"Do you hate me?"

"No."

Blair deftly removed the rest of Jim's clothing, pushing it out the
way before bringing his hands up to Jim's shoulders. "Did you mean to
rape me?"

"No! Didn't want to…"

"Do you love me?"

"Yes. God, yes!"

"Then hold me."

"No! God, Blair, I raped you! How can you…"

"You didn't rape me! I tried to convince you to wait. That's all. I
never said no. It can't be rape."

"But I…"

"I could have stopped you. You know that. Didn't you teach me,
yourself, how to avoid getting raped? You taught me how to survive
something like this. You know I could have stopped you. I could have
hurt you enough to stop you in your tracks. You taught me exactly how
to do it a long time ago. You're bigger and stronger than me but I
still could have stopped you."

"Blair, you don't… Saying no isn't all…"

"Do you love me?"

"Yes, love you so much."

And Blair kissed him, hard and deliberate. "Come to bed with me,
Jim."

"No."

"Do you love me?"

"Yes, Blair," Jim finally looked into sure blue eyes. "Yes, Blair. I
love you."

Blair looked up at him with some smile in his eyes, along with
trepidation. And that hurt.

"Then come to bed? Please?"

A beautiful smile which faded as Jim shook his head, clearing it at
last, properly and completely. "No. I know what you're trying to do
and I can't let you. We both know what I did."

"But, Jim…"

He shook his head again. "No, Blair, no. It's over."

Letting go, Jim turned and picked up his clothes, switching off the
shower. He pushed the cubicle door open and stepped out. He grabbed a
towel and pressed it into Blair's hands. He took the robe on the back
of the door and pulled it around himself. He squeezed the worst of
the water out of his clothes and opened the bathroom door. He got as
far as the outer door, his hand reaching for it.

"No, damn you Jim Ellison I will NOT LET YOU DO THIS!!!"

Blair slammed into him, knocking him into the door, cutting his head.
 

"You are so not going to leave me like this! You're not going to
leave me ever again and I don't give a fuck who says what and I
certainly don't give a fuck what you say about it you are not leaving
me again, you hear me you are not leaving me again, you're just not
going, Jim, please, don't please don't go, please, Jim, I don't want
you to go, I know you have to but I don't want you to, please…" and
the rest was lost in tears and defiant punches against his chest,
heaving air into exhausted lungs and Jim could only hold him and
contain him.

"Okay, okay. I won't go. Just listen to me and calm down. It's okay.
Believe me, it's okay."

"No, it's not! You're just trying to get me calm so you can walk out.
I know you, Jim Ellison, I'm your fucking Guide, I know what you're
going to do and you can just forget it because I'm never leaving your
side ever again and if you want me to you'll just have to kill me
because I'm not going so you can just shut the fuck up, OKAY?"

Jim kept his silence, his arms going further around Blair, holding
him as he slowly calmed down. It was the very, very least he could
do.

How many hours ticked by, he had no idea, but it might have been days
or months for all the difference it made to him. But soon, too soon,
the man in his arms finally moved, taking his own weight,
straightening up, pulling himself together. Blair took a moment to
push the hair away from his face before bringing his gaze to meet
Jim's.

"We… um… we… need to talk, don't we?"

"Do we?" Jim came away from his latest prop, the door, and brought
ginger fingers to his temple, feeling the cut.

"Oh, fuck, I'm sorry, Jim, let me take a look at that." Blair grabbed
his arm and steered him to the bed, making him sit. He dashed into
the bathroom and returned a minute later with a towel around his
waist, a tiny first-aid kit in his hands. Jim sat there quietly,
letting him treat the wound, clean it, sting it with something.

"Doesn't look too bad. It's stopped bleeding already. Do you want
something over it?"

"Does it need it?"

"Well, not unless you go bashing your head on a few more doors, no, I
think it'll be fine."

"Blair?"

"Yes?"

Blair sat down, hands busy again, putting the things back into the
kit. Jim waited until that deep gaze reached his again. "We need to
do more than talk."

Nodding slowly, Blair tossed the kit onto the bedside table. "Okay.
As long as the list doesn't include us going our separate ways, I'm
willing to listen."

"Why not?"

"Why not what?"

"Why not go our separate ways?"

"Oh, and here I was thinking you'd planned to have an intelligent
conversation."

Jim settled a little, folding his arms across his chest and regarding
the other man steadily, "Okay, what do you think we should talk
about?"

"Us."

"Us?"

"Yeah, us. You know that thing we've spent, let me see, um, about
three years *not* talking about? That Us."

"Blair, there is no Us. Never was."

Holding up a hand, the younger man stopped him. "And don't you dare
add, there never will be an Us. If you do, I'll have to get the
first-aid kit out again."

Jim left the obvious joke about violence well alone. Instead, he
continued, "In that case, there really isn't anything for us to talk
about."

Blair studied him, one of those rare moments when the kid was
absolutely and completely still. The wet hair was tangled, dripping
water onto bare shoulders. The mouth was reddened, a little bruised.
Eyes of flinty blue absorbed every detail before him, giving nothing
away.

"We can't do this."

"No." Jim shook his head.

"No, I wasn't agreeing with you. I mean, we can't just let this
happen any more."

"Let what happen? From where I'm sitting, it's all done, in the past,
over with, finished." Jim looked away, wanting more than anything to
just get out of here, where those eyes couldn't look at him any more.
He took in a breath, held it, holding down everything else he was
feeling. "I raped you, Blair. There's nothing else we can say…"

Jim was abruptly knocked back onto the bed as Blair launched himself
across the space. Using tactics Jim recognized all too well, Blair
soon had him pinned, pretty much unable to move. The face hovered
over him, totally and absolutely uncompromising. "You listen to me,
James Ellison and listen good. You are NOT leaving this room. You ARE
staying. You ARE getting into bed because we both desperately need
some SLEEP. You are NOT going to try leaving in the night because I
WILL feel it and I WILL stop you."

A part of Jim, some tiny shred of life left in him, wanted to laugh,
wanted to delight in this aspect of the man, wanted very much to be
able to. That small part, following its own rules, took control of
his face and eked out a smile - but pale, thin and not entirely
convinced. "Is that all?"

Blair shook his head, deliberately brushing Jim's face with his hair,
"No. You will NOT mention the word rape again tonight."

That small part of Jim was instantly crushed, replaced by a
whole-body reflex to escape. He twisted, pulled and shoved - but he
didn't move at all. Blair really did have him pinned. He couldn't get
free without hurting either himself or Blair.

"Finished?" Blair had his own smile now, of satisfaction. "Now, I
want your promise, Jim, solemn and all otherwise. You believe you
raped me? Well, you can start working off the guilt by promising me
to stay."

"Blair…" Jim began through gritted teeth.

"DO IT!"

"Okay, okay, I promise! Jeez, Blair, give me a break here."

"Oh? Where, exactly, would you like it?" The voice was sharp but the
gaze had softened.

Jim relaxed his muscles - knowing full well that Blair wouldn't be
fooled by it. "Okay, I promise."

Blair simply shook his head. "You're staying, Jim. You remember that.
You're staying." Blair tried to drag him bodily up the bed, pulling
at blankets and covers and reaching for the light switch all at the
same time. "You're staying."

Jim allowed himself to be pushed into bed. The robe stayed on at
first but it was too damp so he shrugged out of it. Blair's towel
seemed to have disappeared as well but when he realised how cold
Blair's body was, he tucked the blankets around them both, not making
any attempt to put space between them but wishing he could.

Finally, in the darkness, they settled. Blair had positioned himself
half-over Jim, head on his shoulder in an achingly familiar reminder
of that first and only night. As the quiet drew out, Jim whispered,
"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why am I staying?"

"Because we have to talk."

"I thought we did."

"We need to talk some more."

"Now?"

"No, in the morning."

"So why am I staying?"

"Because you're not leaving my sight until we have talked."

"Oh."

"And because I love you."

"Oh, okay then. I guess I'm staying."

"You bet you are, big guy. You bet you are."
_____________________________
 

It wasn't as if he didn't know what was going to happen, because he
did. But knowing both made it better - and worse. Better because at
least this time, he was warned, could maybe stop the disaster in its
tracks. Worse because he did know. He knew what Jim was going to do.
Knew his chances of stopping it were slim.

He was awake a long time before he felt the first warnings from Jim's
body, the first restless signs that he was drifting towards
awareness. He lay on his side, spooned up behind the bigger man, arm
across him, cheek close enough to hear his heart beat.

Little signs at first, a vague movement, less rhythm in the
breathing, one and then another, larger breaths, eased out. Blair
simply stayed where he was, keeping track of the slowly lightening
sky, waiting for the first attempted gaol-break.

Blessed Protector.

Beloved Protector.

Dying Protector.

He felt it the moment it came, the sharp intake of air, the abrupt
stiffening as muscles reacted to awake memory, recognizing the scent
and feel of Blair behind him. Checking, seeking to discover whether
Blair was awake or not. Then the movement.

Blair lost contact with Jim as the older man rolled over to face him,
slipped back until Blair couldn't touch him without making an effort.

Yeah, he knew what was going to happen. So he reached out, reached in
and found the things he was looking for, the bits and pieces he
needed, tools, diamond drill-bits and velvet covered sledge-hammers.
He had them all, neatly stacked and catalogued in a manner that would
have pleased Jim under other circumstances.

And like a craftsman, he set about to work. "You look better. Sleep
okay?"

"Better than what?"

"Than you did last night."

"Before I raped you? Or after?"

Yep, going to need every trick in the trade this time. Maybe even
invent a few new ones as well. "After. I don't even want to mention
what you looked like before."

That got him a rapid blink, another intake of breath. Jim wasn't yet
up to jaw-clenching - but it wouldn't take long. "I'm hungry. Can we
got down to breakfast?"

"Nope. We'll order. They can bring it up. The menu's there, on your
nightstand. I'll have Granola, yogurt and lots of coffee."

Casting him a look that suggested he thought Blair had suddenly
developed a loose screw, Jim pushed himself up in the bed until he
could sit against the wall. He grabbed the menu, dialled the number
and dropped the order in, in clipped tones, expressing more than he
realised.

Blair waited until he was finished and launched his second shot,
aiming very carefully. "I didn't move in with Marc."

The result was less than he was hoping for, but not entirely a waste.
"No, I guess you didn't."

It would have to do for the moment. There were practical things to
organize before he played the next round. "You want to use the
bathroom?"

For a second, Jim said nothing, his gaze pointedly fixed on the
opposite wall. Then he nodded. Without hesitation, Blair pulled the
covers back and Jim got up. The bathroom door closed behind him with
an attempted air of finality Blair could only smile at.

But he was scared. Terrified. The only difference was, there was no
physical evidence Jim would notice. Jim couldn't feel the way Blair's
stomach had worked knots into itself, the way turning his head
quickly would make him dizzy, the horrible mantra which repeated
itself over and over in his head with words he didn't even want to
think about let alone voice.

He used the time well. He got up, pulled on clean clothes, jeans, tee
and checked shirt, clothes he knew Jim would recognize. When he heard
the shower go, he picked up the damp robe left lying on the floor and
tossed it into the bathroom, closing the door after him before Jim
had a chance to think about it.

Then he collected up Jim's wet clothes and hung them over the back of
a chair. Again he smiled. That was a freebie, that one. Tailor-made.

Jim emerged enrobed from the bathroom almost the same time their
breakfast arrived. Blair stood on guard by the door, taking charge of
the trolley, signing for it and shutting the outside world out again
afterwards. Jim had watched him for a moment then walked like a ghost
over to the table where he took a seat. Blair brought the trolley
over, transferred food until it was done, then set about appeasing
his appetite.

"Glad the trial's over. Didn't like that prosecutor at all."

Jim poured coffee for both of them, his voice emerging cool and
detatched, "He called me a faggot."

Blair raised his eyebrows, "And his funeral is…?"

"I didn't lay a finger on him."

"Violence isn't the only thing that kills. Words can sometimes do it
better."

"The pen is mightier, Professor? Not in his case."

"Oh, why not?"

"He was stupid enough to think that merely calling me a faggot would
induce me to violence. As though I would give a damn what he thought
of me. I've been called worse, by people who are far more qualified."

"So the scum still lives?"

"In his eyes, yes."

And Blair was content to leave at that for a while so they could both
concentrate on their breakfast.

_____________________________
 

"You weren't surprised when I told you I didn't move in with Marc."

"No."

A pause, "Did you look for me?"

A long, long pause. "Yes."

_____________________________
 

"Vegas is such a shitty place. Don't know how people can stand living
here."

"Den of iniquity, Jim?"

"No, not that. It's the pointlessness of it."

_____________________________
 

The coffee pot was almost empty when Blair filled his cup for the
last time. It was typical hotel coffee and if he hadn't needed it so
much, he would have kept a safe distance from it. As it was, he just
took his cup and got to his feet, leaving the table for the window.
His breakfast sat heavily on his churning stomach - but if he hadn't
eaten, Jim would have noticed.

"Why?"

Blair frowned at the view. "Why what?"

"Why didn't you move in with… Marc?"

Blair's frown disappeared as he registered his first victory for the
day. He managed to keep his smile small, out of his voice, so Jim
wouldn't notice. "I didn't love him."

"But he was… I mean, he seemed… nice, you know, good-looking,
intelligent. And he loved you. That much was obvious. And you'd been
seeing him for what, four months? I would have thought…"

"I didn't love him, Jim." Blair turned slowly, keeping tight reign on
his emotions. "And how do you know so much about him? I never said a
word."

Jim actually met his gaze - and that surprised Blair. "I saw you. The
day you broke up with him. I spoke to him. He… he was angry."

A slow smile crept across Blair's face at that - and he didn't bother
trying to hide it. It felt great to be able to do it. "That's good,
Jim. Really good."

"That Marc was angry? With both of us?"

"No." Blair finished his coffee and put the cup down. "Come on, time
we were moving."

Jim watched him as he strode across the room, putting his clothes
into his pack, collecting his other belongings. "Moving where? Uh,
Chief, I hate to say this, but I'm not exactly presentable, here."

"No, you're not, are you? You wanna give me that robe?"

"Why?"

"Just give it to me and don't ask questions. Get back into bed if
you're cold."

Warily, Jim removed the robe and returned to bed. Blair almost felt
sorry for him the way he pulled the blankets up to cover himself,
body language speaking in volumes.

Shaking his head, he rummaged through Jim's trouser pockets until he
found the key. "You're on the 17th floor, right?"

Suddenly Jim didn't look quite so defenceless, "Why? What are you
going to do?"

"Hey, man, it's cool. I'm just going to get you some clothes."

"Yeah? So why are you taking the robe and your pack with you?"

Blair paused by the door, grinning, "Why? Think I'm just going to run
off and leave you here, naked? Remember what I said to you last
night, Jim. You just keep thinking about that and I'll be back in
twenty minutes."

_____________________________

He was tempted to take twice that, just to give Jim a scare - but in
the end, he did it much quicker. No point in making Jim so scared
that he made some silly effort to get hotel management involved.
Entirely unproductive.

And, as he'd expected, Jim's stuff was very easy to pack. Everything
was in nice ordered piles in dresser and wardrobe. Blair collected
everything, packed it, closed the door behind him and headed back
downstairs. When he opened his own door again, Jim was exactly where
he'd left him.

Of course, he'd been keeping track, hadn't he?

"There you go, big guy. Now you get dressed and I'll find a plastic
bag to put these wet clothes in."

Shaking his head, Jim did as he was told, but he got to the wet
clothes first, emptying the pockets before handing them over, before
getting dressed. Once they were done, Blair stood before him, hands
on hips, looking him up and down. "You're terribly cute, you know -
but you'll do. Now, truck keys?"

"Got them."

"Hand them over."

"What?"

"Just do it."

He did.

"And your wallet? Credit cards? Everything. In my hand, now."

Ah, first jaw clench for the day. "What for?"

Blair looked up at him, meaning to remain firm - but he couldn't help
himself. He moved closer, lifting his hand to Jim's face, smoothing
the tension there. It didn't work very well. Jim almost turned to
stone at the light caress. But Blair wasn't to be turned from his
path. He pressed a brief kiss to Jim's lips and whispered, "It's
okay, Jim. Trust me, will you? Just trust me."

Jim just closed his eyes, resting his forehead on Blair's. "It's not
you, Chief. It's not you I don't trust."

"I know, love, I know. But it'll be okay. Just give me your stuff and
we can get going."

"Why?"

"Because I'm not going to give you a chance to get away from me."

"Chief…" A quiet protest, the first real attempt.

"Just be glad you didn't bring your cuffs with you."

And that brought a wry smile to Jim's face. "You wouldn't."

"Come on, Jim, you know me." Blair turned for the door, handing Jim
his bags while shoving the wallet and keys into his own pockets.

"Yeah, exactly."

The hotel lobby was quiet when they checked out. Just a few people
milling around. Forms were signed, keys handed across - including the
stolen one Blair had found on his bedroom floor. He didn't mention it
to Jim. They had a lot of land to cover before he needed to cross
that bridge.

Then they were heading to the parking garage, loading the truck,
pulling out onto the street. Blair let Jim drive largely because he
didn't have much choice. Jim wouldn't do anything stupid with Blair
in the truck - and at least the man would feel a bit more relaxed
behind his own wheel.

Pulling out the map he'd collected at the hotel desk, Blair began
unfolding it, turning it until he had the right direction. "Okay,
yep, right, got it. Take a left at the next lights and that will get
us onto the interstate. Yeah, this one, here. Good. And then we turn
off at…"

"Chief?"

"What?"

"We need to stay on the interstate."

"Why?"

"Well…"

"We're not going back to Cascade, if that's what you mean."

"Where are we going, then?"

"Just like you promised me, Jim." Blair sat back, the folded map on
his lap and settled in for the long drive. "We're going to see the
Grand Canyon."

_____________________________
 

It was painful, so damned painful being around him. Catching the
scent of him in the hot dry air passing through the truck, the warmth
of his body, the graceful hands which traced a path on the map. So
damned pushy, so damned determined. So very wonderful.

Jim had never really had a chance to consider beauty before, not as a
thing in itself. The word was so easily tossed around, like a used
gum wrapper, not often landing where it should. There were so many
sayings about beauty, being in the eye of the beholder, about it
being a part of truth, about how the world would be a sadder place
without it.

He'd seen art and buildings, statues and gardens, mountains and
seascapes all classed as beautiful. He'd used the word himself,
speaking of women or of a classic basket. Used the word in irony, in
sarcasm - had simply refused to use it for similar reasons.

But beauty was nothing in and of itself. Rather, it was an expression
used to describe the feeling something wonderful engendered in a
person. An attempt to capture a moment, otherwise indescribable.

So why did he think it every time he looked at Blair? Every time he
thought about him? Didn't make much sense when there were so many
other words that described him so well, words that didn't diminish
the essence of character which shone from those deep blue eyes.

And there was nothing wonderful in the pain he felt, being near him,
being afraid for him. Nothing wonderful at all. But still he thought
of Blair and beauty in the same breath.

It wouldn't take much time, really, to do what he had to do. But
first, he had to make Blair let him go.

_____________________________
 

"Man, it's hot out here!" For the tenth time in the last hour, Blair
tugged the band off his hair, smoothed it all back, then tied it up
again.

"There should still be some water left in the bottle. You have to
keep drinking."

"Yeah, yeah, I know, dehydration. But the water's hot now and I so
don't like drinking hot water."

"Well," Jim paused and Blair watched a shoulder rise, an attempt at
nonchalance, "sprinkle some grass in it and maybe it'll taste like
tea. You drink that hot, don't you?"

Blair would have smiled - if only to mark Jim's attempt at humour,
but there was something so studied in it, his insides did a sharp
flip. Jim was just going along with all this, would go along with it
until he wore Blair down. Then he would go. End of story. End of Jim.

Sticking his elbow out the door window, he scratched his head,
splicing his gaze between the open desert they were travelling
across, and the beautiful man sitting next to him. The stubborn man
sitting next to him.

The land was so flat here, so empty of anything to break up the
horizon. Long straight stretches of pock-marked road, an infinity of
red crumbling dust that could have been a Martian landscape. Every
now and then, a tuft of some poor weed would make it up through the
ocre crust, squeezed between fist-sized rocks and freeze dried sand.
How long would it take a man to walk across this on foot? Days?
Weeks? Surely he'd die before then, with no water source around, no
shelter, no shade, no sustenance. And his bones would dry out, turn
and return to the dust which surrounded him, no mark left of where
he'd fallen, no eyes to mark his passage. He would never have
existed.

But there was something so intense about it that drew Blair's gaze
again and again, something that made him want to see it going on,
unending. It was breathtaking in its own way; eternal. He liked that.

The road had been pretty much empty all day. Only the occasional car
passing them in either direction. To all intents and purposes, they
were alone. Alone with themselves, alone with each other. Nothing
like what he'd imagined when Jim had spoken about this trip, almost a
year ago.

Hard to remember the circumstances of that conversation, too. But he
reminded himself; he had been in Jim's arms, had kissed him, had felt
the love in each and every word spoken, had wanted it to go on
forever.

Had that been the mistake? Wanting it to go on? Or was it really
buried in the unspoken decision to act on their feelings? If they'd
actually talked about it, would they have avoided all this? But how
could they have done that, eh? Stood there like a pair of fools and
said I love you and then went on with their daily lives, precious
bond between sentinel and guide untouched by the depth of their
abandoned need?

Nice new-age idea that - but totally impossible. There were times
when words did more damage than anything else. No, if they'd done
that, they wouldn't have lasted five minutes. As it was…

They'd lasted about ten. Returning to Cascade hadn't been bad. They'd
both still been pretty much under the influence of the night before,
the afterglow of love still lingering between them, nice, gentle,
visible. No, the rot had set in after that, in the days and weeks
that had followed as they tried so hard to put it behind them. They'd
been careful around each other, pushing nothing, making no
assumptions, relying on nothing, taking nothing for granted.

And still it had failed.

And if they'd stayed together a year ago? Allowed themselves to
become a couple?

Blair frowned at the searing landscape, trying to sit still, trying
to keep his agititation to himself.

No.

The question asked, returned an answer immediately. After three years
of denying themselves, they would have attempted to drown in each
other, making up for lost time, throwing all else out of the window.
And loving each other like that would have distracted them even
further from their special bond. In the end, the result would have
been much the same.

The bond had been broken - not with distrust and lies but with too
much trust, too much truth.

So maybe the solution, for once, wasn't in going over what had gone
wrong. Maybe this once, Blair should concentrate on what he had
before him, sort through that, make that function.

But he couldn't do it alone. And Jim wasn't going to help. No, the
big guy was going to hinder - as much as he possibly could. Guilt
will do that to a man. Do that and more. Kill him, in fact.

He'd wanted to wait until they got somewhere, some hotel maybe, some
place where Jim could be relaxed and comfortable - but his guts were
now twisting with a need for urgency, a desperate need to make Jim
understand that this matter was not up for negotiation. So he tossed
out all his carefully constructed plans - and played it by ear. And
to do it, he was going to have to cross a line he thought he'd never
have to go near again.

"Jim?"

"Yeah?"

"What happened?"

"When?"

"With us?"

"I thought you had all the answers."

"Come on, Jim, I told you last night I didn't."

"Well, don't expect me to give you them. I don't know any more than
you do."

"You have to know something."

"Like what?"

"Like what you think happened with us."

"But I don't know what happened."

Blair turned away, his voice dropping to inaudible levels, "Yeah, and
if you did you wouldn't tell me, would you?"

"What was that?"

"You're the damned sentinel, Jim, you heard it well enough!"

"So I have to have my hearing dialled up so far so I can hear you
when you mumble? So any passing truck can deafen me? Way to go,
Guide!"

"They're your senses, Jim, don't go blaming me if you can't control
them!"

"That's right, they are my senses - but you taught me how to use them
so if it doesn't work it *is* your fault. What, want all the credit
but none of the responsibility?"

"I'm the only guide you've got - or are you planning on finding a
replacement?"

"I don't need a damned replacement, Sandburg, I need…"

Blair turned and watched Jim clench his jaw, lift his chin and fix
his gaze stonily on the road ahead. Sharpening his own anger, Blair
snapped, "Absolution, Jim? Is that what you need?"

"Go to hell!"

"Not without you."

_____________________________
 

"What do you want from me, Blair? Well? Do you want me to grovel?"

"Yes!"

"Okay, I'm grovelling!"

"No, you're not. You're just shouting. Not the same thing."

"I'm grovelling, Blair, I'm sitting here, begging you to just let me
the fuck go!"

"Never!"

Jim hissed in a breath and slammed his fist onto the wheel. "For
Christ's sake, Sandburg - you can't win this one! Stop trying! It
doesn't work. It can't work. It'll never work. I raped you…"

"Stop the truck!"

"What?"

"I said STOP THE TRUCK!!!"

Jim slammed his foot on the brakes, controlling the slide over to the
side of the road. With a bone-crunching jolt, the truck stopped - but
Blair didn't give him a second to do or say anything.

"Give me the keys and get out."

Jim would have protested except that before he could, Blair had
reached over and snatched the keys out of the ignition, was already
pushing him out the suddenly open door. Blair jumped down, holding
the keys in his hand, advancing on Jim with eyes so full of fury his
own anger was blown away in the gale.

The cloud of dust from their sudden stop gusted around them and
drifted off and still Blair advanced until Jim's feet hit gravel and
dirt. There Blair stopped, showed him the keys - then shoved them
into the back pocket of his jeans.

"Right? Okay? Get the message, Jim?" Blair snapped. "The only way
you're getting back in the truck is if you get the keys - and the
only way you'll get them is if you touch me. Those are the rules.
Simple enough for you?"

"Blair! Stop this right now." Jim was no longer afraid of shouting.
The blank open desert around them couldn't be harmed by it. "This is
stupid… damned…"

"Well?" Blair ignored him and went on, again coming forward, making
him step back. "Go on. You're not driving any more. There's the
ground. Get down and grovel. Go on, do it. My boots are nice and
dusty. You can lick them while you're there. That's your out, you
know. Qualifies as touching me. So get down on your knees and grovel
for forgiveness, Jim. You want it - you go ahead and do it. You do
it, I'll let you go."

"Sandburg, you gotta stop this now! This is crazy!"

"Yeah, that's exactly what it is, Jim, love, sweetheart, love of my
damned fucking life. Of course, it's crazy. Now get down of your
fucking knees and grovel!"

Blair was so angry his hands shook, his cheek twitched. Hair had come
loose from the tie again and hung beside his face but he paid no
heed. He just stood there, as immobile as time itself.

Jim was having trouble breathing. And seeing. And standing. And still
Blair didn't move.

And then he did, one step forward. Another. Still reeking black fury.

"You can't do it, can you? You can't ask for what you think you need,
can you? And why not? Because you know forgiveness has nothing to do
with it. Because you think you raped me and I keep telling you, you
didn't."

"I DID rape you!"

"Then grovel!" Blair advanced another step, menacing, his voice hard
and clipped, shocking. "But you won't do it. You can't do it. Because
you know as well as I do that you never raped me. You didn't hit me,
you didn't force me, you didn't hurt me. You. Didn't. Rape. Me."

Tears of anger spilled out of Blair's eyes then, trailed down his
cheeks. He took in a huge breath, steadying his ire, holding it firm,
making Jim shudder. Blair's voice dropped to a whisper only a
sentinel would hear. "I wanted you, Jim. I wanted you so bad, I made
you finish it. If there was any crime committed last night, then
we're equally guilty, equally to blame. You wanted to get out of
there, before you could hurt me more - but I used your body's
responses to stop you, to make you stay, because I needed it too,
Jim. I needed you there. I wanted you there."

And then he was very close, so close Jim didn't need to be a sentinel
to hear the whisper, the heartbeat, feel the heat coming from his
body. "The only thing you did was take me without asking - but if you
had asked, I would have said yes."

Jim couldn't get air around the concrete in his chest. He gulped,
pushed and it did no good. "God," he rasped. "I'm so sorry, Blair, so
sorry…"

"I know you are, love, I know you are. So am I. I should never have
started seeing Marc, never have stayed with him, never have left you
alone to deal with it on your own."

"No…"

"I should never have run away."

"I… I…"

"Breathe, Jim, breathe." Guide voice. Warm, real. An anchor. "That's
it, breathe. It's okay."

And in that tone, Jim found something he couldn't name, didn't stop
to try. Instead, he just reached out and wrapped his arms around the
man, held him close, felt him hard and solid, breathing, alive, hurt
only inside.

For long, long minutes there were no words spoken, none needed. There
was just the closeness, the need. Blair held onto him as though he
would never let go. And he wouldn't. Jim knew that now. Blair would
never let him go.

It wasn't enough.

But maybe, it was enough to start with. For the moment. For today.

Jim began to feel the heat in the sun bearing down on them,
reflecting up from the desert floor. Blair slowly lifted his head,
his eyes dry now, regret and sorrow mixed in with the pain. He said
nothing for a moment, then shifted slightly until he could take out
keys and wallet. He took Jim's hand and placed them inside.

"It's up to you, Jim. It's your choice."

_____________________________
 

An old-fashioned bell tinkled as Blair pushed the shop door open. It
was darker in here, even though the day's light was fading outside.
Strong smells came to him of oiled leather and canvas, dust and
paraffin. As he wandered forward, his gaze took in walls covered in
layers of equipment, windbreakers and lamps, ladders and ropes. A
rack to his right was stacked with hiking boots, a pile of ex-army
fatigues neat and green behind it.

"Evening," a balding man behind the counter nodded in his direction.

"Evening," Blair replied with something of a smile. "How long 'till
you close?"

"Whenever you're ready. Take your time."

"Thanks." Blair wandered along the first row, not entirely sure that
he wanted to buy anything - even though it was possible he would need
it. Something else had drawn him in here, perhaps the comfortable and
familiar window display. The comfortable and familiar were a balm to
him right now.

"Did you bring anything warm with you?"

Startled, Blair looked up to find Jim watching him, standing with his
hands full of bits and pieces, an air of unreality about him.

"It's just that, it gets pretty cold out here at night. You won't
want to freeze."

"Uh, no."

Jim cocked his head to the back of the store. "They've got a pretty
good range of army surplus sweaters behind the water pump display."

For a second, Blair couldn't move. Then sense kicked in and he
replied, "Good idea. Thanks." Jim stepped aside as he went by then
disappeared again.

Blair found the sweaters, running through stacks and holding a few up
against him for size. He didn't realize he was shaking his head in
bemusement until he caught sight of himself in a mirror on the wall.

Something had drawn him in here? Jim, perhaps? And how had he known
Jim was here? They'd pulled into the small town, exchanging short
words on finding a guesthouse for the night and getting a map of the
Canyon for the next day, going in separate directions, not paying
attention. Just doing the stuff that needed to be done.

Blair had found a guesthouse and seeing Jim wasn't back at the truck
yet, he'd wandered across the road and into this shop.

Where Jim was.

Somewhat annoyed with himself, he grabbed a sweater almost at random
and began pulling it on. He got his earring caught on the collar and
suddenly there were sure hands on him, unhooking it, easing it down,
smoothing it over his shoulders. He looked up into the mirror to find
Jim standing behind him, his hands where they rested.

"A bit big, but you like the loose stuff so it should do you."

"Yeah," Blair breathed, unwilling to move, unwilling to give Jim an
excuse to take his hands away.

"Did I ever tell you…"

Blair swallowed, treading carefully. There was something achingly
fragile about Jim and he didn't know what to do about it. "Tell me
what?"

Jim's eyes held his in the mirror, softening a little, showing
something. "Always liked that I could… touch you… like this."

Blair managed a smile, one that didn't display too much relief,
"Yeah, Jim, me too."

Those hands stayed there a moment longer before Jim took a step back.
"Come on, let's let the man close up. I need some food. Did you find
a place for the night?"

"Yes, I did." Blair pulled the sweater off and followed Jim back to
the counter. The man charged it all up and Jim put a card down before
Blair could. One cool blue glance was enough to silence any protest
he might have made.

One step at a time, Sandburg. One step at a time.

The sky was gold and blue by the time they got back to the truck.
Blair directed Jim around a couple of corners until they stopped
before an older-style house with a 'Rooms for Rent' sign up.

"No hotel, Chief?"

"Thought this place looked nicer. And they've got space. They're
holding a twin room for us, facing north. They'll do breakfast for us
too, if we want."

"We won't. Best time to see the Canyon is at sunrise. Maybe they'll
pack something we can take with us."

Collecting bags, they moved inside, immediately greeted by a woman in
her fifties, long grey hair in a soft braid down her back. She smiled
at them, showing them upstairs to a room that had nothing cheap or
commercial about it. It felt like the woman's own home - which was
what had drawn Blair to it in the first place. That, and the
beautiful bay window which looked out on an open expanse of stubby
desert brush - and then open flat land. Somewhere out there he knew,
was the Grand Canyon, one of the wonders of the natural world.

He stood at the window, watching the last of the light fade,
listening to Jim charm the woman, organize some sandwiches for the
morning. Then the door was closed behind her and Blair sensed rather
than felt Jim come to stand behind him again.

His skin prickled with the knowledge, his heart giving an unscheduled
thump before settling down.

"You are amazing, you know that, Chief?" The voice was soft, almost
hesitant.

"Am I?"

There was no answer but Blair didn't move or turn around as he wanted
to. There was no touch on his shoulders this time and he wished there
were. There was just the consuming presence of Jim behind him.

"How about we clean up and look about finding somewhere eat? Our
hostess said there's hot water for a bath and recommended a good
steakhouse."

"Okay." Blair nodded.

The moment held a little longer, then Jim broke it, turning away and
opening his bag. He took the first turn in the bathroom, leaving
Blair to sit on a bed, studying the room, trying not to think.
Absently, he took out clean clothes, shaving gear, things he would
need. It had been a long day and he was tired. The bed felt pretty
comfortable, lots of blankets, a hand-knitted comforter helping the
homey atmosphere along.

The two beds sat side by side in the small room, a night-table and
lamp standing between them. Blair had given no thought to the
question. It had to be twin beds, this night, in a place like this.
Didn't matter that all he really wanted - no, needed - was to sleep
with Jim's arms around him. Didn't matter at all.

He got his turn in the bath, noting ruefully that there wasn't much
in the way of hot water left - but then again, this was a desert and
all water was in short supply, hot or otherwise. He managed to get
himself clean with what he had, washing the dust out of his hair,
rubbing it dry with a towel, hoping he'd get a comb through it later.

Jim was dressed when he got back to the room. At Blair's look of
surprise, he glanced down at his dark grey jacket and black trousers.
He looked unbearably gorgeous. "Chief, I came to Vegas to spend time
in court. I don't have much else to change into."

"I didn't say anything, Jim, honest."

To his delight, Jim tossed him half a grin, "Hurry up, Chief. I'm
hungry. I'll meet you downstairs."

Alone again, Blair re-attacked his pack and pulled out a shirt he'd
planned to wear in court, the pale grey jacket he tried to keep nice
for such occasions. He dressed quickly, spending more time on getting
the damned comb through his hair than anything else. Should probably
cut it one day. Sometimes it was more trouble than it was worth.

Finally, he finished and headed downstairs where he found Jim deep in
conversation about the Canyon, the best place to go for sunrise, the
best day trails to take, how much water they'd need to carry.

As he approached, Jim turned with a smile, making Blair stop in his
tracks. It was a smile. A real one. The first one he'd seen in… he
couldn't remember how long.

"What's wrong, Chief? You ready?"

"Uh, sure, Jim." Blair swallowed noisily, hiding his reaction. "Let's
go."

The steakhouse was within walking distance and Blair was glad he'd
worn the jacket; it was cold. He was glad to get inside the confines
of the building, again old-fashioned in shape if not in texture.
Formica tables warred with wood panelling - but there was a fireplace
in one wall and his body automatically took him in that direction.
The place was almost empty.

"Table for two?" A man somewhere near seventy, wearing an apron
around his waist, indicated a table by the fire, pulled out a pen and
pad and took their orders. No menu, just what was available.

They sat, ordering beers and steaks and Blair was proud of the way he
didn't mention anything about fat content and trimming and no fries
thanks. The beers came quickly and he let his gaze wander to the
fireplace, that being the safest place for the moment.

"You want to talk?" Jim settled in his seat, leaning his elbows on
the table, his hand around his beer.

"Do you?" Blair asked, risking a glance.

"I asked first."

The smile was across Blair's face before he could stop it - answered
with half a one of Jim's. "I'd rather talk than sit here saying
nothing. We'd look a bit silly."

"True. So let's talk."

"You're volunteering?"

"I have been known to have the odd conversation in my life, you know,
Chief. So, what would you like to talk about?"

"Me? I get to pick the topic?"

Jim shrugged, shifting granite. "You have more experience than I do."

"Yes, but you have been known to have the odd conversation in your
life, you know, Jim."

That earned him the other half of the smile and Blair was content.
So, okay, it was safe to look somewhere else other than the
fireplace. So he looked at Jim. Didn't stare - just looked.

The fire sat to Blair's right, a little behind Jim. Flames danced
across a dozen chunky logs, more a glow rather than flickering
flames. Though there were candles on some tables, they didn't have
one on theirs. The only other lights in the room were cloth-covered
lamps jutting out from the walls.

A few more people entered, taking up tables, conversing quietly.

Jim was watching him, blue eyes unreadable, planed jaw relaxed, brow
clear of tension. "So? Your choice Mr Sandburg?"

The fragility was still there - but it wasn't quite so… fragile any
more. Blair almost laughed at the silly thought but stopped himself
by answering the question. "Something safe?"

"Is there anything safe?"

"We could define dangerous first."

"We could - but that could be dangerous in itself."

"Or we could define safe and go on from there."

"Are you willing to take that risk?"

"Are you?"

"But what's safe for you might not be safe for me."

"And what's dangerous for you might not be dangerous for me."

"How much did you tell Marc about me?"

Blair's jaw dropped - and he shut it abruptly with a snap. Then he
found somewhere else to look, picking at the edge of his placemat.
"Well, I guess that pretty much defines what's safe and what isn't."

"So, what is it? Safe or not? To ask about Marc?"

Shrugging, Blair looked up again, "I guess it's safe - if you're
ready to ask the question."

"And?"

"Not a lot. He sort of guessed there was somebody and eventually I
admitted that I worked with you. He knew you were a cop, that we
shared the loft, that we weren't together, weren't going to be."

Jim listened to this without blinking. Eventually he nodded, "Did you
tell him you loved me?"

"No." Blair shrugged again, not entirely sure now this was such a
safe topic after all. "I don't think he ever needed to hear me say
it. To be honest, I tried to keep you out of the relationship."

"Why?"

"Well…" Blair's gaze was caught by movement across the room and he
used it to put tangled thoughts into come semblance of order. "I
guess I was trying to get over you. Trying to find something else to
focus on. Hoped it would stop me obsessing."

"How well did it work?"

"Well, it did and it didn't. I mean, when I was with him, it did
work, pretty much. At least, I can honestly say, I tried very hard to
make sure it did work. Maybe I tried too hard because I think he
noticed. He would bring you up in conversation now and then, perhaps
trying to get me to admit something." Blair sighed, putting his
elbows on the table and resting his chin on them. "I was so unfair to
him, you know? Yeah, there were days when I thought it would work, if
I could keep it going for long enough. Thought that maybe if I just
kept trying then maybe I would fall in love with him."

Jim took a moment to sip his beer. When the glass landed softly on
the coaster, he kept his gaze down. "Do you think that, without me in
the picture, you might have?"

"That's not why I broke up with him, Jim, honest, it isn't."

Jim met his gaze, losing all sense of fragility. His voice dropped to
little more than a whisper. "So you can't answer the question? Or
won't?"

Blair frowned, shaking his head slightly, "I can't answer it, Jim. I
don't have an answer. I can't just wipe nearly four years from my
life, from the person I've become and just put Marc into the frame.
God, four years ago, I'd never even touched a guy, remember? Looked -
nothing else. You were the… first, best reason I had to want to go
further. I can't tell you that if Marc had come along, it would have
been him because for all I know, four years ago, I might have been
too terrified to even think about it. Hell, four years ago, I *was*
too terrified to think about it."

A short frown furrowed between Jim's eyes a moment, then faded as
their meals were brought to the table. He sat back, waiting for the
old man to finish, then put his napkin on his lap, picking up knife
and fork. "Eat, Chief. You've got so thin you scare me."

Just like that. Off-hand, as though what they'd been talking about
really was safe. It wasn't much, but it was enough for Blair to
settle again and eat his food. The steak was good, the vegetables
even better. Fresh beers arrived as they ate in silence. Jim
volunteered nothing and Blair wanted to let his mind establish some
kind of balance before they took it up again.

Their ravaged plates were collected by the old guy and they were
again left to themselves. Blair picked at a piece of French bread,
trying to find a way to ask what he needed to know. Eventually, he
just came out with it. "Why didn't you tell me you didn't want me to
see Marc?"

"I couldn't do that."

"Yeah, but why not?"

Jim leaned back in his seat, his hand again idly playing with his
beer glass. The restaurant was about half-full now, lending the
conversation a little more privacy. For the first time in his life,
Blair was glad there was little likelihood of another sentinel in the
room.

One was enough.

"You were trying to get on with your life, Chief. I had to respect
that. Even if it took you away from me."

Blair couldn't take his eyes from Jim then, meeting without fear, the
sorrow he saw in pale blue. "I would have, you know? Stopped seeing
him."

"I know. That's why I didn't say anything." Jim leaned forward, his
eyes on his glass, a dry half-laugh breaking the quiet. "It's funny,
the nights I spent rehearsing what I would say to you, if I could.
The lists I made of all the reasons why it was such a bad idea for
you to see this guy I knew nothing about. One day I would imagine he
was this perfect Adonis, the next, some sleazy scum who would treat
you like dirt. I kept hoping something terrible would happen between
you and that you would come home one night, even in tears, to tell me
you'd dumped him because he was a bastard. Then I'd have a perfect
excuse to hold you, soothe you, make you feel better, be the friend I
used to be. And," he paused, taking a breath, not lifting his gaze
once, "other nights I'd listen to you come home, drift from bathroom
to bed, sometimes humming and I couldn't help hoping this Marc guy
*wasn't* a bastard because you didn't deserve that. But I couldn't
bring myself to say anything. Didn't have the right. For all I knew,
you had fallen for him and the last thing I wanted was to mess up
some chance you might have."

Finally, Jim paused to take a mouthful of beer, his gaze drifting
over Blair before firming up, taking shape. "But you never stayed the
night with him. Not until…"

"No. I… he kept asking me to but…"

Jim put his glass down, holding Blair where he was. His eyes glinted
fathomless silver in the firelight, "Why didn't you?"

"All I could think of was that if I did..." Blair was trapped, a
voluntary prisoner. "I kept panicking thinking that if I did stay
with him, even just one night then... it would really be over."

"Between you and me?"

"Yeah." Blair let out a breath, suddenly afraid now that he'd said
it, afraid that admitting such a thing had brought something cruel
into the night. "I was afraid of leaving you."

Jim watched him for a moment then nodded, his gaze going down to his
hands again, his shoulders lifting a little. "I guess you were right,
then."

Blair heard the words, among the noises in the room, among other
voices, among the silence of his own mind. But Jim wasn't just
talking about tonight, or Marc or anything so painfully recent. He
was talking about before, in Vegas, almost a year ago.

A year ago when it had ended.

And he heard the sorrow, the gentleness of it breaking his heart.
Unconsciously, he shifted in his seat, wishing to be anywhere but
where he was, with the knowledge, the past, sitting there a permanent
reminder of all that had gone wrong and all that had gone right.

He couldn't look at Jim, couldn't lift his eyes, couldn't lift
anything any more.

But then Jim touched his hand, a soft, small movement, invisible to
anyone else in the room. "Hey, Chief? You wanna get out of here?"

Blair was already on his feet. "Please."

The night air caressed Blair's face like a cool dry cloth, easing the
heat grown in desperation, in an ache for what he could never have.
He shivered and pushed his hands into his pockets.

"Should have brought that sweater. I told you it was cold here."

Blair shrugged, glancing up at him, trying to pretend there was
something to smile about. "Yeah, but I was hardly going to wear it
with you all decked out like that, was I?"

"Why not?" Jim laughed, pushing his shoulder into Blair's playfully.
"Never stopped you before."

The touch electrified one side of Blair's body and it was all he
could do not to latch onto it. "Ah, but before we were home. Now
we're…"

"What? Out with the 'quality'?"

So at least they could joke a little again. That was good. So good.
And the touch, the friendly affection they'd always shared, almost
from the first - that seemed okay, too. Perhaps things might not be
so bad, then, if there were these small steps they could take. It was
certainly better than they'd had before.

They walked side by side along the street, taking their time, in no
hurry. More than a few times, their shoulders collided the same way,
each one making Blair long for the next, hoping it would come, afraid
it would be the last.

Blair didn't really pay attention to where they were going and after
a few minutes, looked around to find they weren't anywhere near the
guesthouse. It seemed Jim was either lost (for a sentinel, virtually
impossible) or he was happy just to walk for a while, taking one
quiet street after another.

Blair felt no urge to stop him, felt every urge to encourage him. Jim
was the kind of man for whom working off physical energy was a
necessary thing. Maybe it would help him relax, help him sleep
better.

"Chief?"

"Yeah?"

Blair waited for the question, but it didn't come. Instead, Jim kept
his silence, seeming to consider carefully, without voicing anything.
They'd taken themselves to the edge of town now, where the street
lamps drew further apart until the last one didn't work at all.

So did Jim.

"Chief?"

"Still here, Jim."

"Yeah, I know." Jim stood slightly in front of him, his gaze
appearing to follow the road into inky blackness. There were stars
out but no moon as yet, though when it did appear, it would be
awesome. "I want to ask you something but I don't want you to get all
mad at me, okay?"

"Okay."

"Oh, no, that was far too easy. Think about it before you say that."

"Um, okay, Jim, I've thought about it and yeah, I won't be angry."

There was just enough light from the lamps behind Blair for him to
see the glance Jim gave him over his shoulder. "Well…"

"Jesus, Jim, you are so not doing this, man. I'm freezing to death
and you can't…"

Jim grinned, "I'd give you my jacket but I know you won't take it -
so stop complaining."

Blair shut up. Instead, he simply watched the sentinel as the grin
faded, as Jim turned to face him properly.

"Blair… what happened?" He swallowed, again trying hard to form
words, "With us? Not Marc and all that other shit - but us? Why did
it go like that? Was it really just because we finally couldn't keep
our hands off each other - or was it something else?"

The very same questions Blair had been asking himself that morning -
and that morning, he'd come up with no answers. But now?

Jim was waiting for his answer, waiting for Blair to give him those
answers… needing to make sense of it… needing Blair to make sense of
it…

The moment caught him speechless. Something of his awe must have
shown in his eyes because suddenly it was mirrored in Jim's. The
bigger man took a step forward, head tilting to one side, a vague
frown on his face and something that might have been a smile in his
eyes.

Blair trembled when the hand came up to touch the side of his face
and he leaned into it without giving it a thought. For long, silent
seconds, they stood like that before Jim came closer, taking Blair's
face between both hands, sinking his fingers into his hair.
Unwillingly, Blair's feet moved back only a few inches and suddenly
he was up against a dead light pole, unable to escape, no desire to.

"Say yes, Blair."

"To what?" Little more than a shaking whisper, so overwhelmed was he
by the sheer overwhelming presence before him, touching him again.

"I want to kiss you."

Blair closed his eyes, "Yes."

Jim tilted his head a little and then wasted no more time. He touched
his lips to Blair's with an aching sweetness that made Blair moan,
made his arms come up, made his heart lift at last.

"I love you." Jim's breath crept along his cheek, burning a path
inside him. His body gave an involuntary shudder, heat and cold
conflicting inside him, a conjunction of absolute needs.

And then Blair was looking into those eyes again, seeing so much more
than an hour ago. Hesitantly, he smiled a little, "Can we go?"

Jim frowned instantly, "Why… you didn't…"

"Jim, man, I am so freezing my ass off here, can we please go before
other parts of me turn into those horrible little brass things?"

And just like that, Jim threw his head back and laughed. He held
Blair to him and it was so good to feel that laughter so close up.
Blair was grinning like a complete idiot  when Jim finally let him
go. They began walking up the street again, but this time, Jim's hand
linked two fingers with Blair's, invisible in the shadows.

Feeling warmer by the minute, Blair was nevertheless relieved when
they finally reached their door. They entered and headed upstairs,
calling out a goodnight to their hostess.

Once inside their room, Blair reached out to turn a light on - but
his hand was caught, he was turned around and kissed again, deeply
this time, deliberately and this time, time flew on, timeless,
endless and seamless.

He was shaking like a new leaf on a windy day by the time Jim finally
let him breathe.

"God, Chief, you really are freezing. Come on, let's get you warm.
Take that jacket off for a start."

Jim left him and grabbed the new sweater, rolling it up before
sticking it over Blair's head, holding the sleeves so he could push
his arms into it. Then he was enfolded in that strong presence again
and he didn't have the heart to tell Jim that it wasn't cold that
made him tremble. In fact, it was the exact opposite.

"You have this thing about you," Jim murmured, moving his arms,
trying to get Blair warm, "and I wish I knew what it was. All I know
is, it's not a physical thing. It's a Blair thing. And it's so
graceful and fine and strong, I feel such an ungainly lump standing
near you. But it shines from you, from your eyes and every time I see
it, I become more addicted to it, want more of it."

Touched to his soul, Blair found no words to say.

"In the space of a few short hours, I find that I've fallen in love
with you all over again. How is that possible, Chief? Is it because I
can see that thing?" Jim whispered into his ear. "I love you so much,
Blair. But I'm so scared. Scared you'll always be afraid of me.
Scared you'll have reason. I can't do that again, can't take that
risk."

"You can," Blair managed. Not wanting this to be the end. Needing it
to be the opposite. But once again, he couldn't do it alone. Couldn't
find the path back alone.

"But I want you too much. Had to live without you for so long."

Blair shifted a little, until he could see something of Jim's face in
the pale light coming through the window. Starlight, his memory
reminded him. Yeah, starlight. "And I've had to live without you." He
paused, swallowing, gathering his courage, "Let's make love?"

"Blair… I…"

"Please, Jim, I need it as much as you do. I need you to feel how
much I trust you. I need…" He paused again, forcing his hands to
remain still though the desire to touch this incredible man was
almost overpowering. "I need to feel you inside me. Please, make love
to me."

Jim shook his head slightly, fragile again, frowning, unsure, "You
trust me that much?"

"Yes, Jim, I do." And Blair tried to put all the love and certainty
he felt into those few words. But it was no effort. His answer was as
honest as they came. He meant it.

Then Jim's lips were on his again, hard, deep, opening to him,
wanting him. The rasp of his tongue ignited Blair, making him drink
all he could.

Dizzy with desire and terrible need, he hardly noticed when Jim
pushed him back towards the bed, missed the moment entirely when they
finally lay down together, paid no attention to the creaking
bedsprings until…

"Jim, stop."

"What?" Jim lifted his head, a frown on his face.

"You heard that, didn't you?"

"No. What?"

"Oh, man!" Blair laughed, disbelieving and loving it for what it was.
"You didn't hear  that? Man that is way cool! This bed! We can't do
anything on this. That nice lady is going to know exactly what we're
doing up here! I just… can't do it, Jim!"

He didn't need external lights to see the smile on Jim's face. "Okay,
we won't. Or rather, we won't use the bed. Come on, get up. This will
only take a minute."

And Blair had to stand by and watch the big man pull the rug across
the floor until it lay across the base of the window - the only space
available that would fit both of them together. Then Jim pulled all
the blankets and pillows from both beds, even extracted extra pillows
from the closet. He worked quickly and neatly, until there was this
wonderful bed on the floor, made for the two of them.

When he was done, breathing a little heavily, Jim glanced at him, a
shy smile in his eyes, "I hate to say this, Chief, but I sort of
wondered why you'd asked for a twin room. I'm afraid I didn't give
our hostess a moment's thought."

"Actually, I was more worried that you might assume that I would…"

"But you do, don't you?"

"Yeah - but I didn't want you to assume that I was assuming that…"

Jim grabbed his hand and hauled him down onto the bed until he was
lying the full length of the big man, hands carding through his hair,
trapped once more and as free as he'd ever been, ever wanted to be.

"Did I ever tell you how much I love this hair?" Jim murmured,
suddenly solemn. "It's such a part of who you are. You weren't
thinking of cutting it, were you?"

"How did you know…" Blair had to laugh. "Doesn't matter. No, Jim, I
won't cut it."

"Good. One more thing?"

"What?"

"I really don't think I should…"

"Yes," Blair held that beloved face between his hands, silencing the
man with one word. "Don't you dare make this about retribution, Jim,
I won't have it."

Jim stared at him a moment, then his face softened, "Okay, love,
okay. But I am scared, alright?"

Blair kissed those lips for a moment before replying, "That's okay,
Jim. You're allowed to be scared. Just remember that I'm not."

_____________________________
 

What had started out as a cold night, soon turned into one of blazing
heat for Blair as Jim's hands slowly removed clothing, kissing and
caressing and lighting tiny fires from one end of Blair's body to the
other. He tried hard, so hard to quieten his noises, but it was
almost impossible. Having Jim make love to him was an element of
exquisite torture, his body a thing craved, his light the only one in
the darkness.

Soon he was naked and shivering, barely able to wait until Jim
undressed before him, watching him do it, knowing he was being
watched. The heavy evidence of Jim's arousal drew Blair's hands, drew
Jim down onto the bed beneath him, made him subject to Blair's
desire, made him shift and stifle moans of his own.

Slowly, so slowly, Blair felt his way down Jim's body, using only his
chest to touch Jim, leaving his hands for other things. When he took
that shaft between them, simply holding it, Jim almost twisted out of
his grasp. He froze in that form for a moment longer - then suddenly
sat up, grabbing Blair, kissing him hard, showing him with every
heartbeat that this was passion, not violence, love not hatred.

But Blair already knew that. He'd known it all along.

Desperately needing air, Blair broke away, trying to reach his
washbag without letting go of Jim. But Jim followed him, biting and
sucking the flesh at his neck, making the urgency grow and grow,
making Blair's warmth glow. His hand finally found what it was
blindly looking for and then he pushed Jim back down, straddling him.
He took Jim's hand and opened the tube, putting lube on two fingers.
Their cocks nudged each other, making them both press to one another,
needing that kiss, that meeting after so long. Then Jim's hand moved
down, to prepare Blair, so gently, so lovingly that Blair could only
smile and reflect it back.

But the feel of Jim's fingers inside him made him hiss and press
down, taking more, needing more, needing Jim. He knew it had to be
slow but he couldn't wait, didn't want to wait, needed Jim now!

He slid off Jim's body and lay down, pulling Jim over onto him,
kissing him, taking that mouth, the mouth that was offered, tongues
meeting too, duelling, sucking and thrusting.

"Please, Jim…"

"Yes, baby, yes…"

And Jim pushed his legs apart, wide, up, shoving a pillow beneath his
hips, his mouth never leaving Blair's. Soft nips of teeth on
kiss-swollen lips and Jim's hand moved down and down where Blair
needed it, down to where he could grasp himself, guide himself into
Blair.

The first moment of penetration, Blair caught his breath - and didn't
let it go until Jim was fully sheathed in his body.

Once there, Jim stopped, lifting his lips from Blair's, holding
himself above, only his eyes keeping contact. The gaze was open,
unwary, surprised and very heated.

Blair felt a tremor run the entire length of his body, felt it impact
on Jim's. Holding that gaze, he gently ran his hands up Jim's arms,
allowing the pressure of his touch to increase. He had to hold on. To
something. To Jim.

There were questions in those eyes, questions and thoughts and
discoveries - and answers. Blair could see them all, one after
another, centred in a bed of searing coals, hiding absolutely nothing
at all. Raw and plain and breathtakingly beautiful.

Jim began to move. Blair moved with him, the timing unforced, a force
within itself, shifting, growing into a driving rhythm, silent but
for the sounds of their laboured breathing.

Blair wanted to close his eyes, to simply feel the presence of Jim
inside him, but that gaze held him; a gift, free.

And the coals ignited, burning free, flaming through Jim's body and
deep into Blair's, one fire. No more. Just one.

Blair began to whimper, digging his fingers into the muscles on Jim's
arms, feeling the sweat-sheened skin, absorbing it, absorbing Jim.
Still Jim never took his gaze away, never faltered in the tempo
they'd set. Driving onwards, driving them both, driving them towards
the same goal, down the same path.

He felt it happen, the moment, felt it within Jim's body, within his
own, the coalescing of something so deep he had no words for it. Nor
had he the power to slow it, to stop it.

Jim's mouth crushed his, completing the circle and stifling the cry
they both made as the explosion hit them, again and again, sharp,
painful, ragged, hot and real.

It was barely over before Jim was holding him close, shuddering,
saying nothing but allowing his body to speak for him.

And Blair did close his eyes then, closed out the tears he knew he
might shed. Because it was over.

At last.

 _____________________________
 

Jim allowed his sense of touch to wake him, leaving his eyes closed,
knowing he would only see darkness. The scent in the air spoke of a
night growing late, a morning ready and prepared.

His body was warm where he lay, and comfortable. His ears picked up
tiny sounds throughout the house, inconsequential, grounding him.

If the last year had felt like a nightmare, then last night had been
the reality which had brought it to an end.

His lips touched tender, cool flesh. A shoulder. Barely moving, he
felt the smooth skin, each rippled indentation, the fine hairs, the
pale salty taste.

His guide.

His love.

His Blair.

Almost one whole side of his body touched some part of Blair's. Lying
spooned up behind him, his left arm around the man's chest, hand
caught in Blair's, fingers entwined.

They'd slept that way. For hours.

Grinning like an idiot, Jim allowed the caress of his mouth to become
a kiss, moving slowly up the shoulder until scented hair distracted
him for a moment.

Blair shifted. "Mmmn. 'S'nice. Don't stop."

Jim continued his exploration, breathing in, checking everything
against a memory no longer painful. "Thought you were still asleep."

"Was. Nice way to wake up."

"You want to go back to sleep? The Canyon will still be there
tomorrow."

"No. I can sleep later. How much time have we got?"

"It's a half hour drive to the sunrise spot. I'd guess maybe an hour
or so?"

He felt a sigh shift Blair's shoulders. "Oh. I was kinda hoping to do
this for a bit longer, you know? Then maybe a shower to clean up?"

"Like I said, we can always go tomorrow. I mean, we don't have to see
it at sunrise the first time."

Blair let go his hand a moment and rolled over, leaving a light kiss
on Jim's cheek. "No, let's go today, okay?"

"Okay - but that means we'll have to get up."

He heard a wicked chuckle, "But I thought we were going…"

Jim stifled further words with a deep, resounding kiss. With Blair's
laughter still in his ears, he hauled his lover up, pulled back
blankets until they were standing. "Come on, Chief, you're an ace at
getting ready quickly. Go."

With a playful swat at his rear, he sent Blair scurrying for clothes
and into the bathroom. Jim spent the time pulling their bed to
pieces, putting the blankets and pillows back where they came from.
In the dark he could see quite clearly - but still the morning had an
air of unreality to it, as though the moment the sun rose, this
wouldn't have happened. Any of it.

Blair exploded back into the room, dressed, shaved, in record time,
leaving Jim the few minutes he needed. Finished with the bathroom, he
found Blair rugged up, grin in place, ready to go.

Shaking his head, Jim turned and headed downstairs, keeping his
footsteps as quiet as possible, Blair following behind. They reached
the front door - and found a light switched on behind them. He turned
to find their hostess, robe wrapped around her against the cold,
approach them with two plastic lunch boxes.

"I'm sorry, did we wake you?" Blair began immediately.

The woman shook her head, smiling. "No, I'm an early riser. Here's
your breakfast. I hope you enjoy the sunrise. The Canyon is more than
worth the early morning."

"I'm sure it is," Blair smiled, taking the food. "Thanks. I think
we're gonna need this."

"Enjoy yourselves."

Jim nodded and turned for the door - but the woman made him pause.
"By the way, I do have a lovely double room empty, on the other side
of the landing. If you like, I can move your things across while
you're out for the day."

Without pausing, Jim's gaze instantly flew to Blair's - whose eyes
were wide open, an apology already forming.

"I'm sorry… we… oh shit…"

To prevent any further damage, Jim clapped a hand over Blair's mouth
and turned with the closest thing to a smile as he could manage under
the circumstances. "Yes, we are very sorry indeed. We didn't mean…"

But the woman held up her hand, "I'm a Christian, Mr Ellison. Christ
loved all god's creatures, not a selected few. I'll have your things
moved by the time you get back." She paused, smiling. "Go, go - or
you'll miss the sunrise."

Almost dragging his partner out the door, Jim made a quick exit, a
real smile on his face now. The sound of the truck in the pre-dawn
darkness nearly made him shudder and he sent out a mental apology to
all the residents sleeping nearby. Without gunning it - and thereby
making it worse - he got out of town as quickly as possible.

The morning was still deeply black, but that didn't make him slow
down. Suddenly it was really terribly important to get there before
the sun brought any light to the sky. Funny, all along he'd known how
he wanted Blair to see the Canyon for real, first time. However, it
was a few minutes before a sudden thought struck him.

"Hey, Chief, this is the right road, isn't it?"

"Yeah, it's the right road."

Jim smiled at the laughter in Blair's voice. The man barely sat on
the seat, almost bouncing with excitement. "You're really into this,
aren't you?"

"You bet, man. This is like, way cool to be doing this, almost
secretly, in the middle of the night. I can almost imagine that
we're, you know, the only two people doing this, the only ones there
and like, going way back in time as though we could be the very first
two people who ever saw the thing. Sure, I'm into it."

"Good. I'd hate it to be wasted."

"Never, man, never! Just wish I'd done some reading before hand. I'd
feel much better if I'd looked a few things up, had an idea of the
sacred meanings to the place. Legends always bring these kind of
things to life."

"Well," Jim drove with a permanent smile. "Perhaps this is an
opportunity for you to simply enjoy the thing as it is, you know,
like you said - as though we were the first two people who ever saw
it."

"I suppose," Blair cocked his head, looking at Jim, "except that I
think you're probably more grateful you don't have to sit through
another lecture."

"But I like your lectures."

"Oh puh-lease!"

"No, I always find them just fascinating." Jim added mildly. "Really,
do, go on. Doesn't have to be about the Canyon. It's been a while but
I think I can remember how they go. Now, don't sit there all silent.
I distinctly remember you were never silent during a lecture. No, as
I recall, the hands get waved around a lot, regardless of whether
they're holding dangerous quantities of coffee, the hair usually gets
involved," Jim flipped a glance to Blair and found him holding his
mouth shut as though by an act of will alone. "Copious quantities of
seven syllable words are tossed in, along with nice easy ones like
'tribal rituals' and 'cultural imperatives'. Oh, and you have to
change the subject at least three times or I simply won't be able to
follow you at all. And if you leave out the usual sprinkling of four
or so completely unrelated tangents, you'll lose your audience, I'm
sorry. One last word of warning."

"What's that?" Blair was biting his lip, trying so hard not to laugh.

"If your conclusion makes any sense whatsoever, I'll know you're just
not trying hard enough."

The sound of Blair's laughter carried Jim through the darkness until
they finally pulled into the almost deserted carpark. With the truck
off, silence hit again and they climbed down.

"Not many people here. I expected more." Blair drifted close to him
and Jim reached out to take his hand, able to see in the dark where
Blair could not.

"Well, it's a lesser-known spot and it's still a little early in the
season for the bulk of the tourists. Come on, the trail-head is over
here."

As his feet left tarmac and hit gravel, Jim felt a tug on his hand,
"What's wrong?"

"Man, I can't see a damned thing! Where are we going?"

Jim squeezed his hand, "Don't worry, Chief. I'm a sentinel, remember?
Trust me. I can see exactly where we're going."

Blair looked up at that, nodding a little. "Okay - but if I fall over
the cliff, you'll have to drag me back."

"Every time, Chief, every time." With that, Jim stepped out onto the
trail, easily able to see where the path dipped and sloped down
quickly. They weren't going far; they didn't have the equipment for a
full hike down and back. But he knew of a nice spot, a little
distance down the track where they could sit and watch the sun come
up, unseen by others nearby.

Blair held onto him, doing his best not to stumble and throw Jim's
balance off. But it wasn't long before Jim led him into a tiny side
track, dropping down sharply away from the main path. This track came
to an end on a small rock-bound platform. Picking something
comfortable, Jim half-sat, drawing Blair to stand between his legs,
back to his chest, arms wrapped around him.

"Cold?"

"No, not really. Be okay when the sun comes up."

"Won't be long now. There's a fraction of light there, in the east.
See it?"

"No."

"Don't look at it yet. You'll notice it in a minute."

"Can't believe how dark it is. I mean, I've been in deserts before,
but you know, this is really dark." Blair had stopped bouncing. "Did
you know that the Navaho…"

Jim kissed him, tasting toothpaste and desire both rise at the same
time. A sweet mixture of early-morning realities that only made him
want more.

Blair melted against him, no resistance, no fight. Coming up for air,
he laughed a little, "Jim, you have *got* to get a life."

"Okay." Trimming his smile, he gently turned his guide back to the
view. "See the sky now? A little lighter?"

"Yeah, I can see it." Blair had started bouncing again - not much,
more an inside job than anything else.

And they sat there in silence then, letting it happen, letting it
grow. Knowing what was to come, Jim dialled up his senses, allowing
the experience to fill him in a way he'd never done before. In a way
he'd never known before he met Blair.

The sky shifted moment by moment, fine layers of darkness leaving one
by one, lifting and sparkling, blue and yellow, brighter and
brighter.

Blair pulled in a breath and Jim just held him closer.

Slowly, so slowly it happened, bringing more colour to the sky, a
lighter blue, a brighter blue and then -

"Oh, man!" Blair's breath came out in one long word. "Oh, man!"

The Canyon was revealed to them, pale at first, a host of grey
valleys and fissures, slowly, so slowly becoming more. Then colour
followed, reds, oranges, blues and greens, more layers, thrusting up
in pinnacles of ancient rock and plunging into crevasses still black
in shadow.

"Man!" Blair repeated, his gaze roving, taking in so much. "I never…
God, it's so big! I had no idea… Jim…"

"Yes, love," Loving it more now, now that he'd seen it through
Blair's eyes. Better than the first time. Better than any time.

Blair tilted his head back, snatched a quick kiss, then turned to
take in the view as the sky grew lighter, the sunrise approaching
closer and closer. "I just can't…"

"Find the words, Chief?"

"No. There aren't any, are there?"

"None."

The massive expanse was revealed to them then, in all it's pre-dawn
glory. So far and so wide beyond them, as far as the normal eye could
see, so full of shape and texture, Jim had to dial his senses back
down to avoid risking a zone.

Gradually, Blair settled against him, his fingers gently brushing
Jim's hands. Above, Jim could hear the first of the day walkers start
along the track. He felt no desire to move.

"This must be… pretty mind-blowing for a sentinel, Jim. Tell me what
you see?"

Nah, no desire to move at all.

Jim stretched out his hand and pointed, close enough to Blair's head
so he could follow. "That peak there? The one with the smaller point
just below the top?"

"Yeah?"

"There's a little grass growing down the eastern edge of it"

"Man!" Blair let out another long word, "That's got to be a mile
away!"

"Closer to two, I think. The Canyon's about three miles wide at this
point. We should do a flight over it - it's about the only way you
get any real idea of size."

"No, here's just fine."

"Yeah, here's good."

There was silence again for a moment as the sun finally clipped the
top of the Canyon, warming the air instantly.

"Jim?"

"Yes?"

"Where is 'here'?"

Jim formed his answer with great care. "I'm not sure I know."

Blair shifted a little impatiently, turning to face him, not leaving
the confines of his arms. "I don't think we can go back, can we?"

"To what?" Jim pushed a strand of hair from Blair's forehead. "Last
week? Last month? Last year? No, we can't go back."

"I don't want to."

"Me neither."

"I think," Blair paused, pulling in his bottom lip, "we can go
forward."

"I think we have."

Blair's instant smile was more glorious than the sunrise, more
important. "Do you?"

"Maybe we should have tried that in the beginning."

"Maybe - but I'm not playing the maybe game here, Jim." The smile
vanished, replaced with a gaze steady and determined. "We can't
afford to do it wrong a second time."

Jim sighed, pulled him a little closer and pressed a kiss to his
forehead. "No. But I think we had a choice a year ago. Two paths to
travel down - but instead, we opted for the rocky road in between.
Now there's only one path left. Ours."

Gravely, Blair nodded, "Yeah. I agree."

"And besides, you have a dissertation to finish."

Blair's expression softened, "I guess I do."

Satisfied, Jim nodded, moving until he could pull his cell phone from
his pocket. He pressed a button and watched Blair move back
carefully, turn and gaze at the Canyon.

Simon's voice grated into Jim's ear like a favourite saw. "Banks."

"Hey, Simon, it's me."

"Jim?" Simon nearly yelled. "Where the hell are you? And where's
Sandburg?"

"He's here - and we're at the Grand Canyon."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"But… hell, Detective, you disappeared from Vegas two days ago and
nobody's seen either of you since! Why the hell have you waited so
long to call? Christ, I had no idea what was going on…"

"You know what happened with the trial?"

"Of course I do! Look, what's going on?"

"Calm down, Simon, everything is fine. That's why I called - to let
you know. And to ask you something."

Obviously not even remotely mollified, Simon simply grunted, "What?"

"How much leave have I got due?"

"Oh, I don't know, Jim, maybe three weeks? Four? I don't keep track
of these things."

"Well, whatever it is, I'm taking it - effective as of now."

Something of his easy tone finally got through to his captain. There
was a long pause during which Jim could hear - and almost smell- a
cigar being drawn upon, as though for strength. "I want to talk to
Sandburg."

"Don't trust me?"

"Put him on."

"Okay. Here he is." Jim handed the phone to Blair who took it without
blinking.

"Hi, Simon, how's it going?"

Jim couldn't stop himself listening in.

"Sandburg, are you *trying* to give me an ulcer - or are you just
doing it out of habit?"

"Uh, habit, I think. Why?"

"Oh, forget it! Put Jim back on."

Blair handed the phone back, an innocent smile on his face.

"Jim, you gonna tell me what's going on here? You've obviously not
killed each other so I guess I should be thankful for small miracles.
Why do you want time off?"

"Big miracles, Simon - and the request for leave should be pretty
obvious."

"You mean - you two are actually together? Is that what I'm hearing?"

"Together? Yeah, I guess we are - for the moment. That's why I want
the time off."

"I don't understand any of this. You want time off so you can break
up again?"

Jim chuckled, "No. Quite the opposite. I need some time with Blair,"
he pulled the smaller man to him again, "we need some time alone -
without any…"

"Distractions?" The sudden understanding in Simon's voice made Jim
nod.

"Exactly. Sorry, I know it's not convenient - but it is necessary."

"Oh, okay, okay, Jim, you've convinced me. Do it. Take the time -
then get your sorry asses back here."

Although he sounded as gruff as ever, Jim heard the relief and yes,
the satisfaction in Simon's voice. It made him say something he never
thought he would. "Simon, I want to thank you. You've been a good
friend. I appreciate it."

"Yeah, well," Simon grumbled, not liking the sudden loss of control.
"Well, you just get yourselves sorted out. I'll take restitution when
you get back. Goodbye."

Laughing softly, Jim put the phone away and got to his feet, never
letting go of his guide. Blair leaned into him, breathing evenly, as
though he were scenting the air the way Jim did.

"Hey, there's a rabbit!" Jim pointed - but it was already too late -
and too far away for Blair to see. He sighed, nuzzled the sweet curls
and said, "Some days I really wish you could see what I see, see
things like this through my eyes."

"Oh, I do, Jim." Blair murmured softly. "I do."
 

_____________________________

Finis
 

Author's end note: I expect there may be some consternation about the
concept of rape as discussed in this story. I would just like to say
that I abhor rape in all its forms. I say this as a survivor of
attempted rape. No aspect of this work of fiction is intended in any
way to diminish all that rape is in real life. But this is a work of
fiction and, as many authors have done before me, the sex - including
the rape - acts not only for itself, but also as a euphemism for
other important aspects of the story. I did think long and hard
before going down this course but as a writer, I hope to write free
of constraints in the expectation of greater understanding and
enlightenment. I apologize if my doing so, and in this manner, has
offended you, the reader. That was not my intent.
Any discussion of the above issues is more than welcome.

Jack Reuben Darcy
 Jack_3745@yahoo.com.au
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

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