Addicted - Sam

Part One

"They've got Jim!"

"What?" Blair Sandburg, anthropologist and now official observer to the Cascade PD, sat as still as ice in the chair at Jim's desk. His heart frozen at those three little words, he felt the folder he had been reading from slip from suddenly nerveless fingers. "What did you say?"

For the last three weeks the team of Ellison and Sandburg had been scouring the city, tracking down lead after lead on what was shaping up to be the most nerve-racking case of the year. Just when it looked like there might, in fact, be light at the end of a particular tunnel, they would hit a blind curve, winding up right where they had started from; no closer, no wiser but definitely the more worse for wear.

One step back for every step forward. Until now.

Taking in the frantic expressions, Captain Simon Banks barked out solemnly, "Rafe, Sandburg -- my office. Now."

Once safely inside the captain's lair, Simon motioned them both sit; Rafe perched on the corner of the table, Blair remained standing. Simon grabbed the chair behind his desk. "Calm down, Sandburg. Rafe, are you sure?"

"Yes, sir. H saw the whole thing; down on Parks and Cowardin."

"And he didn't do anything?" Pacing now, Blair stopped to glare at Rafe who threw his hands up in an appeasing motion.

"Take it easy, Sandburg. We were too far away. By the time we got there, they had Jim in the backseat and were roaring off."

"Backseat?" Banks seized on that, not liking the drawn way Sandburg was holding himself. If anything happened to Ellison . . . "What else did you see? I want a make, model, the goddamned registration on my desk in ten, you got that, Detective?"

"Yes sir!" Spurred on by the heavy authority in the sharp tone, Rafe spared a last glance at the anthropologist before hurrying to get the information they would need to track the bastards who had grabbed one of their own.

The door closed, but before the captain could think of any reassuring words to calm the frantic observer, Blair spoke, his eyes rising from his chest to stare Simon solidly in the face.

"He has him, Simon."

"Who, Blair? We don't know . . ."

"I do." The anthropologist asserted gravely, surprising the captain. "I know who it is."

"And you didn't think to share this information with the rest of us, Sandburg?" Banks roared in full fury. "What the hell is wrong with you, kid?"

Blair just stared back at him, rage spitting out of his blue eyes, turning them to ice. "I just now pieced it together. You had me going through all of Jim's old files, following his arrest record from the last three years."

Banks waited. Finally, "Well? Are you going to tell me what you found?"

"Nothing." Sandburg sighed. Running a hand over his face, he began to pace. "So I went back further; five years, nothing. Until I found this." Returning to the table, Blair handed over the file he had been reading when Rafe had returned with the news.

Searching it quickly, Simon raised dread filled, startled eyes over the rim of his glasses and asked hoarsely, "Dennison?"

"Yeah," Sandburg asserted grimly, leaving no room for doubt that this was their suspect.

"Damn."

Anthony Dennison was one of Ellison's worst cases. Boasting more degrees than Sandburg could shake a stick at, Dennison's particular bent was creating and experimenting with chemicals and their effects on the human brain system. The man had injected and tortured over ten people before the detective had finally caught up with him, waiting in boredom for the latest victim to die so he could calmly dispose of the body. Jim had been forced to shoot him to bring him in, and Dennison had sworn revenge on the detective from that day on.

"Sandburg, we don't know . . ."

"He'll give him the drug--you and I both know that." The forceful words told Banks not to patronize him by denying what they both already knew. "I've got to find him, Simon. We can't . . . I won't . . ."

The drug that Dennison had manufactured this time was something completely new, highly experimental, entirely unknown, and, if their initial findings and what little evidence that had been uncovered at the crime scene were accurate, extremely deadly.

Martha Brubaker, age sixteen, and her boyfriend, Mark Dobs, both dead on the scene. Apparently, after scoring some 'new shit' from an unknown someone off the street, Mark had immediately indulged in his favorite pastime, expecting the promised oblivion with open arms.

Oblivion was what he got, oblivion of the permanent kind. Only before his heart finally went, spasming under the overload of the drug, Mark had gone into an unexplained rage; uncontrolled, unexpected and completely unstoppable.

Martha never had a chance.

She had been raped repeatedly, brutally before she died, her body torn and mutilated before being left to bleed to death from multiple stab wounds more than two hours later. She had still been conscious while Mark stalked around their small apartment before shrieking one last time, this time in pain and terror as his heart exploded, leaving him lying face to face with Martha, still dying, no more than three feet away.

Jim had tried to protect him by telling him to stay in the truck, but, as always, he hadn't listened. No longer a stranger to the types of carnage to be found at a crime scene, Blair Sandburg had still fled in horror from the small room, dropping to his knees along the broken walkway to empty the contents of that morning's bagel into the grass beyond . . .

Back at the station, tears that had been stubbornly held at bay before now threatened to surface, but he wiped them ruthlessly away. Sandburg wasn't going to cry; not on the job, not here at the station and sure as hell not in front of their captain. Their captain.

He drew in a deep breath to steady himself and tried again.

"I won't let him die like that."

The Captain of Major Crimes sighed and felt his own resolve firm at the stubborn light found in the blue eyes of the pit bull in front of him. No, Blair Sandburg wouldn't give up on finding his partner, and neither would he. Jim was his friend, too, and if what everything the kid said he had uncovered in the last 24 hours about this drug was true, then he had better go along with whatever Sandburg had in mind.

Just in case it wasn't Ellison they found . . .

. . . and he was needed to put down a rabid animal.

****

It took three days.

Three days with the anthropologist unraveling a little more each day. He didn't eat, wouldn't sleep, just keep banging away at Jim's desk, searching database after database. Nothing.

The captain had sent him home, barring him from the precinct for at least eight hours with strict orders to 'go home, take a shower, get some rest, Sandburg!'. Blair had left reluctantly, staying away only long enough to shower, eat a little something and take a brief nap before returning to the station. Simon had walked in a little later with only a sigh and looks traded with a few other detectives at the sight of a slightly refreshed anthropologist once again frantically searching the police computer.

Simon was about to do it again when a shout rang through the bullpen, sending every eye to the rumpled detective as Rafe smiled in triumph, waving something in his hand.

"I've got it!"

Rafe handed the big man the scrap of paper with everything he had managed to pull together using the little information on the car, Jim's old cases and even a couple of blatantly unofficial phone calls the detective was reluctant to meet the captain's inquiring gaze about. Not that it mattered; if it got the job done, Banks would be only too willing to let any under the table tactics slide.

An hour and an unexplained detour to the loft later found two cars pulling quietly up to an old, abandoned warehouse on Canal street, lights and sirens off.

"Simon . . ."

"Not yet, Sandburg." Banks turned to his men. "Taggert, I want you, Rafe and Brown to stay on the outside. Sweep the perimeter and keep your eyes open for Dennison or his men."

"What about you, Captain?"

Simon checked the clip in his gun. "I'm going in to try and find Jim. Sandburg, you're with me."

Slipping inside the shadowy building was easy; a broken lock and half open door provided the entrance, medium to large crates stacked sometimes three to a pile aided in concealing their approach on a circle of light in the far section of the structure. The anthropologist stayed close, as silent as a ghost.

Within listening distance of their goal, Banks pulled up short. Motioning Sandburg down, the captain sank down in a crouch, peering between two wooden boxes. He counted three men, recognizing the one sitting as Dennison and feeling the grip on his gun tighten as the man began to speak.

"You did as I asked?"

One of the others nodded, casting a wary eye at something Banks couldn't see. "We dumped the car, just like you said. But what about him? Ellison's a cop, man!"

Glancing at Sandburg who looked ready to break out of hiding at that confirmation that they had found the men they were looking for, Banks shook his head, frowning sharply. They didn't know anything yet.

The sardonic reply was amused while totally unconcerned for the status of their latest guest. "I am quite aware of the fact, gentlemen, but your point would be . . .?" He let the question trail off while staring down the henchman in front of him. "I thought so. Detective Ellison is quite secure in his new home and will be dead before we have to worry about his associates even beginning to unravel the mystery before them." The tone changed and the smug grin turned hard. "So chill."

Beside him, Blair was whispering furiously while remembering to keep his voice down. "Damn it, Simon! We've got to get in there!"

"All right, I agree. Just keep your head down."

With that, the captain stood up swiftly, barking in the most authoritative, 'don't fuck with me' tone he possessed, "Cascade PD - stay where you are!"

Covering the three startled men while Sandburg stood as well, keeping the box between him and the bad guys, Simon realized the tone had the opposite of its desired effect. The two hired muscles scattered, fleeing in one direction while Dennison grabbed something and ran the opposite way.

Right into Sandburg who had circled to intercept the chemist, sending the man down with a right punch to the jaw. On his rump looking up at the furious anthropologist, Dennison might have been a ruthless criminal but he wasn't stupid. He made the smartest decision he had ever made.

He didn't move.

Getting on the radio, Simon ordered his men to go after the other two. That done, he peered down, regarding the man who had ruined so many lives with satisfied disgust. "Smart man. Just stay there before the kid really gets pissed. But then, I'm afraid it's too late for that."

"I'm going to find Jim." Flatly informing Simon of his intentions and receiving a nod in return, Blair picked his way around the remaining crates to the spot Dennison had just vacated.

"Let's just see what you've got here." Simon plucked a black square box from unresisting fingers, eyeing it warily while Dennison smirked up at him.

"It's too late. Ellison's toast." The smirk grew lazily, eyes widening in triumph. "Or will be in a few hours. No cure."

"You created a drug that had no antidote?" Simon asked him incredulously, unable to believe the evil this man was capable of. "No way to counteract the effects?"

Dennison snorted, drawling, "Where's the fun in that?"

"Simon."

"Yeah, Sandburg?"

"You need to see this."

Heeding the softly spoken request with a sinking feeling, the captain cuffed Dennison to a metal pipe, telling him, "Don't go anywhere."

"Yeah, kid, what is . . .oh my God."

They had found Ellison.

***

"Thanks, Brown. You and Rafe get him out of here."

Handing the handcuffed man to the partners, watching the car pull away, Simon blew out a breath and prepared to reenter the warehouse behind him, pulling a dry cigar from his breast coat pocket. Yes, he was trying to quit, but he wouldn't light it, and after the day he had had, was still having, he needed it. Dreading what he would find in there, the captain turned to go back in.

"Simon? What about Jim? Shouldn't we . . .?"

"I don't know, Joel." The two men traded understanding looks. Jim Ellison had been a friend to both of them for years. "I just don't know."

Taggert clasped his shoulder in support. "You do what you have to; just don't let Hairboy do anything stupid. I'll watch the door. Make sure no one gets in. Or out."

Simon snorted but ducked his head in agreement. "I hate to say it, but it may come to that. Thanks, Joel."

Inside, Simon didn't have to look for Sandburg, the grad student was right where he had left him, staring at the monitor where Jim could be seen tied securely to a straight wooden chair. Struggling with his bonds, Jim howled in furious rage, his frantic efforts enough to knock himself over if he hadn't been bolted to the floor. Battered, clothing dirty and torn, it looked like Dennison had had a little fun, playing with his victim before injecting him with the toxin.

Three days . . .

Simon could only stare, couldn't look away from the image of his friend and colleague as Ellison twisted and bucked, arms and legs straining to break what looked to be solid three-quarter inch rope that tied his hands and feet. The cords in his neck bulged with the effort, the muscles in his arms standing out in sharp relief as he relaxed for the split second it took to try again.

Dear Lord in Heaven.

"I'm going in."

"No." Simon grabbed his arm as he passed. "Oh no. In no way am I letting you in there, Sandburg. Are we clear on this?"

"Simon, it's the only way."

"No way, Sandburg." Chomping down on the unlit cigar, Captain Simon Banks countered the plea firmly. "No way am I letting you in there with him in the state he's in."

"Simon, I need you to trust me. We can't take Jim out of here until the drug wears off, he'll kill someone." Desperate, Blair exuded all of the confidence and authority he could muster while staring the larger man down. This was too important for Simon not to listen to him; Jim's life was at stake here. "You know that. And we can't just leave him in there alone."

"Listen to me closely, Sandburg, and this time get it through the thick skull under all that hair - you are not going in there. I hate to do it, but can't we - I don't know - leave him tied up until he comes to his senses?"

"His senses are the problem, Captain, look at him." The observer motioned again to the monitor where Ellison was tied hand and foot to a straight-backed wooden chair, arms bulging while he bellowed loudly, still trying to work himself free. As if he needed the reminder. "We can't leave him in there alone, or he'll kill himself."

Banks snorted, covering the chill skimming along his spine at the raging animal in that metal cell, one that had, until a few hours ago been one of his finest detectives. "I'll risk it rather than have Ellison murder me later after finding out that I let you in there." At Sandburg's determined look, the captain sighed in exasperation, deciding that plainer language might be necessary. "Kid, do you know what he'll do to you? Think of Martha. You wouldn't stand a chance against him, even if he was in his right mind."

"I know that, Simon."

Banks looked at the determined stare again, only to find that the kid really did know what would be in store for him at the hands of his friend and partner. "My God. You do, don't you?" At the downcast eyes and stubborn set of the shoulders, Simon asked again. "Sandburg . . .... Blair . . ....."

"Please, Simon. I have to help him."

"I . . .... " Damn, Jim was going to kill him, and they'd never find the body. But what choice did he have? Sandburg was right; Jim really would do himself damage if he wasn't stopped, and his Guide was probably the only one who stood a remote shot at talking him down. Closing his eyes against the unwanted images of what was almost guaranteed to happen, Captain Simon Banks sighed heavily. "Okay, Kid. See what you can do."

"Thank you, Simon." With a look of relief, Blair reached for his backpack and took off his coat, hearing Simon snort in dangerous irony, eyeing both the medicine kit and the double roll of sleeping bags tied to the top of the pack.

"Came prepared, did you?"

"Something like that." The comment was met in turn by the observer's still gaze. Calm, centered, despite the raging nerves underneath the determined exterior; his own self-doubts Blair kept to himself. "Under no circumstances are you to open that door, not until the drug has worn off."

"Jesus, Blair, I can't do that! What if . . ."

"Not until I tell you to, Simon. Do you hear me?"

Bowing under the deadly seriousness of steel in the normally cheerful tone, Banks nodded his reluctant promise. "I hear you."

"And no monitors." When Banks looked like he would protest again, the younger man looked back at him, a wealth of understanding beyond his years in those blue eyes. "I don't want Jim to ever see this, do you?"

No, he didn't. But then, he didn't want either of them to have to deal with the aftermath of whatever it was the kid would have to do to keep his partner and best friend safe, even from himself.

As the anthropologist moved to the door, Simon had to admire the courage and strength of conviction the kid - no, the man had. He only prayed it was enough. "Good luck, kid. I hope to hell you know what you're doing."

****

Part Two

"Jim?"

Entering the stark room, Blair inched in cautiously as his partner stopped trying to break free of the chair he was tied to and focused on him. The frenzied gaze wasn't exactly empty, just wild, frantic, like he was running on instinct, nobody home.

Unfortunately, that pretty much summed it up.

Blair closed the door behind him with a solid, yet oddly hollow, thunk and threw the bolt firmly in place, knowing that Simon would be doing the same on the outside. A door with a double lock, one on the outside to match this one, had given him pause for thought when first sizing up the situation, but now he dismissed it. He had bigger things to worry about than odd locks.

The drug that Dennison had given Jim had been dosed for a man of his size and weight with a normal blood chemical makeup; to Jim's enhanced reactions, the effects were concentrated almost five fold. Its purpose was to stir the hormones and regions of the brain that stimulated violence and sexual drive, and instead of inducing merely a desire for both in the detective, the chemical flooding through his system was literally pushing him over the edge of sanity.

Supressing a shiver and realizing for the hundredth time this may not be a very good idea, Blair crossed the room, crouching down in front of the bound man and lightly touching his knee to get his attention. Big mistake. The struggles increased twofold, the wild raging look rushed back, and Blair had to bury the instinctive urge to bolt back, away from him.

Heart hammering in his chest, the anthropologist took a couple of deep, calming breaths, slipping into Guide mode almost without conscious thought, the low, mellow words taking on the familiar soothing cadence as he spoke to Jim as if this was a zone and not a drug induced reaction.

"Come on, Jim, it's Blair. I know you know me. Try, Jim. Reach past the drug and listen to my voice, I need you to focus here, man. Come back to me, partner."

After almost an hour of steady coaxing, Blair was worried he was getting nowhere until he looked a little closer, saw the flicker of sanity in the sky blue eyes. "Jim, man, come on. I need a little help here. That's it. It's just one massive zone, Jim. Come back, Big Guy."

Muscles relaxed, Jim calmed enough to sink, exhausted, into the supporting frame of the chair. His eyes closed, his breathing returning from the elevated rate that he had sustained for the better part of that hour. Then the eyes opened, sanity back in the tired blue spheres.

"Welcome back, partner." Blair smiled, leaning in to cut the ropes. Too close.

With a wild cry, Ellison threw them both to the floor, rolling out until he was on top, pinning the smaller man down, ripping clothes, the arms on either side of his body offering no escape. Pinning both wrists together over his head with one hand, Jim captured Blair's mouth in a punishing kiss, demanding, taking what he wanted without permission.

Only he already had it.

Blair had been prepared for that reaction, and instead of resisting or struggling away, inciting further violence, the observer cooperated, leaning into the kiss and offering himself instead of fighting. Knowing that it might come to this, Blair had prepared himself as best he could at the loft, bringing with him things they would need to make things easier, physically, on both himself and Jim until the drug had time to wear off.

Still, nothing could have prepared him for the total furious abandon Jim was treating him with, and he cried out, his eyes widening with shock and pain as he felt Jim's teeth sink into his collarbone, breaking the skin, his shirt having long since been ripped away, almost before they had even hit the floor. His jeans were forced down, underwear with them, and Blair shuddered as he felt the cold air of the cell hit his skin.

Flipped violently over, he fell automatically to his hands and knees; cried out as the plug was found and ripped out of him with a low growl and again as Jim thrust into him. No warning, no preparation, just a single instinctive thrust that drove him to the floor as the man above him began to move.

It was over quickly, the drug in his system speeding Jim's release. Still covering him, though they were now lying flat on the cold floor, the detective made no move to leave him, growling dangerously when Blair tried to shift a little. So he lay still, shivering in the damp chill.

In no time, he was moving again, using his body to hold Blair down, his arms covering Blair's, holding the thin wrists tightly as the thrusts again grew in speed and strength; in desperation. Blair just closed his eyes, enduring the pain as his body was used again until the man holding him down thrust once, hard, and he felt another wave of liquid warmth enter him.

Then he passed out.

***

My God . . .

Blair opened his eyes slowly, trying not to cry out as he shifted experimentally. Jim was over by the far wall, curled tightly in an upright ball, rocking slightly but otherwise not moving.

He thought he had known what would be in store for him if worse came to worse, but nothing had prepared him for the sheer force Jim had taken him with. For the intense fury the man was capable of, even in lovemaking.

Get a grip, Sandburg -- that wasn't lovemaking. He shuddered. Man, nothing even close. But you knew that when you signed on for this gig so get on with it. Blair berated himself silently. Jim's going to need your help, so get it together. Fix yourself up first, then you can fall apart. Have all the hysterics you want, just . . . He closed his eyes briefly, trying to muster the courage to move the few feet necessary to grab the pack and the food he had deposited by the door. . . .not now.

Shifting slowly until he reached the backpack, Blair never once took his eyes off the older man, but the only thing Ellison (he couldn't really say Jim since there was nothing of his friend and roommate in that wary gaze) did was stare at him weakly over drawn up knees. Reaching first for the medical supplies he had packed, Blair took out the salve he had made especially for this and gingerly coated his opening with the healing herbs, hissing slightly as he inserted two fingers to reach the inside. Jim looked up sharply, seemingly sniffing the air, but didn't move.

That done, he included the bite on his collarbone, washing the blood off with a damp cloth and some water before coating the wound with the salve. Unpacking the food, Blair slowly worked his way over to the larger man, stopping at the slightest hint of aggression until he was -- almost -- within touching distance. Under Jim's wary gaze, Blair offered the sandwich and the rest of one bottle of water, setting them on the floor in front of him when he made no move to take them, returning to his side of the room.

Snatching them both, the older man kept most of his attention on Sandburg who was now foraging for his own rations. Eating slowly, Blair in turn studied Jim when he wasn't looking, taking care not to stare or meet the eyes for any length of time. There was no telling what would set him off when the drug took hold of him again.

Taking in the apparent exhaustion, the pale, drawn features, Blair finished off the sandwich, washing it down with another swallow of water. Noticing that Jim had drained all of his water, Blair gave him his, leaving it in the same spot as the previous one.

Unrolling the sleeping bags, he automatically set them out in two separate lines out of habit before shaking his head and combining them into one pile. He placed the rest of the food along with the medicine kit within easy reaching distance; the pack with a replacement set of clothing over in the corner. After all, there was no use in getting dressed again until the drug had made its way through Jim's system; they would just be ruined anyway.

Nothing left to do, the observer settled himself into the bedding and waited.

***

The drug reared its influence a total of four more times between then and the wee hours of the dawn.

Each time Jim would come over and take Blair, the attacks calming a little with each episode until, finally, the detective no longer had the energy to move away. Cradled to Blair in a limp heap, Jim allowed himself to be held, rocked slowly until his body succumbed to the exhaustion, the numbed mind no longer able to fight it off now that the drug had run its course.

Unable to keep his own eyes open after the last few hours on top of three days with almost no sleep, Blair felt his own eyes close in tandem, the last thought running through his mind, to protect Jim.

That was the scene that greeted Simon Banks little less than twenty minutes later as the captain unlocked both sets of bolts from the outside; both men nude, Ellison curled into his partner, the smaller man wrapped protectively around him as Jim slept deeply against the world.

****

"Just where do you think you're going?"

Slowing to a stop with his back still turned on the captain, Blair had this insane feeling like he was a soldier caught going AWOL, slipping away from his unit; or like a kid caught sneaking away from a punishment. His head down, he still didn't turn as he shrugged in what he hoped would be taken as commonplace. Nothing out of the ordinary here, no problem. He had everything under control, Simon, really. Yeah - not.

"Ah ... home? I really need a shower and change before ..." More like a nice hot bath, make it a double. Reluctantly, Blair turned to meet the uncompromising look of his captain. "That's not gonna happen, is it?"

"No. No, it's not." The expression softened just a touch. "Blair, I want you in the hospital."

"Simon . . ."

The softness was gone, replaced by necessity, but the words were gentle. "That's an order, observer."

Reluctant to even argue about this, Blair sighed, exhaustion catching up with him. "You're right."

With a hand on his shoulder to steady the observer, Simon peered at him in sympathy. "How are you holding up, Sandburg?"

A grimace was his only answer. "Peachy. Just ... peachy."

"It's got to be by the book or else the son of a bitch walks. We don't want that, do we, kid?"

Squaring his shoulders at the thought, Blair resolutely walked with him to the car. "No, you're right. Might as well get this over with."

A pat on the back. "Good man."

True to his word, Sandburg allowed the captain to take him to the hospital - the same hospital where Jim was currently being given a room a couple of floors above him. He even stood (relatively) still while the obligatory pictures were taken and his statement given, though he looked away from the knowing stares as the hospital staff went about doing their jobs.

When the rape kit was produced, his flinching away was as much mental as physical.

Refusing the suggestion he stay after standard operating procedures had been followed, Blair grabbed his coat and used the nursing station to call a taxi. No way was he staying there tonight, not after ... not when ...

Taking the time to check in on Jim while waiting for the taxi to arrive, Blair ran sad fingers over the smooth, sleeping brow. Home, to the loft. The healing he needed wouldn't be found in the sterile, impersonal environment of the hospital; and only when Blair had healed himself could he again face his Sentinel.

"Don't worry, Jim." his voice whispered in the darkened room. "I won't stay away long. We'll figure this out," he promised. "We always do."

***

A hot shower and even hotter bath later found Blair sitting gingerly on the floor, cushions softening the hard wood, sage burning, surrounded by the candles he always used for serious meditation. For seeking inner peace and balance; for enlightenment.

Every God he'd ever heard of knew he was in desperate need of a little peace and inner balance at the moment.

Nothing that had happened was Jim's fault; he knew that and accepted it. Knew it in every concept of the word, but that wasn't what was eating at him. Jim Ellison was innocent, the Guide knew it, the Shaman knew it and Blair knew it.

Did he fear his Sentinel? No.

Did he blame his Sentinel for anything that had happened? No.

The Guide would do anything to keep his Sentinel safe; Blair would do anything to keep Jim safe. The cop may have deemed himself Sandburg's Blessed Protector after one off handed comment, but the truth was, it was a street that ran both ways. This time there just happened to be oncoming traffic and, with no way to duck the garbage truck, they'd both got flattened.

Wincing, and shifting a little to ease a sore spot on his bottom, Blair settled again into his thoughts, allowing the scents and sounds of the loft's familiar atmosphere to put him at ease. The thoughts themselves weren't quite as comfortable.

Did he blame himself?

Mental silence.

Did he blame himself?

Yes.

At least a little.

The truth was, he loved Jim. Loved him as in he was in love with him. Not just the Sentinel, not just the body but the man; the mind, heart and soul underneath. He hadn't had to enter that room today; Simon had been right, they could have just left Jim there. But even as Blair thought that, the Shaman disagreed. Physically, Jim had been a bomb ready to explode, a contained force with nowhere to go. Mentally, the Sentinel had been adrift without the anchor of his Guide. Blair had sensed it as soon as he saw Jim struggling in the monitor a room away; felt it as soon as his hand touched the one knee.

Had Blair Sandburg, trusted partner and friend, taken unfair advantage of Jim Ellison?

Did he blame himself? No.

But would Jim? No answer.

Did Simon blame the observer? The one who's job it was, supposedly, to keep his best detective safe? No answer there, either.

Coming up blinking after a few more minutes when no further answers seemed forthcoming, Blair sat where he was, staring out at the night life of Cascade beyond the balcony windows, letting his thoughts wander. Surrounded by darkness and flickering flame, he wondered what the morning would bring. Would Jim blame him? Or would he even remember?

And what about Simon? Would Blair ever be able to look the captain in the face after what he had seen? After what he now knew?

Skaking his head lightly, Blair took a deep breath of the sage, letting the cleaning properties in, a vague hope that maybe they could cleanse him from the inside. Realistically, he knew there was no use worrying about what if's, there simply was no way of telling the future; the more insecure part of him, on the other hand, couldn't help but dread the oncoming day.

If Jim didn't remember, how much should Blair tell him? What would he say? Best to wait until the morning, take his cue from Jim. That way, he'd know more about what to do.

With one last breath in, Sandburg stood, snuffing out the candles and, looking back from his bedroom to the upper loft, turned to pad tiredly up the stairs. Tonight, at least, he would sleep in Jim's bed, as close to Jim as he could be before rising to face the real world in the morning.

Part Three

"Simon, what's going on?" Jim turned frightened eyes on his captain, trying to control the desperation and failing.

"What has the doctor told you?"

"Not a damn thing! And the nurse just keeps telling me to wait for the doc." No longer pacing, Ellison abruptly brought blue eyes up to laser the big man. "Simon -- what did I do?"

Having driven to the hospital as soon as he had risen, showered and shaved, Banks had even gone so far as to forego his morning cup of coffee in order to check in on Ellison first thing this morning. What he had found had been a very wide awake detective, pacing the small hospital room like a caged panther, metaphorical tail swishing in irritation at the total lack of information he had received despite his numerous demands for answers. Now, faced with that same demand and wanting to put off the actual confrontation as long as possible, the captain's answer was to feign innocence. "What do you mean, Jim?"

"Dammit, Simon. Just tell me, okay? My body . . . I hurt in places that don't make any sense unless I . . . Simon. Please."

Knowing he was only delaying the inevitable, Simon took a deep breath and brought Jim up to speed on the events leading from his last memory of going out for a quick bag lunch being as Blair had been hard at work on the department's database to the present. From the kidnapping to the detective's being injected with a highly experimental drug, which part was stressed very highly, to his own walking into the hospital room a few minutes ago.

He watched as Ellison began to pace again, taking in the information with increasing agitation until the one question he really dreaded having to answer was asked. And still he almost didn't voice a name.

"Who, Simon?"

"Sandburg."

"What?" Jim gasped in horror. His insides ran cold when the expression on Simon's face never changed. "No." The plea was barely a whisper, the head shaking in denial; he didn't want to believe it, wouldn't believe it. Not him; not Blair.

"Jim, " The deep voice interrupted his thoughts, booming in the small room despite the lowered volume. Somber, full of sympathy. It didn't help. "What do you remember?"

"Nothing. Not a goddamn thing, Simon." The head snapped up, leaving the big captain speechless at the amount of self-hatred he saw reflected there. "I rape my best friend and I don't remember any of it."

This had to stop now. "Now hold on a minute, Jim. Sandburg went in of his own free will and despite my telling him not to. Hell, Jim, the kid was so bent on reaching you; I couldn't have stopped him even if I had a tank at my disposal. You know how Sandburg gets when you need him."

"When I need him." Low and inaudible, the reply was full of self-loathing and guilt. Yeah, he knew how Blair was when he thought his Sentinel needed him; and that was the problem. Ellison had been fighting an internal battle with that need for months, never letting Blair know just how his feelings had changed from grudging acceptance to friendship to this bone-deep urge to love him.

"What was that, Jim?"

Again shaken out of his thoughts, Jim just shook his head. The next question was asked with a heavy heart and even heavier conscience. "Is he okay?"

The hand on his shoulder offered but couldn't deliver the support he needed. "He's fine, Jim." Simon answered honestly. "A little banged up, but otherwise he's okay. Should be here soon."

Wincing at the poor choice of words, Jim wanted to just let it go, not ready to deal with any of it yet, but the Sentinel in him wouldn't let him. "What did I do?"

"Jim . . ."

"To Blair, what did I do?"

A heavy sigh met the demand, and debating the merits very carefully, the captain pulled a video tape from the pocket of his overcoat. Ellison wouldn't stop until he had the answers he wanted, and knowing the detective the way he did, Banks knew it would be better if Blair wasn't around for the revelations. Hell, it would be better if he wasn't around. Simon was still feeling his own share of guilt for letting the observer in there to begin with.

Cold blue eyes traveled from the tape held in dark hands to darker eyes and back, the color draining from an already pale face as its significance sank in. Slowly, reaching for the black square as though it might bite him, Jim felt the dread close in on him as his hand touched the hard plastic of the case.

"Jim . . ."

"Don't, Simon." The words were choked out. "Just -- don't, okay?"

"It was his choice, Jim. Blair knew what he was walking into even before I did. It was his decision to be there." The hand on his shoulder was back, but the detective didn't acknowledge it. "Nothing I said would change his mind. Nothing you could have done would have, either."

"Go, Simon. Lock the door on your way out."

Jim didn't move until the captain left, though he was aware of the little things; the sound of footsteps on the hard linoleum floor, the displacement of air as the larger man moved to the door. Only when his sensitive hearing noted the click of the lock being turned and he was alone did the Blessed Protector draw in a shuddering breath...

...and grimly slide the tape into the VCR, and hit 'play'.

***

"Hey, Jim, you're up! Howya feelin', partner?"

Having decided last night that he would play it by ear, taking his visual cues from Jim, Blair once again took a long, hot bath, soaking his aches, doctored himself up and even managed a bite to eat, heading out to the hospital as soon as he realized he was stalling. Now waltzing into the detective's hospital room like so many times before, Blair stopped barely across the threshold at the look of utter contempt in anguished blue eyes.

Oh shit! . . . Oh no. Jim ...

"How could you?" the man demanded. Sitting on the edge of the bed, his hands hanging loosely in his lap, Ellison faced off with his partner and demanded again, "Why, Blair?"

It was as bad as Blair had thought; Jim did blame him for yesterday. For taking advantage of the detective when his defenses were down. Blair didn't fight it, couldn't deny it because a part of him agreed.

Reaching out a hand unconsciously, Blair took a step closer and tried to explain. "Jim ..."

"How could you let me do that to you?"

"What?" Sure he was missing something, Blair blinked in confusion.

"Jesus, Sandburg, I raped you!"

Oh. Jim didn't blame Blair, he blamed... No. Oh no, not this time, Ellison.

"No." The smaller man braced a hand on his shoulder, staring him down, giving him a shake for emphasis. "No, you did not. That was the very last thing you did, Jim."

Jim shook his head in denial, trying to dislodge the hand. Blair only tightened his hold. The kid had a grip when he wanted to.

"Listen to me. Do you remember me struggling? Trying to get away?"

Ellison clenched his jaw. "You were screaming."

"Well, yeah . . ." The whisper was met by an increase in body heat as Blair blushed. "But was I trying to get away?"

Those laser eyes that had refused to look at him were suddenly boring into him, and Blair felt his heart stop at the raw pain he found there. The tears welled up, no doubt against Jim's will, and the cry that followed was as tortured as the voice was full of despair.

"Why?"

It was Jim Ellison who asked, but, more importantly, the Blessed Protector needed to know. And Blair Sandburg found the Guide in him couldn't look away. "I -- because I'm your Guide, man. You needed me."

"What?" The shocked whisper was low, raw. No. Please don't let Blair have done what he thought he had.

Because I'm your Guide. You needed me.

Sandburg had offered himself to the Sentinel because . . .

"And because I ... I love you, Jim."

"You... you what?"

"I love you." Blair told him, rushing on, beginning to pace a tight circle as he took in Jim's shocked expression, nerves running overtime. "And I couldn't let him hurt you. That's what Dennison wanted, you know, to turn you into something you're not -- something you're not, Jim, so I had to be the one who...."

Blair loved him.

"Blair...."

But Blair didn't let him interrupt, couldn't let him interrupt, his arms waving as he began to move faster, almost like he was talking to himself. "I mean, I had to know that when it was all over that you'd still be okay, that you'd still be safe, that no one would blame you, because it wasn't your fault, Jim...."

"Blair...."

Abruptly, Blair stopped pacing, turning to face the man sitting on the bed, just staring at him. The grad student knew he should face whatever he would see in those eyes he could feel almost willing him to look into them, but he couldn't. Couldn't face the fact that Jim might not want him around anymore. "It wasn't your fault, Jim. Nothing that happened in that warehouse or that room was your fault. Believe that, Jim."

"I can't, Blair, because I did hurt you, and I can't even remember being there."

Biting the bullet, Blair risked a glance up into that face only to have Jim staring grimly down at his hands. "What do you remember, Jim?"

Rubbing a hand over his face, Ellison dug his fingers into his eyes. "Not a hell of a lot. Just this . . .haze over everything. All of my senses went totally nuts, nothing made any sense. And I was so angry."

"At what?" Blair moved closer, sliding to sit next to Jim on the edge of the hospital bed. "What were you angry at, Jim?'

"Nothing -- everything -- I don't know!" The last word almost a wail, Jim was up and off the bed, away from Blair.

"Jim." All it took was that one word in Blair's voice to calm Ellison's frantic pacing. "Breathe. That was the drug, man. That's what it was designed for -- to make you angry, to make you work yourself into a rage."

"It worked." Jim took a breath. "The way I attacked you... I was out of control."

Blue eyes narrowed in suspicion. "I thought you didn't remember anything...." Then, "You saw the tape." The flat statement wasn't a question.

"Yeah." the detective admitted. "Wait a minute. You know about the tape? Simon said you made him turn it off."

Blair snorted lightly. "You serious? Come on, man, even I know Simon would never actually turn the camera off with me in there and you bent on a killing spree. Forget it. No way. Besides, it's evidence, right? It is evidence, isn't it, Jim?"

"Yeah." He looked at the grad student in confusion. "If you knew that, then why did you even suggest it?"

Blair simply returned the look with calm acceptance. "I knew he couldn't leave me in there alone, not without some way to ensure my safety; his conscience wouldn't let him. But if it took letting me think he couldn't actually see what was going on . . ."

"He wouldn't feel as bad about being there in case I really did cross the line."

"Exactly, man. And I had to go, Jim. It was too important not to." Then, a little softer, "You're too important not to."

The quiet admission gave them both the strength to meet each other's eyes, and both men smiled at what they saw reflected there. It was Jim who spoke first, having dropped back down onto the edge of the bed by his side. For a while there, he hadn't been sure his legs would hold him.

"So... you love me?" The question was asked hesitantly, the quiver only detectable to Sentinel senses... or a Guide's instincts.

Blair smiled wryly, moving closer to nudge the man with his shoulder. "Yeah, I do. Enough to risk Simon's wrath by standing up to him and making demands in his face."

Ellison blinked, his jaw twitching in the classic sign that he was holding back a grin by the thinnest of margins. "That's definitely love all right."

"Yeah, you said it, partner."

"Actually, I haven't." Jim turned to look at him fully. "I love you, Chief. Not, not just because of... because you took care of me, but... well because you were there. Because you complete me, like no one else ever has, or could. I guess, as much as I hate to buy into any of this, you're my Guide. Because, well -- you're you." Jim finished weakly, a little embarrassed by pouring out his soul in the middle of a very public hospital room.

But as always, Blair seemed to understand. "How long?"

"Feels like forever."

Blair snaked an arm around the flustered man's waist, supporting him with a tight squeeze, smiling slightly, as if not quite believing his good fortune. "I want to shout it from the tallest mountain I can find, you know?"

"Blair, I don't care if you announce it over the department's PA system, " the detective's mouth quirked with a grin, as he returned the brief squeeze with interest.

"Really?"

"Really. I love you, and if that means coming out to the entire station, so be it. Hell, half the division already thinks we're lovers anyway."

"I know." Blair surprised him, regarding him seriously for a moment. "And it doesn't have to mean that, you know. If you -- if you don't want . . ."

"I want, Blair. Trust me, kid, I want."

"Yeah?" Blair smiled happily. "Good. Because I want too, Jim."

Ellison tugged on a curl lightly. "Smartass."

An eyebrow rose haughtily. "You'll just have to wait and see."

A few quiet moments were spent just absorbing the last few minutes before Jim spoke softly. "I owe Dennison."

Quirking a surprised look at his lover, Blair told him, "I wouldn't go that far, partner."

Ellison brushed his cheek with half wondering fingers. "I would."

After that, who could argue?

***

Blair Sandburg had had enough.

"ALRIGHT,People! Listen up!"

The furious anger in the tone alone would have had all heads turning to witness whatever it was the normally easygoing police observer had to say, never mind the computer searches demanding their attention or the phones ringing off the hook.

Of course, the fact that he was demanding their attention at the top of his lungs and was doing it while standing on top of Ellison's desk, in the middle of the precinct, did little to curb their interest. The fact that the normally stern visage of Captain Simon Banks peering from his office door only registered surprise and not the ill-tempered censure they all expected was labeled an added bonus.

Truth was, now that both men were back on light duty and dealing with the station, Banks had been expecting something like this. Only he had backed the wrong horse; it had been Jim the captain had expected to blow, not Sandburg.

"There are a few things that need to be set straight here, and I fully intend on doing that right now." The deep breath he took in no way calmed his raging nerves, the hand he ran through his tangled hair having the same spectacular lack of success. Blair took another breath, conscious now of every eye on him, waiting for what he would say; waiting eagerly for him to confirm what they thought they knew, to confirm what everyone had been whispering and buzzing about all morning.

"First of all, I know you've all heard, and have been spreading, the rumors -- that I was raped, and that Jim was the one who did it." The stunned silence before the collective buzz that greeted that statement told him that whatever they had expected him to say, it hadn't been to start by confronting them with the scuttlebutt that had been snapped off whenever he had entered a room today.

Well they were in for more surprises because Blair was about to set every last one of them straight on their collective ear.

"Well, that's bullshit!" he emphasized vehemently. "I was NOT raped, and Jim is NOT to blame, so get it straight! Frank Dennison -- you know, the criminal? The BAD GUY here? He kidnapped Jim, injected him with a highly experimental drug before Simon and I found him in that warehouse. I'm telling you people that this drug makes Golden look like a Flintstone vitamin." Blair could see Simon wince and could sympathize, remembering all too well his own brush with the drug that had almost had him shooting at whatever moved in an effort to kill the 'fire people' in his head.

So he could sympathize with the captain's pained reaction to his impromptu speech, but he couldn't stop now.

"The only reason I'm telling you any of this is because we're taking this clown to trial, and the opposing attorney will make it public. There'll be things said about Jim and about us, and I need to know who in this room we can count on to be in our corner."

"We need to know."

The quiet correction cut through the silence as all eyes turned to where Jim Ellison stood, unnoticed until now, leaning, one shoulder and hip resting against the door frame to Major Crimes. Peering back over his shoulder, only Blair knew the Sentinel well enough to spot the tight bundle of tension Jim was hiding with the deceptively casual stance. Blue eyes calmly raked the room, taking in everyone and everything.

Blair turned back toward the assembled officers. "We need to know," he asserted dutifully. "Who's support can we count on?"

Rafe was the first to speak up, throwing a glare to those still muttering around him. "Mine. You have mine, Blair. Jim."

Hard on the heels of his partner's statement, Brown threw in his own. "I'm there, Sandburg. You and Jim know that."

Blair nodded, smiling slightly. "Thanks, guys."

Megan and Taggert were next, followed more slowly by the other detectives who added their voices for departmental loyalties, the 'us' verses 'them' sentimentality more than anything else. After it was all over and the muttering had all but died down, Blair commanded their attention one more time. "I still have one more thing I want to say."

Blair took a deep breath, deciding to just go ahead and say it before he lost his nerve. "They'll say that Jim and I are more than partners -- and they'll be right. He's my best friend and I love him." He fixed the room with a determined look. "That said, now I'm telling you it's none of your business. We don't want to lose any friends . . ."

"But if you can't deal with it, that's your problem." Ellison interrupted quietly, a low dangerous edge to the words. "He's still my partner, and if anyone messes with Sandburg, they tangle with me. Period."

With that, Joel added, "And me," with Rafe and Brown throwing in their lot a half glare behind the bomb captain.

About that time, Simon had heard enough. Looking around at the milling crowd, Banks barked out pointedly, "What? The bad guys take a holiday that I don't know about? Back to work, people! Ellison, Sandburg -- my office."

Accepting Jim's help down off the desk (funny how it was a hell of a lot easier to get up there than it was to get down), Blair avoided all but Megan's reassuring gaze. Jim grimly steered the keyed up observer through the door to the captain's office, shutting it firmly behind them before Simon had a chance to tell him to. Now that the rush of anger and adrenaline had worn off, Sandburg's hyperactive brain was busy filling him in on all the reasons his little tirade back there in the bullpen wasn't exactly the smartest thing he'd ever done.

His hands were shaking, he was feeling a little lightheaded and he hurt. Having had enough of its owner's exertions for one day, the anthropologist's body was now protesting the mistreatment at the top of its metaphorical lungs. His back hurt, his legs were one, okay, two big knots and his ass was killing him. What he wouldn't give for a reprieve, and a nice hot bath . . .

Banks cleared his throat and Blair winced, expecting a tongue lashing of the highest order. Only that's not what he got.

"So what are you two going to do now?"

It was Jim who answered; the observer being too busy getting his jaw up off the floor. "I'm not sure I know what you mean, Simon. What are we going to do about what?"

"Come on, Jim, I know you're not that dense. The two of you basically just admitted you're an item to the entire station!" Simon growled as he glared at his best detective over his desk. "Just what are you going to do to ensure Sandburg's safety, hmm?"

This... wasn't what Blair had expected. Simon, worried about his safety?

"What?" Blair managed just as Ellison began dangerously, "Sandburg's safety shouldn't be an issue here, Simon . . ."

It was Jim's safety Blair was worried about; after all, these were Jim's fellow officers, he was the one who had to work with them. If worse came to worse, Blair could always discontinue his ride-along. It would suck, frankly, but that was better than the possibility of Jim not receiving backup support just because some dickhead refused to acknowledge the call.

Simon was agreeing with Jim. "No, it shouldn't, but . . ."

"And it won't be, sir." Stopping a potential argument before it could start, Blair took in both men before facing their captain. "I can handle myself, Simon. Whatever it takes to keep us both safe, I'll do."

Banks expression softened as he acknowledged just how true those words were, but he felt the young man was missing the point. "I know that, kid. In the last couple of years, I've seen you in action when it comes to defending yourself and your partner, but this may be a little different, Sandburg. What about backup?" Simon asked, mirroring his thoughts exactly. Or maybe they were just written on his face.

"I'm Jim's backup, Simon. Naomi left me alone a lot, and I grew up mostly on the street. I can take care of myself when I have to." There was a quiet, unyielding look in Blair's eyes. "I won't break, Simon. And I won't let Jim down."

Captain Banks sighed and rubbed his temple, wishing he could rub the nagging headache away. These were his two best men, and, forget the fact that one of them wasn't even on the payroll, the two in front of him now were his friends. No matter how well Blair had handled the job in the past, he couldn't help but feel that things were a lot more complicated than they wanted to believe. Still, he knew Sandburg was serious about this Guide thing, and if he felt watching Jim's back to be a part of his duties, then that's exactly what the kid would do. With or without the PD's blessing. So better to give it now and see how things played out in the future.

"All right; I'll accept that -- for now." The captain fixed them both with a stern glare. "Go home, Sandburg. Get some rest. Jim, you too." He could all but see Ellison frown, straightening to attention.

"Simon, I have the paperwork I still need to fill out from what I do remember."

"Fine. But after that's done, I want you out of here. Do I make myself clear, Detective? You both have another appointment with the prosecutor tomorrow morning, 9 A. M. sharp."

"Yes, sir, perfectly clear, Captain." They rose to leave, Blair preceding him out of the office before Ellison turned and said, "Thank you, sir."

"For what?"

Ellison pinpointed him with that laser stare, and Simon knew he wasn't fooling Jim with his blanket acceptance of the whole thing. Others wouldn't be as accommodating, and then there were always office politics to consider. "You could have pulled him, we both know that."

"He's your partner, Detective." Banks told him firmly. "Sentinel senses aside, Jim, you two are the best team I've seen in years. What one doesn't think up, the other one does. Now I'm not going to lose that just because some bureaucrat refuses to take his head out of his ass long enough to realize this is the twentieth century. Not if I can help it. As far as I'm concerned, Blair's your ride-along until the mayor himself pulls his credentials. Now, was there anything else?"

Ellison smiled reluctantly, acknowledging both the sentiment and the praise in that one expression. "Everything, Simon. Just... for being there."

Banks relaxed in a rueful smile, "You're welcome, Jim. Take care of him, all right? He's a good kid. And I still don't think you two know what you're up against, but for whatever it's worth, you have my vote."

"I know that, sir. I'll tell him."

"Go on, get out of here."

***

Part Four

"Well, it wasn't quite the PA system, Chief, but I think they got the point."

The blush that tinged his cheeks was charming as the grad student ducked his head. "Yeah, sorry, big guy. I guess I got a little carried away."

Smiling slightly, Jim pulled him in close across the shoulders for a hug. "No problem, Sandburg. I told you a public announcement was fine with me, and I meant it. Tell whoever you want, however you want."

Blair waited until the elevator's doors were closed behind them before moving closer, wrapping his arms around the detective's shoulders. "How about you, should I show you?"

"No. You're still sore -- don't think I didn't notice the way you were moving." Jim held his arms firmly but gently. "I won't hurt you, Chief. Not ever again."

Blair rolled his eyes in a 'why me?' gesture, giving the strong shoulders a squeeze despite the restricting hands and placing a kiss on those frowning lips before the doors opened on the garage level. "So you were watching me move, huh, Detective?" Blair favored him with a teasing look before getting serious. "I told Simon and I'm telling you, big guy; I won't break. Besides, there's more than one way to skin a cat, Jim," Blair threw over his shoulder with a wicked smile that promised both the sun and the moon and all Jim had to do was take it. "Or howl at the moon. See you at home."

For once, the ugly green Volvo roared to life, leaving Jim Ellison no chance for rebuttal, staring thoughtfully at the trail of exhaust left in its wake as Blair drove out of sight.

***

Standing in the hall in front of his door, Jim Ellison felt a wave of fear crash over him and had to fight to keep his feet where they were; had to fight the urge to run as he stood staring at the innocent, completely ordinary doorway. The door to his home.

Their home. Blair was inside, he knew, he could hear his heartbeat. And there lay the reason for his fear. His Guide was in there, waiting for him. Waiting for him to make love to him, and, though he desperately wanted to take the younger man in his arms and show him just how much he meant to the Sentinel, tell him without words that he'd never let him go, he was afraid.

Scared out of his mind. Afraid that somehow, he would hurt Blair again, like he had before, something he had felt but couldn't remember; had to see secondhand from a TV screen . . .

Instinct battled reason as he stood there. He had nothing to fear, Blair would never hurt him; Blair would never . . .

Blair . . .

He couldn't. He couldn't go in there, couldn't face Blair knowing that, even after all he had done, Blair still wanted him. He was just turning on his heel when the door opened and there was Blair, blue eyes holding him frozen like the headlights of a car holding a helpless animal, unable to run.

The low voice was soft, but commanding, knowing exactly what Jim had been about to do. "Don't you dare leave me, Ellison."

"Chief, I . . ."

"Come on, Jim." Blair took one hand in his and led him gently through the open door, shutting it once Jim was inside. "We need to talk."

"Blair, I can't . . ."

But once again, Blair interrupted him, this time placing a finger on his lips. "No one's asking you to. Believe me, Jim. Nothing has to happen tonight, not if you don't want it to."

"Blair...."

Blair chuckled, grinning at him in mock admonishment. "Jim, man, I think that's more times you've used my first name just in the last couple of days than in the two years we've actually been together."

"Sandburg . . ." Grateful for the humor, Ellison growled in exasperation before Blair once again turned serious.

"Jim." Expressive eyes the deep blue color of the ocean blinked and looked up to focus on his. "Come with me." It was order, request, plea and command all at once, and yet Jim knew that, though he had the choice to refuse Blair, it was a choice he would never make.

A Sentinel trusted his Guide. A cop trusted his partner.

Jim Ellison trusted Blair Sandburg.

Slowly, Jim's hand inched toward Blair's, outstretched and waiting, until their fingers brushed, touched and finally tangled together. Blair waited until Jim's palm moved solidly into his before squeezing softly, guiding him up the stairs.

Knowing the younger man's penchant for creating meditative atmospheres, he half expected candles to illuminate the entire upper portion of the loft, and there was a candle . . .

One candle, shining sharply in the dark of Jim's bedroom, the single flame softly outlining the bed in faint, flickering detail.

"One solitary flame, Jim." Blair spoke quietly behind him. "Depending solely on its light to keep the darkness at bay. It's up to you to light another, Jim. It's waiting for you to help it chase the shadows away."

"I... I can't, Blair." Jim whispered harshly, unable to light the wick of the second candle waiting for him. He stared at it for what seemed like an eternity, not quite courting the edges of a zone as his vision zoomed in to take in every detail of the woven thread. A simple thing, on the surface, to strike a match, to light a candle, only . . . "I -- I don't know how."

"Easy, Jim." The whisper of air that brushed across his ear caused him to shiver, almost missing the softness of the kiss as lips brushed his shoulder a moment later. "Let me show you. Let me love you," Blair whispered again. "Like I know you want to love me."

"I -- I don't deserve . . ."

"Yes, you do, Jim." Blair kissed him softly, lips brushing across lips that involuntarily reached down to meet them, needing to feel their warmth, their conviction. "Let me show you."

An indistinct mutter was offered in acceptance as Jim crushed Blair to him like a lifeline.

And Blair Sandburg did show Jim Ellison, making slow, tender love to him until the Sentinel lay curled around his Guide, tears flowing freely as Blair stroked his hair until Jim fell asleep.

***

The trial was Hell. Pure, unadulterated Hell.

Somehow, the defense managed to get their hands on a copy of the tape, and Waller was unable to decide if he wanted to crucify the prosecution's chief detective or its star witness, so he alternated by going after both. As the star witness, Blair had been slated to testify last, his testimony, hopefully, having the greatest impact on the twelve jurors bearing silent witness. The courtroom was hot, stuffy, and as Blair prophesied, open to the public and, therefore, filled to the rafters with every Tom, Dick, and Joe Shmoe who felt like a trip to the courthouse that day.

Thankfully, this was the last day of testimony; after Blair gave his version of the events of that night, the jurors would retire to deliberate and find Dennison guilty of every charge on the list. Jim had been irritable and grouchy; the heat and the close quarters, not to mention the noise and the smell of all those different perfumes and aftershaves, getting to him so that heading home had come to mean a trip up to the roof, followed by a hot, sinus clearing bath. Blair had begun to follow suit, if only to spend that time with Jim.

They would sit together, not saying a word, only staring at the stars, one hand tangled together between them like a lifeline. A world away from it all, until the next day when it would start all over again.

Now, with Blair on the stand, the sharks had come out to play in earnest. There wasn't a day of the last three that had gone by without some type of protest from the crowd filling the chamber, mostly directed at 'fags and their disgusting lives' rather than drug dealers and their danger to society. But that was something Blair had come to expect, even get used to, though the fact that it was happening at all was a blow to the anthropologist's optimistic hopes for people in general and society as a whole.

You would think that as long as people were happy, it wouldn't matter what the cause of that happiness was. As long as no one was getting hurt, where was the harm in loving someone who loved you back?

No answer was given, only more questions as the day wore on and Blair was placed on the stand. Now, halfway into his testimony, he just wanted it to end; just want to go home to the loft and curl up with his life partner by the fire and know that this was all over. That the next day wouldn't see Jim having to relive the whole nightmare over again.

The anthropologist's testimony continued, Sandburg divulging everything he had heard, seen and uncovered during the course of the investigation as well as after.

"Dennison had already given him a drug he had created before we got there...."

"Objection your Honor! Did Mr. Sandburg see my client give Ellison this supposed drug?"

"Counselor?" The judge turned toward the prosecutor.

"No, your Honor. But there is a video tape that clearly shows Mr. Waller's client injecting the detective with a foreign substance. And traces of the chemical Mr. Sandburg describes were found in Ellison's blood system later in the hospital."

"Very well. Overruled. You may continue."

"Thank you, your Honor. About this drug, Blair. What effect would it have had on a man of Jim Ellison's size? His physical and emotional state."

"On a normal man Jim's size and body weight, the drug was supposed to increase the chemical levels in the brain that stimulate violence and sexual drive." Blair leaned forward again in an effort to convey his earnestness to the jury.

And to Jim. Even in the weeks since, the detective still hadn't quite been able to forgive himself for hurting his partner, no matter how involuntary.

"But that's just it; Detective Ellison isn't normal. His reactions to any foreign substance assimilated into the bloodstream are almost always exaggerated to the extreme. I mean, even cold medicine will throw him for a loop."

"So you're saying his reaction was extreme?"

"His body's chemical reaction to the drug, yes." Blair clarified, nodding. "Instead of merely attacking someone and then running away, with the level of rage and frustration the chemicals were inducing, Jim -- Detective Ellison, would have killed Dennison in heartbeat, given half the chance."

"And anyone else that got in his way?"

"Yes."

"But not you?"

"No."

"I see. And how was the detective when you and Captain Banks found him?" By mentioning again that Blair had not been alone when Ellison had been found, Dodd was consistently wearing down the perception that Blair had intended on finding and seducing Ellison for himself, which was one angle the defense was working on.

"What do you mean?"

"His physical state? How was he when you and Captain Banks found him that night?"

"He was tied to a chair, locked in a metal cell when we got there."

"Tied how?"

"Ah, by his wrists and ankles with heavyweight rope."

"Securely, would you say?"

Blair thought back to the way the Sentinel's muscles had strained to break free of the ropes and suppressed a shudder. "Yes."

"Were there windows looking into this room?"

"No." They had been over this in the numerous pre-trial meetings, and Blair knew where the prosecutor's questions were heading--toward the video tape.

"Then how did you know Detective Ellison was even in there?"

"There were monitors hooked into a camera in the corner of Jim's cell." Blair's eyes cut to Dennison, who was smirking slightly past his attorney. "So he could see what Jim was going through after he poisoned him."

"Objection! Argumentative as well as speculation."

"Sustained." The judge leaned over to where Blair sat in the witness box, holding his glasses in gnarled, timeworn hands. "I know you feel strongly about this, son, but try to keep your answers to what you actually know for a fact."

"Yes, your Honor. I'm sorry."

"You may proceed, Miss Dodd."

"So there was a video account of the entire procedure?"

"Yes."

"All right. I'm sure the defense has saved that for later, so we will continue. Detective Ellison was tied hand and foot to a chair, locked in a metal room, alone when you got there. What did you do next?"

"Simon called for extra backup to go after Dennison, but we stayed behind to look after Jim . . ."

Ms. Dodd held up a hand, cutting him off in mid-sentence. "I'm going to interrupt here a minute, Blair. You mean that both you and Captain Banks stayed behind to look after Ellison?"

"Yes."

"Okay. Go on."

Now that the important points had been irrefutably made -- one, that Blair had not been alone, had no opportunity, therefore no motive, to seduce Ellison even under the effect of some unknown drug; and two, that monitors had been set up to record the entire time, Blair was allowed to tell his story in his own words.

"Jim was struggling to get loose from the ropes and was hurting himself in the process, so I made Simon let me go to him. Calm him down." Blair kept the next part of his story simple and to the point, not wanting to turn the jury against them or to make Jim relive it. "I got him calmed down enough that I was going to loosen the ropes, just a little until the drug wore off and we could get him to a hospital, but . . ." He glanced at Jim, the detective's jaws clenching in silent fury. "But the drug was too strong. The trance I sent him into was only temporary."

"What happened?"

"I got too close."

"You knew there was a possibility that you wouldn't be able to control your partner, is that correct?"

"Yes." Blair answered forcefully; he was well aware of the differences in their stature and was getting a little tired of everyone pointing out the fact to him. "I knew that. I mean, look at me. I knew exactly what I was getting myself into, but I had to try, don't you see? He was hurting himself trying to get free, and we couldn't let him loose. Someone had to be with him to make sure he didn't . . .to make sure neither of those things happened."

"Alright. So you knew what frame of mind your partner would be found in, and you wanted to protect him. But you did something beforehand to protect yourself, did you not? What was it that you did, Mr. Sandburg?"

This time Blair blushed from the roots of his hair to the collar of his shirt and probably way beyond. But he answered without hesitation. "I gathered all the medical supplies I could find and took our sleeping bags with me. I knew . . .I knew that, with the drug rattling around in his bloodstream, Jim would need . . .someone."

"Someone . . ." The prosecutor let the word trail off. "To have sex with?"

"Yes."

"You, Blair? Were the two of you lovers when this incident occurred?"

"No, we weren't."

"I see. Please, continue."

"We knew the main reason Dennison gave the drug to Jim was because of what it would do - affect the brain to increase the desire for violence and sex. But like I said, the dose was too strong; he couldn't just sleep it off, it would have driven him catatonic." Although she couldn't ask, in their meetings Dodd had urged him to come up with an analogy to help the jury understand, and he fished around for one now. "Think of a tea kettle. It's on the stove, water boiling, steam coming out, but what if it can't? What if there were no way to vent the steam, and it was all locked inside the kettle? Pretty soon the pot will explode. Unless the steam can find an outlet. The human body - the brain - it's the same way."

"Do you hold Detective Ellison responsible for his actions toward you, Blair?"

"No. I don't. It was my choice." Blair echoed Simon's words. "My decision."

"Did you seduce Jim Ellison?"

"No."

"Were you raped by Jim Ellison?"

"No." He repeated even more firmly. "I knew what would happen, and I prepared for it as best I could. Does that sound like a rape victim to you, Miss Dodd?"

"No, Mr. Sandburg, it doesn't. No further questions, your Honor."

"Cross, Mr. Waller?"

"Absolutely, your Honor." The defense stalked to the witness box, almost in glee, papers in hand. "On the contrary, Mr. Sandburg, that sounds very much like a rape victim to me. 'I knew what would happen, and I prepared for it as best I could.'" He read from his notes. "Just what exactly does that mean, tell me."

Blair squirmed in his seat but wouldn't back down. "It means, Mr. Waller, that your client administered a drug intentionally to drive Detective Ellison over the edge. If an outlet couldn't be found."

"So you created one, is that right?"

"Yes."

"How did you go about doing that?"

Blair stared at the man in contempt, knowing he was trying to turn the jury against them by demanding the observer supply details. "I gathered any medical supplies Jim might need and sleeping bags, food and water. Your client didn't feed him; Jim hadn't eaten in three days."

"Is that . . .all you did? Medical supplies, food and water?" Waller sidestepped the accusation, neatly avoiding the subject altogether.

Again, Blair glared but had to answer anyway. "No."

"Care to tell us the rest?"

"No."

"Objection, your Honor. Please direct the witness to answer the question."

"Answer the question, son." The judge glared at the defense but, nevertheless, instructed the reluctant anthropologist.

"What did you do, Mr. Sandburg, to prepare yourself for being used by Mr. Ellison?"

He couldn't answer and look into Waller's face so he scanned the front row, holding on to Jim instead; in some small way letting Jim know what he needed him to. "I mixed up a few herbs into a salve and used it to open and . . .and lubricate myself."

"To make it easier for Detective Ellison to penetrate you, isn't that right?"

"Yes."

"I see." Waller seemed to parrot Miss Dodd's encouraging words back at him. "Why?"

"Objection, your Honor!"

"All right, Counselor, that's enough. I agree. I think we all have the information we require, no need to go into details. Proceed."

Waller frowned but did not argue. "You stated that you knew Ellison would need someone to have sex with, is that right?"

"Yes."

"So why you, Mr. Sandburg?"

"Like I said earlier, " Blair repeated, weary to the bone. "I was safe."

"I see. You wouldn't press charges." The answering smile was almost a sneer. "Could it be that you were aware that Detective Ellison would need someone sturdy to beat up on? Someone who could take a little more damage than, say, your average woman?"

"Jim would never willingly hurt anyone . . ." Blair's instinctive defense of his partner was instantly overrun by the DA's loud continuation.

"But he did, Mr. Sandburg. You, to be precise." Opening a folder and reading from it, Waller shook his head and tsked to the jury. "Left eye blackened, numerous bruises and contusions to the face, jaw and torso, not to mention the scratches and even bite marks over the upper part of your body. Could we roll the tape, please?"

Dreading it, but knowing the tape would be played sooner or later, Blair couldn't help a wince as the screen lightened to show the cell Jim had been held in, Blair on the floor under him as the larger man brutally attacked him. That had been the first time Jim had taken him, and the jury gasped, turning pale, horrified gazes on the trembling man stuck in the witness chair who was forced to watch with the rest.

In the audience, Rafe gasped, and Brown swore under his breath; Joel merely leveled the defense attorney with an accusing gaze. Blair could feel Jim's tortured eyes on him as his own glare bore a hole into Waller, who stood feigning shock in front of him.

"You sonofabitch." The low curse from the stand was only a whisper, but the sentiment was definitely audible.

"Stop the tape, please. We won't even go into the damage Detective Ellison inflicted on your lower regions." As Blair paled and a couple of gasps were heard from the jury, Waller retracted the statement before the State could even make her objection. "Withdrawn and I apologize to the court, your Honor."

"A good thing, Counselor," the judge warned.

"Still, Mr. Sandburg, you are admitting that you placed yourself into a position where a considerable amount of physical damage could be done to your person. Isn't that, right?"

Furious, Blair refused to speak a word, merely glowered at the man in undisguised hatred.

"Answer the question, Mr. Sandburg! Did you deliberately walk into that warehouse with the intention and, indeed, full knowledge that Detective Ellison was going to attack you sexually? Did you, with full knowledge, place yourself in a position where Detective Ellison would throw you to the ground and brutally fuck you?"

Three things happened at once: Jim stood up as if to physically confront Waller, preferrably with maximum damage to the accusing face; Simon grabbed his best detective to keep him from said action; and the guys from Major Crime stood to either help Ellison or Banks in their respective efforts.

Pandemonium broke loose, everyone yelling at once, the judge's gavel banging in loud counterpoint to the angry babble.

"Objection, your Honor! Objection!"

"Answer the question! Did you or did you not, in fact, plan to be the one Detective Ellison raped?"

"Yes."

And utter silence descended on the courtroom. Sandburg didn't look around, nor did he take his eyes off the defense attorney.

*****

Part Five

"What?"

"Yes."

"To which question, Mr. Sandburg? You seem to pick and choose the ones that suit you."

"To your last one. Yes, I did make sure that I was the one Detective Ellison encountered that night." Now Blair pinned Waller, the jury and the front row with a forceful blue gaze; to the jury, at least, it brooked no argument. "But I was not raped, Mr. Waller, nor was it my intention to seduce Detective Ellison, and no matter how many times you ask me that or what words you use, the answer will not change."

Flustered by both the calm fury behind the stare as well as the sudden answering of the question, the defense attorney stared at the grad student in shock, temporarily thrown off balance by the firmly spoken confirmation.

"You -- your Honor -- I object!"

As for Blair Sandburg, he was simply having way too much fun after the crude innuendoes the expensive little weasel had been firing at him all afternoon. Questions the prosecution couldn't object to, though they certainly had and had been repeatedly overruled, albeit with reluctance by the judge. But since the entire case ultimately rested in the anthropologist's testimony, Blair had to sit calmly and not react to the various sexual slurs being hurled his way by a defense attorney whose entire case strategy seemed to hinge on discrediting the star witness.

So Blair sat, answered politely enough, and suffered through being labeled a cop slut and a liar -- among other things. But now he saw an opportunity to get a little of his own back, and damned if he was going to waste it. Mr. Waller was about to know what it meant to come up against the lightning mind and quick wit of Blair Sandburg.

Unable to resist, the police observer smiled slightly, tilting his head the way he did when he was about to make some obscure yet simple point to his students or land a zinger in the bullpen. "Never ask a question, Counselor, that you don't want to hear the answer to. You might not like the result."

"Your Honor!" Waller sputtered again, turning sharply towards the bench. "I demand the testimony this . . .this . . .witness is offering be stricken from the record as both non-responsive and totally uncalled for!"

"Oh no, Mr. Defense Attorney, I don't think so," came the judge's amused reply, pleased at last to be able to act in some way against the underhanded tactics the man had been employing all afternoon. "I think Mr. Sandburg has hit the nail on the head, here, Counselor. Don't ask a question that might have an answer you aren't prepared to accept, counter or explain. It might come back to bite you on the butt." Judge Lindel leaned forward slightly as if to emphasize his point. "Just as this one has. Now . . .ask your next question or get off the pot!"

As Waller began to round on Sandburg again, the judge continued, "And that will be $500 for the ephithet and another $1000 if I hear it again in my courtroom! Is that understood, Mr. Waller?"

"Yes, your Honor. I have no further questions of this . . .witness at this time."

"Very well." Clasping his hands, Lintel turned slightly toward the prosecution's table. "And do you wish to redirect, Ms. Dodd?"

"Yes, your Honor, thank you." She rose from her chair gracefully, her smile silently reassuring Blair that this was almost over. Tomorrow, they would move on to closing statements and jury deliberations. "I just have a few clarifications I would like to make."

Blair nodded. He had a pretty good idea of what she wanted cleared up and was more than happy to help her. Anything to clear Jim from this mess and put Dennison behind bars for good, Blair Sandburg would do.

Even if it did include spending a little longer in this chair.

"Detective Ellison was kidnapped and later found, bound securely to a chair and locked in a metal room of the warehouse where you also found Mr. Dennison hiding from the law, is that correct?"

"Yes."

"I see. Mr. Dennison is a known chemical engineer, a creator of designer drugs in the past, isn't that was his case file reads, Mr. Sandburg? The case file Captain Banks gave you, as an official observer to the police department, to read?"

"Yes."

"And was this the first time Dennison had been wanted by the law?"

"No. According to the file, he had been caught before." Blair eyed the man in accusation. "For creating another drug. He killed three kids."

"Objection!"

"He was tried and convicted on these charges five years ago, your Honor. They are a part of his court record." Victoria countered firmly.

"Overruled."

"But . . ."

"Overruled, counselor."

"Who was the arresting officer, according to the files?"

"Detective Jim Ellison."

"And Mr. Dennison was seen, caught on video tape, injecting Mr. Ellison with an unknown substance, isn't that correct?"

"Yes."

"Where is this video tape, Ms. Dodd?" Lindel asked, interested and a bit miffed that this evidence hadn't been more than hinted at before now. "Do you intend on entering it as evidence?"

"I don't have to, your Honor. Mr. Waller already has. It's on the same video tape that the defense insisted on showing us earlier. Only he failed to wind it back that far for the benefit of the jury."

The judge nodded thoughtfully; like the jury, he clearly didn't like having been deceived. "Proceed."

"You said that you intended for Detective Ellison to attack you." Looking down at her notes, she repeated his exact words. "That you 'made sure that you were the one Detective Ellison encountered that night.' One last time, Mr. Sandburg, why you?"

"Because I knew what state Jim would be in when we found him." Blair restated firmly. "I knew the circumstances, what he was going through, what he would need when we found him. I won't press charges because he is not responsible for the state of mind the drug forced him into."

Victoria nodded one last time. "Okay, Blair, is there anything you would like to add?"

"Only this." Blair turned to meet each jury member individually; those that couldn't or wouldn't meet his gaze, he simple stared down until they did. "I was not raped. I did not -- would not ever -- attempt to seduce Jim or anyone else against his will. And nothing that happened to me on that night was Detective Ellison's fault for the simple reason that he was not responsible for his actions. Oh yeah, and one more thing . . ."

Ellison knew the stubborn set of the shoulders, the thrust of the strong jaw, the glitter shooting out of those expressive blue eyes. He recognized the tone and cadence of firm words that brooked no argument, not from the jury and not from him.

"If you're looking for someone to blame for the unspeakable crimes commited here, look to the defendant's chair and Anthony Dennison," Blair demanded, holding the attention of the twelve jurors despite the frantic objections of the defense and the insistent banging of the judge's gavel against the solid platform of the oak desk. "He's your monster, not Jim Ellison."

His Guide's voice continued to ring strong and clear through the pandemonium, and only then did the Sentinel start to listen . . .

And Jim Ellison -- maybe -- start to believe.

***

Epilogue

"Aren't you coming to bed, Jim?"

Ellison heard the puzzlement in the curious tone, the covers rustling as Blair shifted on his side, watching from where he lay furthest from the rails. "Yeah, just a second."

The jury had returned from its deliberations less than an hour after retiring, to find Dennison guilty of every charge leveled against him. The man would be lucky if he saw the sun at all during the rest of his miserable life.

"What're you doing, man?"

Jim thought about that before finally answering, having thought about it enough over the past few weeks. Now was the time to put the past and all its ghosts behind him; to step out of the darkness and, just maybe, embrace the light.

"Just chasing away the shadows, Chief. Just chasing away the shadows."

With one last breath, James J. Ellison lit the wick and blew out the match, joining his lover in their bed and leaving behind two solitary candles to light up the darkness of the world.

The End

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Acknowledgments: Thank you Mary and Diana for the very fast beta. Patt did my art and has made me feel the need to start drawing again. She's an evil woman. Thank you Lisa for including my story.