Memories Revisited

Memories Revisited - PJ

Memories revisited are memories reborn
~~William Jennings Bryan

"It's me, Chief," called Ellison, shutting and locking the loft door behind himself. He shrugged out of his long, black coat, hanging it on one of the hooks beside the door. As he was toeing off his dress shoes, Sandburg strolled out of his small office.

"Hey, Jim." Beaming smile in place, Sandburg stretched up to give his lover a welcome-home kiss. He'd obviously been home a while as he was dressed in a comfortable set of sweats.

"Best part of the whole, damn day," pronounced the cop when the kiss ended. He placed another light kiss on the luscious lips then, raising his head, gave an appreciative sniff. Delicious aromas filled the air, causing his salivary glands to react and his stomach to growl. Loudly.

Laughing, the anthropologist went into the kitchen and lifted the lid on a steaming pot. Giving the bubbling contents a stir, he reported, "Lucky for you, dinner's almost ready. Your stomach sounded seriously unhappy, man."

"It is...I missed lunch," Ellison replied. Coming up next to the younger man, he gave the steaming pot an interested look. "What are we having, Chief? Smells fantastic." A pot filled with-another sniff-chicken stock was sitting on a turned-off back burner, and a wonderful odor was wafting out around the edges of the oven door.

"It's seafood gumbo with rice, corn bread and there's a salad already made in the fridge. The vinaigrette is ready, too, so all we have to do is toss the salad." Blair reached out and turned on the flame under the other pot. "If you want, Jim, you've got time for a shower. I was waiting to cook the rice until you got home."

"Sounds like a plan, Chief." Planting a kiss on top the curly crown, Ellison meandered down the hallway toward the bathroom, pulling his tie off on the way.

Thirty minutes later, both men were sitting down to a hot and filling meal. Swallowing a large bite of gumbo and rice, Sandburg asked, "How come you missed lunch, man? I thought you and Simon were going to try out that new sandwich shop on Colburn?"

"We never even got to within three hundred feet of the place," Ellison said, his classically handsome face screwing up in remembered chagrin. "Lunch turned into this unbelievable three-ring circus: with my usual run of luck, someone probably had a damn video camera running and the film's going to turn up on one of those stupid funniest video shows."

"What the hell happened?" His face one, large question mark, Blair gazed inquiringly at his partner. Due to school obligations, he'd been trapped in his office at Rainier the entire day.

Seeing the burning curiosity in the azure eyes, Jim gave an internal sigh and prepared himself to tell the whole, preposterous story. He knew his Guide would give him no peace until he did.

"Simon was just backing his car into a parking space down the street from The Sandwich Shoppe when, bang, someone smacks into us from the rear. This idiot woman in the car parked behind us suddenly decided to pull out as we were backing in and, ear stuck to her cell phone, paid no attention and just pulled forward...she admitted she hadn't even noticed there was a vehicle in front of her. There been no one there when she got into the car and she hadn't looked again since."

Knowing how the towering Major Crime captain felt about his car, Blair just stared, aghast. "I can imagine how pleased Simon was," he said finally.

"Oh, yeah." Swallowing the last of his corn bread, the Sentinel reached for his beer and took a long drink. "But that wasn't the best part. Simon and the woman were doing the usual exchanging of information when the beat cops arrived. It was Howie Reynolds and his new rookie, and of course, Howie recognized us. When the woman heard him call Simon 'Captain Banks' and realized Simon was a cop-and a head cop, at that-that's when the real fun started."

Sandburg pushed aside his plate, deciding he was finished with eating. This sounded too good to miss a single word.

"This lady-she's your normal, everyday, middle-aged housewife-well, she goes into absolute hysterics. One minute, she's standing there, talking sensibly with Simon and Howie; the next, she's screaming and crying, 'Don't arrest me; don't arrest me! I didn't mean to do it! My husband...our children...my reputation; my god, I've never been in trouble with the law my whole life! Don't arrest me!' She's just yelling this shit over and over again; nothing Simon, Howie or I said could get her to calm down.

"Of course, by this time we're drawing a considerable audience, being as it's lunch time and mid-town. Howie's new rookie, Todd Weymuth, is having trouble containing the crowd and it looks as if we might have a riot on our hands as the crowd starts complaining about three big cops picking on one, middle-age woman. Howie goes to help Weymuth, Simon manages to get the woman back into her car and I call for the medics. Luckily for us-the only good thing about the entire, damn affair-there was a squad close by on its way back from a run and they pulled up within minutes. The medics take the woman into the back of their squad-she's still sobbing so loudly I had to turn my hearing down twice-and Simon and I go back to sit in his car just to get away from the noise."

Ellison drained the last of his beer and stood up. Beginning to clear the table, he continued, "Simon and I were just thinking the worst of it was over when these four cars came out of nowhere and screeched to a stop around us, blocking the whole street. We got out of the car to find out what the hell was going on and were stampeded by what seemed like a mob of yelling, arm-waving maniacs; we finally got it narrowed down to four men and a young girl, but it sure seemed like there were more than that for a few minutes."

His whole body shaking as he attempted to choke down his mirth, Sandburg started running the hot water to wash the dishes. He studiously kept his eyes down on the foaming dish soap, certain he would burst if he looked over at the bravely suffering figure standing next to him.

"You know what that silly female was doing, Chief?" demanded the big detective, an outraged expression on his face, cornflower blue eyes wide and disbelieving. "While she was sitting in the back of the medic's squad-she was still on that fucking cell phone! She'd called her husband, both her sons, her daughter and-get this-the pastor of her church! She was calling everybody she could think of, weeping uncontrollably, and telling them that the mean, nasty cops were going to arrest her for 'deliberately' hitting a police car!"

Blair couldn't hold back his laughter any longer. Shoulders quaking, he let loose a series of guffaws and snorts. Determinedly drying a plate, Ellison viewed his sniggering partner with a narrowed eye, biting the inside of his cheek to hold back his own threatening-to-erupt smile. In retrospect, the situation was more than a bit ridiculous; he just hadn't been able to achieve the proper frame of mind to find it so until now.

Pasting an aggrieved expression onto his face, Jim poked the grad student in the shoulder. "Do you want to hear the rest of this, or not?"

"Oh, please...do go on!" Sandburg managed to get out between boisterous chortles. "I'm all atingle with anticipation."

Giving him a quelling look-which completely bounced off the laughing younger man-the cop said, "Well, after about ten minutes of this bedlam, I finally got Reverend Cline to listen to me, who was then able to calm down one of the sons. While the son tackled his brother and sister, the reverend headed over to see if he could quiet the hysterics coming from the back of the squad. Meanwhile, the lady's husband is standing toe-to-toe with Simon-this guy, he's about your size, but three times your weight, Chief-and is telling him that he 'won't tolerate police brutality against innocent victims' and that 'I know important people in city government!' Simon's so shell-shocked by this time, that I don't think he could've said a word if his life had depended on it. Fortunately, the three kids...much calmer and looking more than slightly embarrassed...converged on dear, old dad and dragged him off poor Simon.

"By the time the whole thing had been handled-the lady sent home with her daughter and the pastor-and everyone else dispersed, Simon had to get back to the office and I was due in court again. And that's why I missed lunch today, Professor," the Sentinel concluded sarcastically. He shook his head. "Thank god, tomorrow is Judge Ryker's fiftieth wedding anniversary and court is in recess. I think I'm going to need Friday and the weekend to recuperate from lunch today."

Sandburg was still letting out the occasional snicker as he wiped out the sink. "Did he?"

"Oh, that." Jim hung up the damp towel and turned to get a fresh beer from the refrigerator. "It's possible, but somehow I doubt it. Turns out Melvin Swenski-that's his name-is the day shift supervisor at the Cascade sewage treatment plant."

Pointedly ignoring him, Ellison headed into the living room. He'd had time to sit down on the sofa, turn on ESPN and get deep into the pre-game commentary for the Oakland A's/Chicago White Sox game before Sandburg finally stopped cackling. Wrapping an arm around his aching rib cage, the anthropologist took several deep, centering breaths. When he felt he had himself under sufficient control, Blair walked up behind the other man and placed a commiserating kiss on top of his Sentinel's head.

"You going to watch the game with me, Chief?" queried Ellison, canting a questioning look over his shoulder. He gave an involuntary smile when he saw the laughter still bubbling in his lover's beguiling cerulean eyes.

"Sorry, man; can't tonight," replied Sandburg. He gave a moue of disgust and shrugged. "I have sixty-five essays to read before Monday. I want to get as many graded as I can tonight before we go to bed, so I can finish tomorrow. That way, I'll have the whole weekend free and we can do whatever we wish."

"Whatever we wish, huh." Ellison's eyes darkened to topaz, although his face remained bland. "That leaves an awful lot of room to maneuver, Sandburg."

Easily picking up the lusty direction of his lover's thoughts, Blair swiftly debated the feasibility of him reading and grading all sixty-five essays the next day. Unwillingly reaching the realistic conclusion that it would be impossible to fairly grade all the papers if he tried to rush through them, the grad student vented a deep sigh. Sometimes being mature really sucks, man. Oh, well...they say anticipation is half the fun.

"Hold that thought," he reluctantly advised his partner. "If you want, we can give the weekend a quick test drive tonight."

"Oh, I most definitely want." Ellison gave his Guide a languid, scorching up and down appraisal. Turning back to the TV, he continued lazily, "I can promise you it won't be quick, but someone will be driving."

Every nerve ending from his head to his toes feeling seared raw, Sandburg abruptly found himself struggling to breathe properly and trying to subdue his very impatient cock. Down, boy, down! he scolded the unruly organ. Think grading papers...think facing sixty-five freshmen and telling them why their papers aren't graded as promised...think having to explain it to Chancellor Edwards! That last thought enough to quench even Casanova's ardor, Sandburg regained control of his body. Taking one last, deep breath, he turned away and headed toward his office.

Apparently engrossed in the action on his TV screen, Ellison called out absently, "Sure thing, Chief."

Listening to the softly muttered swearing as his partner settled into his desk chair, the Sentinel let his grin widen. Ah, Chief...sometimes you are just too easy, babe. Now that the younger man was in another room, Ellison was able to reach down and re-arrange his own extremely interested shaft. Splitting his attention between the TV and his partner, Jim settled down to enjoy the baseball game. For the most part, the only sounds emitting from the small room under the stairs were the quiet scratching of pen against paper and the occasional sotto voce comment. The Sentinel's hearing did sharpen once when he heard his Guide give an incredulous "No way, man; I am not getting into this! Any paper comparing the religious power structure of the Chacopoya with the tribal hierarchy of the Ewoks...I am so not going there. Not tonight; or any other damn night, for that matter." Papers rustled as the offending essay was laid aside. Also deciding he had no wish to further his education on that particular topic, Ellison returned his attention to the game. He had absolutely no sympathy for the wayward student who would face Sandburg's wrath on Monday morning.

The game ended, Ellison switched channels and watched the late news broadcast before standing. Giving a lengthy stretch, the cop ambled into the kitchen to rinse out his beer bottle and toss it into the recycling bin under the sink. Then he went over to the French doors and, giving a soft knock, stuck his head in the door to announce, "Bed time, Chief. Time for all good, little anthropologists to hit the hay."

Blair glanced up, a distracted frown on his face. His expression cleared, however, once he realized who had interrupted him and why. "Hey, Jim; that time already?" He looked back down at the untidy piles of papers. "I got a good head start on these. Just let me finish this one, and I'll be right up, man. Ten minutes; fifteen, at the tops."

"Fifteen minutes, Darwin," conceded the cop. "If you're not upstairs by then, I'm coming back down here and dragging you out of your cave by your hair."

Sandburg just gave him an absent-minded wave, his mind already back on the paper he was grading. Shaking his head over his partner's single-mindedness, Jim went into the bathroom to take care of nightly business. A few minutes later, he had just stepped onto the first riser of the loft steps when the telephone gave a loud, intrusive peal. Cursing softly under his breath, Ellison reversed course. Shit, it's got to be work. Who else but Simon would be calling at-a quick glance at his watch-eleven-thirty at night? Taking two, huge strides, he managed to grab the phone before it could ring again.

A short silence, then, "Is this Detective Ellison-Blair's roommate?" The hesitant voice was that of an older woman.

"Yes, it is." Giving a puzzled frown, Ellison asked, "May I help you with something?" The Sentinel extended his hearing, attempting to pick up on any background clues, but the sounds behind the woman were too muffled and quiet for even his exceptional hearing.

"I-I need to speak with Blair," the woman replied, her voice quiet but trembling slightly. "Is he...is he available? Tell him it's Charlotte Connelly."

Frown deepening, Ellison debated with himself for a moment; he didn't know the name. While the woman didn't sound hostile, there was definitely something strange going on. Her heart rate was slightly rapid, and there was an occasional hitch to her respiration. It's almost as if...almost as if she's been crying. But why would a crying older lady be calling Blair at this hour?

Abrupt tension knotting his gut, the detective questioned tersely, "Did something happen to Naomi?"

A few seconds of silence, then Charlotte went on, "Oh, yes-Blair's mother. I'm not acquainted with Ms. Sandburg, Detective Ellison, so I wouldn't have any news of her."

While the woman had never raised her voice or altered her tone, the cop had distinctly heard the sharp undercurrent of distaste and disapproval. Responding instinctively to the almost overwhelming distress he could sense emanating from the woman, he said softly, "Blair's just finishing up grading some student papers; he'll only be a minute or so. In the meanwhile, is there anything I can do for you, Ms. Connelly? Forgive me for saying so, but you sound...somewhat upset."

"It's Mrs., Detective, and thank you for asking." There was now a faint smile in the pleasing alto voice. "Blair has often told me how kind and compassionate you are; I can see that he wasn't exaggerating. Not many people nowadays would care about a total stranger's...upset." A faint, choked-off sob punctuated the last word, but when Mrs. Connelly spoke again, she had her voice back under control. "Thank you again, but there's nothing you can do. There's nothing anyone can do now."

At that moment, Blair exited his office, one hand pulling at the leather tie holding back his hair. He stopped, eyebrows raising in question, when he saw Ellison was on the phone.

The cop pressed a hand over the phone and held it out. "It's for you, Chief. She says to tell you it's Charlotte Connelly."

At Sandburg's bright smile of recognition, Ellison handed over the receiver. Going over to re-seat himself on the sofa, the Sentinel unabashedly eavesdropped on both sides of the conversation.

"Charlotte, hey, it's fantastic to hear from you!" Blair was saying happily. "How's everything going; the library board giving you anymore grief? I was going to write you guys, but school suddenly mushroomed out of control and Jim's had some really heavy cases, so I just haven't gotten around to it but I will. How's Patrick and Davy? It's a little late for you to be calling, isn't it? What is it-about one-thirty in the morning there?"

Chuckling quietly at the run-on sentences so characteristic of his ebullient lover, Ellison almost choked at Charlotte's shaky reply.

Zooming to his feet so abruptly he was momentarily dizzy, Jim hurried over to stand next to his shocked-into-silence Guide.

Sandburg had blanched a sickly grayish-white; his mercurial face was drained of all expression, the azure eyes over-wide and staring. The sturdy heart beat that was his Sentinel's bedrock had sped up to a rapid gallop and his breathing was shallow and fast. The grad student was trembling so badly, he was having difficulty hanging onto the telephone.

A tinny "Blair? Blair, are you there?" caught the cop's attention and he reached out to take the phone.

Holding up a shaking hand, Sandburg took a couple of deep breaths before bringing the receiver up to his ear again. "B-But h-how? W-Why?" he stammered, his voice cracking. "That can't be right, Charlotte-Davy's only thirty-three!" It was a cry of denial at Fate.

"I know, honey; I know." By the sound of her, Charlotte Connelly was only barely holding on to her own self-control. "B-But you remember what the doctors told us; Davy's lungs were always going to be susceptible to pneumonia. They tried hard, but this time... He just slipped away about an hour ago."

"No, sweetheart; Patrick and I were there from two o'clock this afternoon. He and Father Whitman are sitting with him now." Charlotte took a deep breath of her own; the listening Sentinel could hear the stress beginning to get the better of her. "The...the funeral Mass is going to be Saturday afternoon. Can you make it, honey?" Grief obviously overwhelming her anew, Charlotte sobbed, "P-Please say you'll be there, Blair. For Patrick and me. For Davy."

Without seeking permission, Ellison took back the telephone. "He'll be there, Mrs. Connelly," the cop said levelly, gazing steadily at the younger man. "I promise. In fact, we both will be, if that's all right with you."

"Th-Thank you, Detective Ellison." Regaining her self-composure, Charlotte continued, "Of course you would be most welcome; Blair has told my husband and myself so much about you, we would be delighted to actually meet you."

Giving his lover an unreadable look, Sandburg took back the receiver. "I'll...we'll have to check out flight times and such, so I'll give you a call tomorrow, all right?" He hesitated a moment, then questioned softly, "How's Patrick?"

"He's...he's taking it rather hard, of course. That's why I wanted Father Whitman to sit with him while I called you."

"Well, you go back and be with your husband. I'll call the house tomorrow when I know our schedule." Another short pause while Sandburg chewed on his lower lip then, almost whispering, he said, "Give them both my love, will you? Patrick...and Davy."

"I will, honey. Davy loved you, too, Blair-just you remember that. He wouldn't want you feeling guilty anymore than Patrick and I do." Charlotte sounded decisive and sure. "Now, you and Detective Ellison be careful and we'll see you when you get here. Love you, sweetheart."

Blair continued to stare blankly at the phone for several moments then, almost absently, he hung it up. When five minutes had gone by with Sandburg just staring off into space, Ellison decided it was time to take control of the situation. Wrapping an arm around his lover's shoulders, he turned the younger man toward the bathroom.

"I've only got one question for you, Chief, then you can go get ready for bed," he said gently. "Where do the Connellys live?"

"Umm...Stockridge." The anthropologist's face was considerably paler than normal and his skin was cool and damp. From the vacant look in his eyes, Blair was still not firing on all cylinders. "Stockridge, Missouri-it's a little town about four hours from KC, twenty-seven miles south of Branson, near the Arkansas border."

"Okay, buddy." With a light push, Ellison got his partner headed toward the bathroom. "You go take care of business, Chief, and I'll be upstairs waiting."

"Okay, man." Moving as though he were in a daze, Sandburg docilely made his way down the hall.

A concerned frown knitting his brows, Ellison picked up the telephone and dialed the Cascade airport. Ten minutes later, with the flights to and from Kansas City arranged, the older man was upstairs in the loft, stripping off his tee shirt and sweat pants. He was just debating whether to go back down and find out what was taking Sandburg so long when he heard the bathroom door open. Sliding under the warm duvet, he awaited his lover's arrival.

There goes our plans for tonight's test drive and the weekend merriment, the detective thought wistfully. He was immediately disgusted with himself. For christ's sake, Ellison-Blair just got word that someone he cared about has died and you lay here whining because you know he's not going to be in the mood for fun and games tonight! Get a little supportive, soldier, and stop thinking with your balls.

Blair slowly appeared at the top of the stairs, dressed in his usual night-time attire of huge tee shirt and boxers. He just stood there for a moment, looking around, as though he couldn't remember where he was or what he was doing there. When his eyes fell on the man lying in the big bed, Sandburg gave a slight start. Still moving somewhat stiffly, he eased himself into bed and just lay there, staring up at the ceiling.

Spine tightening with trepidation at the uncharacteristic behavior, Ellison tentatively reached out. Lightly placing a hand on the shoulder nearest him, he whispered, "Chief?"

Turning his head slowly, Sandburg looked over at his bed companion out of huge-pupiled eyes. "Jim." The usual warm baritone sounded rusty and cracked, as though Sandburg hadn't spoken in very a long time.

Before Ellison's worry could morph into something worse, he abruptly had his arms full of quaking anthropologist. Uttering a silent prayer of relief, the cop firmly tucked the smaller man against himself and tenderly brought the curly head down to rest against his neck. With one hand carding through the long, chestnut-colored silk, Ellison murmured, "It's all right, babe; it's all right to cry. Let it out, Chief; I'll catch you."

Shaking harder, Blair choked out, "I-I can't, Jim. There's...there's nothing there. Davy's dead and I can't even fucking well cry for him!"

Wincing at the guilt in his lover's voice, Jim said quietly, "Sometimes it's like that, Blair-you know that. Sometimes the pain is so deep, the tears get lost." Tightening his hold on the trembling figure, he questioned softly, "Who's Davy Connelly, Blair? I know he was a good friend and that you loved him."

"Yeah, I did, man." Minutes passed then, when Sandburg went on, Ellison had to jack up his hearing to catch the low words. "Davy is...was...the only child of Patrick and Charlotte Connelly. I-I stayed with them for awhile when I was a kid."

Tension bled into the figure in Ellison's arms. Muscles rigid, Sandburg said stiffly, "No, he was perfectly healthy as a kid." The Sentinel's sensitive ears heard the unspoken emphasis on the last word. Almost unwillingly, Blair continued, "Davy had an...accident...while I was living there, a bad one. It left him-it left him in a vegetative state and needing twenty-four hour nursing care. He's been in the Taney County Convalescent Home for the last twenty years."

If the words 'No Further Discussion' had appeared in bright neon letters over Sandburg's head, the implication couldn't have been clearer. The grad student was not going to say another word about his friend's terrible accident.

Jim had a dozen questions all trying to get out at once, but he forced them back. Now's not the time for an interrogation, Ellison. Just get him relaxed again, the questions can wait until later. "What a horrible thing to happen, Chief," the cop sympathized gently. He felt the tension ease from Sandburg's body and congratulated himself on saying the correct thing. "That must've been devastating for the Connellys. Mrs. Connelly seemed like a very nice person."

"She is, Jim." Reaction finally getting the best of him, Sandburg was as limp as over-cooked pasta. "She works for the city of Stockridge-has for almost, oh, wow, forty years now. Patrick is the head of the Taney County Department of Roads, but back when I lived there, he drove a truck for them: you know, snow plows during the winter, and then road construction trucks for the warmer months." Exhaustion pulling at him, Sandburg forced himself to stay awake. "Did-were you able to get us some plane tickets?"

"Yes," replied Ellison, bending his head so he could kiss the curly crown. "Our flight on Northwest Airlines leaves at ten in the morning; that'll put us into KC around four their time. I've even got a rental car standing by for when we arrive. Our flight back to Cascade leaves at three, Sunday afternoon-we'll be getting home around five o'clock that evening. I'm sorry I had to make the trip so short, but it's imperative I be back in court Monday morning."

"I know, man; don't worry about it." Blair placed a kiss on the suede-soft skin under his lips. "I have two classes on Monday I really shouldn't miss, either." Barely managing to keep his eyes open, he muttered, "Thanks for coming with me, Jim. I don't think I could do this without you." He felt another kiss on the top of his head.

"No thanks necessary, Chief." Ellison started trailing his hand lightly up and down the younger man's spine, soothing him deeper into sleep. "Now, go to sleep, babe-tomorrow's going to be a long day. Love you, Blair."

Going down rapidly, Blair hung on long enough to mumble, "Love you, too, man. So much."

Checking to make sure Blair was still occupied in the shower, Ellison halted breakfast preparations long enough to pick up the telephone again. Seems like I've already spent hours on the damn thing, and I've only been up less than one hour. Still, a lot of things need to be arranged and Sandburg, although he'd probably totally deny it, isn't in any shape to do them. He broke off his mental ruminations when the phone on the other end was answered.

Skipping the normal pleasantries, Ellison came right to the point. "Sorry to bother you so early, Simon, but I need to take today off."

"Jim?" A little worry crept into the deep voice. "Is there something wrong? Is Sandburg all right?"

"I'm fine and so is Blair," Ellison reassured, "although this does have to do with him. He got a phone call late last night that a good friend has died in Missouri. The funeral is tomorrow and I want to be with him; he's pretty shook up, Simon. We want to fly out today."

"Remember, you've got court Monday morning." That was the captain of Major Crime speaking.

"I know, don't worry. The return flight will have us back in Cascade around five, Sunday evening. I won't miss court."

"In that case, I don't see why you can't have today off. God knows you certainly have the vacation time coming." The supportive friend returning, Banks said, "You were only going to catch up on some paperwork today, right?"

"Yeah. I was going to finalize that report on the Colonel Oliver caper for Army Intelligence. As far as I'm concerned, however, those bastards can wait until Hell freezes over for the damn report. They've certainly never done me any favors."

"Easy, Jim; don't get yourself worked up all over again," chuckled Banks. Sobering, he stated, "Take today off, and I'll see you Monday after court. Tell Sandburg I'm sorry about his friend."

"Will do, Simon. Thanks." As he hung up the phone, Ellison heard the shower turn off. Knowing he still had a few minutes until his partner's appearance, the cop ran over his mental checklist, making sure he hadn't forgotten anything. Think I've done it all: flights and rental car taken care of last night; called and got us a motel reservation in Stockridge; arranged for Pam to pick up and grade Sandburg's school papers; got Jeff to cover the one class the kid had to teach today; and contacted Simon to get the day off. Yep, that should take care of everything.

Call me overly suspicious, but the Connellys sure don't seem like the usual type of people Naomi would know. From what little Blair said, they seem like your stereotypical, stable, middle-class working folk-the total opposite of everything Naomi is. Still, Sandburg said Patrick was a truck driver; maybe he picked up them up when their car broke down or something. Then, Naomi being her usual impulsive self, she probably just dumped poor Blair on him, saying she'd be back later to collect him; that would be just about her speed. God knows, from what Blair's told me, she was always treating him like an unwanted parcel-not that he ever considered her actions in that light, himself. That would explain Charlotte's attitude last night, too. As a mother herself, she definitely wouldn't approve of a woman just giving her kid to the first person she sees without verifying if that person is trustworthy or not.

And I have to wonder about that accident of Davy's. It had to be extremely traumatic to leave him vegetative for the last twenty years of his life. But the kid's body language last night left it pretty clear that subject is taboo. Maybe once he calms down some, I can get more out of him-no need to push.

His train of thought broken by the sound of the bathroom door opening, Jim finished dishing up breakfast.

Seating himself, Sandburg mumbled an indistinct greeting, then buried his face in his coffee mug. Clad in one of his trademark flannel shirts and jeans, his long curls pulled back and contained in a ponytail, to the casual observer, the grad student looked no different than he had at the myriad of breakfasts the two men had shared since the younger man had talked his way into Ellison's loft eighteen months prior. Ellison, however, noted all the tiny indications of stress: the slightly abstracted look in the topaz eyes, the tense line of the square jaw and the compressed full lips.

In deference to his lover's mood, the older man made no attempt at casual conversation; he simply ensured that Sandburg did eat something of his meal. His tact and patience paid off when, halfway through his second mug of coffee, Blair glanced around, sighed, then looked over at Ellison, a rueful smile in his eyes.

"Hey, Jim. Sorry I'm such poor company this morning." It was said with all sincerity, as though Sandburg felt he should apologize for his melancholy mood. "I haven't even told you I love you yet."

"I love you, too, Chief, and there's no need to worry about me." The big cop took a bite of his bagel. Swallowing, he continued, "You had some heavy duty shit laid on you last night. No one-least of all me-expects you to be bouncing around the place this morning."

"Well, I'd better get my act together somewhat; I've got a class to teach at two this afternoon. Shit, my class!" Sandburg suddenly looked stricken. "Jim, how the hell can I be on that flight to KC at ten when I have to teach this afternoon?!" Hurriedly pushing back from the table, the anthropologist almost knocked his chair over in his haste. "I've got to call somebody, quick, and get that class covered. Damn, the essays! No, wait, I can finish them when I get back Sunday evening." Blair seemed to be speaking mainly to himself as he darted for the telephone.

"Whoa, Chief; slow it down." Getting to his feet, Ellison put himself between his partner and the phone. Easily turning the younger man around, he led Sandburg back to his chair. "Sit down; we still have almost an hour before we have to leave for the airport. I've already packed for the both of us. Finish your coffee first, though, okay? You're going to be needing all the caffeine you can get today."

"B-But, Jim!" protested Sandburg, nonetheless doing as he was told. "I have to find someone to cover my class; I can't just leave those kids hanging. And what about you-weren't you supposed to go in today to finish up some paperwork? Simon will have your butt if you just blow it off."

"Everything is already handled," Ellison replied calmly. "Simon gave me the day off-he sends his condolences, by the way; Jeff Selway is going to cover your class this afternoon and Pam Rumholz will make sure those essays are graded for you. She says to leave them stacked outside the loft door and she'll pick them up around eleven on her way to Rainier."

From the expression on his face, Sandburg was debating on whether he should hit or kiss his lover. Settling for shaking his head and giving a wry grin, he got out of his seat again and walked over behind Ellison. Throwing his arms around the broad shoulders, he gave the bigger man a fierce hug and rubbed his cheek against the soft brown hair on top his lover's head. "Somebody's over-protective button got pushed," he murmured. "Any other arrangements I should know about?"

Breathing a mental sigh of relief that Sandburg hadn't gotten angry over his well-meaning usurpation, Jim responded honestly, "I've booked us a room at the StarBurst Motel in Stockridge. By the time we collect our luggage and get there, I expect it'll be between nine and nine-thirty tonight. I made the reservation because...well, you know." A lean hand waved aimlessly.

Luckily, Blair was an adept at Ellison-speak and sign language. "No, they don't know about us," he declared, not loosening his hold on his lover. "To be truthful, I don't think they would mind, but Charlotte and Patrick don't need the extra stress at this time. That was very thoughtful of you, Jim."

"It only seemed polite." Reaching up, Ellison placed his own hands over the capable ones holding him so tightly. "They sound like nice folks."

"They are, man. The time I spent with them was just about the best time of my life, until I met you. Charlotte and Patrick were older than most of the adults I knew-they'd tried and tried for years to have kids then, when they'd given up all hope, Charlotte got pregnant with Davy-but they were fun to be around. Patrick was never too tired to play ball with Davy and me, or to take us fishing on the weekends. I think I gained ten pounds from Charlotte's cooking."

"That's my little pudge," teased Ellison. "Anybody who feeds you has got a friend for life."

Sandburg freed one hand to whack him lightly on the shoulder. "This is all muscle; as you should very well know."

Hating to end the light moment, Jim said regretfully, "We need to be getting a move on it, Chief. Dishes have to be done, and you still have to call Charlotte to let her know what's going on."

"Okay." Leaning over, Sandburg pressed a brief, but thorough, kiss on his lover. "Love you, man," he said matter-of-factly. "Thanks for caring about me."

"No thanks necessary, Chief." Swallowing hard to get past the sudden boulder in his throat, Ellison gave a somewhat shaky grin. "It's a demanding job, but somebody has to do it."

Hearing the slight tremble in the usually smooth tones, Blair bestowed another cherishing kiss on his lover's hungry lips. Withdrawing only when breathing became absolutely mandatory, the grad student gasped, "You get started on the dishes, while I call Charlotte, okay?"

Hot with need from the possessive kiss and the fire burning in Sandburg's darkened eyes, Ellison had to forcibly remind himself of the urgency of the moment. Taking a deep breath, he pulled himself together and stood. Before he began clearing the dishes, however, he contented himself with a thorough grope of the beautifully tight ass in the well-worn jeans then, giving that same hard butt a swat, got a grinning Sandburg moving in the direction of the telephone.

"We should be fairly close to Stockridge," Sandburg informed his partner. Manfully attempting to swallow a yawn, he said, rather garbled, "Boy, will I be glad to get to the motel. It feels as though we've been driving for four years, instead of four hours."

"You and me both, Chief." Barely a shadow in the gloom of the car, Ellison stretched his shoulders, vainly trying to ease the ache in travel-weary muscles. "This has been one, long day."

Carefully steering the rental car along the unfamiliar, night-darkened road, the cop gave an sigh of relief as his Sentinel sight enabled him to pick out the lights of their destination. "Only another couple of miles; I can see the motel sign."

"Cool. Remind me to call Charlotte once we get into our room. She wants to know we got here all right."

Half an hour later, Ellison sighed again as he closed the motel door and threw the deadbolt. "Telephone, Chief," he pointed out. "While you call the Connellys, I'm going to use the bathroom."

A couple of minutes later, Jim entered the main room in time to hear his partner say somewhat slowly, "That's very sweet of you, Patrick, but I don't know... I'll have to ask Jim."

Not having heard his partner come up behind him, Sandburg flinched violently. Throwing the grinning older man a heated look, the grad student said, "Just a second, Patrick." Covering the telephone receiver, he hissed, "How many times have I told you not to do that, man! You trying to age me before my time?"

"Oh." Blinking, Sandburg forced his mind back to current business. "They wants us to come on over tonight, man. It seems Charlotte's been cooking all day and she wants to feed us." Putting on his best down-trodden puppy face, Blair pleaded, "Please, Jim? It isn't really all that late; it's only nine-fifteen."

Never having built up an effective defense against that particular look, the big cop caved immediately. "Sure, why not," he agreed. "We were going to try to find someplace to eat, anyway. Home cooking sounds much better than fast food."

"Especially Charlotte's home cooking." A smile lighting his expressive face, Sandburg leaned up and placed a quick kiss on Ellison's cheek. "Thanks, man." Uncovering the phone, he said cheerfully, "Jim thinks that sounds great, too. Tell you what, give us a couple of minutes to clean up, then we'll be right over, okay? Sure; see you guys soon."

"Okay, Chief; let's get moving, then," announced the cop as his partner hung up the phone. "Want me to unpack your stuff while you clean up?"

"Nah, but thanks, man," called Sandburg over his shoulder. "I did mine while I was talking to Patrick. Sorry I didn't have time to do yours, too."

"That's all right, Sandburg," Jim said as the younger man shut the bathroom door. Reaching for his small overnight bag, Ellison inwardly acknowledged a feeling of faint disappointment. Damn, I thought if I unloaded his duffel, I'd find whatever it was he smuggled into it.

That morning, after having updated Charlotte Connelly on their plans, Blair had given a swift, "Be with you in just a minute, man!" and dashed into his office. The Sentinel had heard the sound of the closet door being opened, and a box pulled out. Several moments of rummaging later, a Sandburg-shaped blur had vanished up the stairs to the loft. There came the sound of a zipper being ripped open, then seconds later, the zipper was pulled shut. When the grad student had re-appeared downstairs to help dry the breakfast dishes, he hadn't made any mention of what he'd secreted in his duffel.

Then, as now, even though he was burning with curiosity, Ellison resolved to give his lover some space. He knew he could probably use his senses to figure out what the mysterious object was, but he was reluctant to do so. God knows the poor kid doesn't get much privacy living with me; let it go. If it concerns me; he'll tell me...in his own time.

Twenty minutes after the telephone conversation, Ellison turned the car onto a gravel-covered driveway next to a sturdy, two-story clapboard house. Turning off the engine, he got out and stretched, admiring the neatly trimmed lawn with its border of profuse flowers, and the wide, welcoming porch with its lawn chairs scattered about and porch swing swaying gently in the small breeze. Decidedly approving of the homey atmosphere, the detective turned his attention to the two people who were currently engaged in squeezing the stuffing out of his Guide. The bright porch light, combined with his Sentinel sight, enabled him to clearly see his hosts.

Patrick Connelly appeared to be nearly Ellison's height, but was lean and lanky in frame. The thin, weathered face was crowned with a mop of silver hair; deep lines framed clear hazel eyes and the wide, smiling mouth. His wife, though, proved the old adage that opposites attract: the top of Charlotte's curly head barely came to Sandburg's chin and she was what less-kind people would call stout. The Sentinel, however, viewed the happily-exclaiming woman with a wide grin; it didn't matter to him that her light brown hair was liberally streaked with gray and that she was overweight-her youthful brown eyes sparkled with love as she petted and hugged his partner and her laughter had a girlish giggle buried in it. Both Connellys were casually dressed in jeans and comfortable shirts.

Good people, was the Sentinel's final conclusion and he wondered again how someone like Naomi Sandburg had come to know them.

Ellison tuned back into the conversation when Blair called to him. As he walked up to the trio on the porch, Sandburg grabbed a large hand and reeled his partner in close to him.

"Jim, I'd like you to meet Patrick and Charlotte Connelly." Gazing upward at his lover, an unconscious look of adoration on his face, Blair continued, "This is Jim Ellison, my partner."

Extending his right hand, Ellison shook hands with first Charlotte, then Patrick. "I'm very pleased to meet you, Mrs. Connelly, Mr. Connelly; although I do wish it were happening under better circumstances."

A spasm of grief crossed the older couple's faces, but Patrick's voice was steady and warm as he responded, "It's Patrick and Charlotte, Detective Ellison, and thank you for your kindness. We're very glad to finally meet you; Blair has told us so much about you."

"It's Jim, Patrick; and I wouldn't believe half of what you've heard, if I were you," declared Ellison, smiling. "If you know Blair, then you know all about his habit of..."

Giving his grinning elders a mock-scowl, Sandburg pouted, "How fair is that, man-three against one?"

The Connellys just laughed, while Ellison playfully tousled the now-loose curls framing the beautiful face. His hand unintentionally lingering in the chestnut strands while he smiled down at his partner, the cop was unaware of the quick looks flashed between husband and wife.

"Well, let's not stand out here all night," Charlotte scolded suddenly. "Dinner's ready and we don't want it to get cold." Ushering the two younger men into a pleasantly decorated living room, she continued as Patrick shut the door, "It's only beef stew, biscuits and a salad. I hope that's all right with you boys."

Taste buds already drooling from the delectable fragrance floating through the house, Ellison forced himself to remember his manners long enough to reply politely, "That's just fine, Charlotte. It smells great."

Laughing again at the look of anticipatory bliss on the cop's chiseled features, Charlotte waved them toward an old-fashioned oak dining table in the next room. "I had a feeling, Jim, that you would be a meat-and-potatoes type man. Unlike certain other people I could mention." Lips pressed together tightly to keep from smiling, the older woman bent a stern look on an already-protesting Sandburg.

"Hey, you know I don't mind meat and potatoes, Charlotte," Sandburg declared, defending himself. "I just don't believe they should be served to excess and at every meal."

"I'll never forget the first breakfast he had with us," said Patrick, pointing Jim to a chair at the table. "It was a Saturday morning, and Charlotte had fixed her usual: eggs, hash browns, sausage, bacon and pancakes." The silver head shook as Connelly seated himself. "You ever have an eight year old lecture you on cholesterol levels and deliberately clogging your arteries?"

"No, but I regularly get it from a twenty-eight year old," Ellison answered, giving a martyred sigh.

"You need it regularly," announced Sandburg, seating himself across the table from his partner. "If you had your way, you'd just inject the fat directly into your heart."

"If you had your way, Chief; you'd take all the fun out of eating," shot back Ellison. "Man does not live on tofu and sprouts alone."

"Here, here," chanted Patrick, accepting the huge, steaming pot of delicious-smelling stew from his wife. Placing it on a trivet, he stated, "Help yourself, Jim. Blair knows we don't stand on ceremony around here."

The next hour passed in a blur of good conversation and even better food. Neither Patrick nor Charlotte mentioned the reason for their visitors being there and, respecting their obvious wish, Ellison also kept his mouth shut on the subject. To be honest, it wasn't that difficult to ignore the sad fact of Davy Connelly's death; laughing frequently, Jim was heartily enjoying the Connelly's scurrilous tales of a high-spirited, hyper-energetic, forever curious, young Blair. Alternately blushing bright red and laughing along with the others, Sandburg also appeared to have thrown off the pall which had hung over him like a shroud since learning of his friend's demise. The couple's genuine love for his young Guide forever cemented them in the Sentinel's good graces.

Later, as Jim stood and started to help clear the dishes from the table, he was emphatically shooed away by an adamant Charlotte.

"You're a guest, Jim, and in my house, guests don't help with the clean-up." Over-riding Ellison's nascent objections, she directed him back to the living room. "No guest of Charlotte Connelly's does the dishes; my mother and grandmother would be rolling in their graves if I allowed such a thing. On the other hand, young man..." Reaching out, the older woman snagged a flannel-covered arm as Blair tried to sneak past her into the living room. "...you're not a guest. You're family, so hop to it."

Darkly muttered protests not hiding the shine in his azure eyes, Sandburg obediently started gathering up the soiled dishes. Sticking his tongue out at his madly grinning partner, he meekly followed Charlotte into the kitchen. Laughing softly under his breath, Ellison wandered back into the living room. He glanced around, now taking the time to check out the comfortably furnished room. His eye landing on a series of family photographs sitting atop an antique oak buffet, he wandered over to look at them more closely. One picture in particular grabbed his attention.

Two boys stood, beaming, at the camera. The older one was several inches taller and slightly bulkier than his friend, with rust-red hair and an open, freckled face; his hazel eyes were bright and laughing. His smaller, thinner companion sported a wide, mischievous grin, bright blue eyes were dancing in impish glee. The younger boy's mane of untamed curls had bits of leaves and twigs peeking out of the reddish depths. Both youths were dressed in grass-stained, dusty tee shirts and jeans, with splotches of dirt decorating noses and cheeks.

The older man reached around his guest, long fingers slowly caressing the image of his son. "This one's always been my favorite of Blair and Davy; it was taken about a week before..." For the first time that evening, Connelly's voice cracked. He wordlessly waved Jim to the sofa, while he sank into an over-stuffed chair.

Sitting, Jim felt awkward and slightly uneasy; emotional issues were not his forte. "Blair told me about Davy's...accident." A lie, but only a small one, Ellison consoled himself. Now didn't seem the proper time to admit to his almost total ignorance of the affair, nor did it seem appropriate to quiz a distraught, grieving father for the juicy details of what had transpired to force his only child into a coma for the last twenty years of his life. "Please accept my sincere condolences; I'm truly sorry for you and Charlotte."

Hazel eyes so like his son's glittered with unshed tears, but Patrick's voice was steady enough. "I know you are, Jim. Charlotte and I thank you for that." He glanced over his shoulder at the kitchen, where low-voiced conversation could be heard among the noise of washing dishes. "I also want to thank you for coming over tonight; I know you must be exhausted from your trip. Planning this meal for you and Blair, well, it helped Charlotte." Connelly glanced down at the hard-wood floor beneath his feet for a moment, then looked back up. There was a faint smile on his face as he said, "She was all set to clean the boys' old room for you two when Blair told her about you fellows getting a motel room. She was somewhat taken aback at first, but with a little thought, she and I agreed it was probably the most sensible thing for you to do."

His meal suddenly curdling in his stomach, Ellison struggled to keep a neutral look on his face. He can't mean what I think he means. Blair hasn't even told Naomi about us. The cop said levelly, "I didn't mean to offend..."

"No offense was taken; you were being respectful of our feelings and we appreciate that." Connelly waved a dismissive hand. The older man was silent for several minutes, then said quietly, "After Blair came back for a visit when he was a teenager, he kept in touch-letters, e-mail, that sort of thing. He'd tell us about his classes, his professors, the expeditions he was going on; he'd let us know when he got back and what had happened on those trips. Oh, and every now and again, he'd mention bits and pieces about his mother. Just typical gossip from a boy at university.

"Then, a couple of years ago, he started talking about this guy named Jim Ellison. Blair mentioned that the fellow was a detective in Major Crime and that he, Blair, was going to be riding along with him to get some information for a paper. Charlotte and I were worried; we knew how dangerous police work could be, particularly in big cities like Cascade but Blair told us not to worry. He assured us that Detective Ellison was a good and caring man, and that he would keep him safe."

Safe. The word unleashed a flood of nightmarish visions in the cop's mind: Blair, lashed to a dental chair with a psychotic serial killer pouring tranquilizers down his throat; a wet and freezing Blair, huddled in a dripping mine tunnel, bleeding from two separate head injuries and a gunshot wound in his thigh, while Dawson Quinn and an insane mountain man taunted them; and the most recent horror-Blair dodging bullets fired at him in his own home, and having to get deliberately arrested in order to save himself. Oh, yeah, I've kept him safe, all right, was the bitter thought. Frantically shoving those terrifying memories behind a locked door in his brain, Ellison tried to follow the unexpected twist of Connelly's conversation.

"Then, about six months ago," Patrick was saying, "the tone of Blair's letters changed again. It was 'Jim says that', 'Jim and I are going', 'Jim thinks I should'-every other sentence contained your name. Blair's correspondence had always been cheerful; now the letters were positively incandescent, the words practically glowing on the page." Connelly fixed the squirming detective with a steady gaze. "Charlotte and I love that boy as if he were our own flesh and blood, Jim. It didn't take much reading between the lines to figure out what was going on."

Fervently hoping he wasn't blushing as deep a red as he thought he was, Ellison valiantly tried to respond to the calm statement. Before he could catch his mental breath, however, his host was speaking again.

"I'm a bit old-fashioned and unsophisticated in my outlook, Jim; I'm the first to admit that." Connelly was blushing faintly himself, but he continued to hold the cop's eyes. "But I've always believed that what two, responsible adults do behind their own locked doors is nobody's business but theirs. I might not understand why they do what they do, maybe I never will be able to, but it's not my place to judge."

"All that matters to Charlotte and me is that Blair be happy, and he is; it's obvious every time he looks at you. And you look at him the same way; you're always tuned in to him-I can tell."

Brain and mouth finally reconnecting, Jim said intensely, "All I want is for Blair to be safe and happy." Patrick's frankness demanded no less from Ellison in return. "He's an extremely intelligent, lovely kid; god only knows he deserves the best in life. Why he decided to settle for a middle-aged, grumpy, ex-Army Ranger-turned-cop, is something I'll never understand. I just thank my lucky stars that he did decide to settle for me."

Connelly was shaking his head. "The Blair Sandburg I know has consistently set extremely high standards for himself, and he has never 'settled' for anything less than exactly what he wanted. You've got whatever it is Blair has always looked for, Jim; and Charlotte and I thank God that he's found you. From what little bit he's told us about his mother and the way he was raised, Blair has been left alone so much of his life, has felt completely unneeded. Somehow, I doubt he has to worry about that anymore."

Patrick suddenly looked away. "The...service for Davy is going to be at St. Peter and Paul Catholic church, two o'clock. Blair knows where it is." Connelly's eyes once again filled with tears, but he wouldn't let them fall. "Tomorrow is going to be...rough...on Blair, Jim. This is going to re-open a lot of old memories-some good, some...not so good. I was going to ask you to be patient with him, watch out for him, but I can see now that I don't have to bother."

Ellison shook his head again. Watching out for his Guide, supporting him, protecting him-be it physically or emotionally-was as instinctive to the Sentinel as breathing. Again, the cop wondered at the full circumstances of Davy's accident, but before he could find the courage to voice his question, Charlotte and Blair came into the room. As Sandburg seated himself close beside his lover, Ellison automatically slung an arm around the wide shoulders. His own instinct and need for comfort taking over, Blair leaned into the embrace, never noticing the small smiles the other three gave.

Conversation was inconsequential and light. Near midnight, however, when Blair was unsuccessfully trying to stifle this third yawn in as many minutes, Ellison gently suggested they return to their motel. Gathering up his sleepy Guide, Jim walked him out to the rental car and tenderly tucked him inside. Patrick and Charlotte had accompanied them as far as the porch and, after reassuring the couple that he and Blair would come by the house at one o'clock to take them to the church, Ellison slipped behind the wheel.

Driving slowly due to his own tiredness, Ellison carefully took them back to their motel.

Barely stifling a sneeze, Jim once again dialed down his sense of smell. His allergies were really getting a work-out today: Each of the many women present wore various perfumes, and the moderate breeze brought with it the odor of innumerable flowers. The wind blowing across the hilltops of the small cemetery did have one advantage-it was helping to keep him awake.

Ellison knew it wasn't just the residual stress of a long day's traveling coupled with the seemingly interminable Funeral Mass and grave-side service that was conspiring to make him so tired. Coughing slightly to cover the urge to yawn, the big cop glanced to his left at the reason for his near-exhaustion. Sitting disturbingly still and pale next to Charlotte, Sandburg continued to stare fixedly ahead. However, as in the church, it was clear Blair was not seeing anything. The grad student's eyes were darkened and blank; he wasn't even squinting in the early Spring sunshine, regardless of the fact he wasn't wearing his sunglasses.

The Sentinel had been frequently awakened Thursday night by the almost inaudible whimpers and cries coming from his slumbering Guide. That night, however, all Ellison had had to do to quiet the younger man was tuck him more tightly against himself and murmur soothing noises while stroking the smooth back. It had made for a somewhat restless night, but Ellison had admitted to himself that it could have been much worse.

More than once this Saturday afternoon, the detective had thoroughly castigated himself for tempting Fate in that way.

Friday night had brought even less sleep to both men. Not content last night with mere whimpering, Blair had screamed himself-and Jim-awake five separate times. Each instance, although he was a shivering, sweat-drenched ball, the anthropologist had stubbornly denied remembering his nightmare. Instead, he would brusquely apologize for waking his lover and offer to get another room so Ellison could get some sleep. Treating that suggestion with the contempt he felt it deserved, Jim had, instead, just gathered the trembling figure closer and softly gentled him back to sleep. Because of their greatly interrupted night, both Sentinel and Guide had managed to badly oversleep. Consequently, they'd had to dash about madly in order to be ready to pick up the Connellys at the designated time.

Even more troubling to the cop than the nightmares, was his partner's atypical behavior during the services. Because Patrick and Charlotte had insisted on it, Blair and Jim had sat next to the grieving parents both in church, and here, at the grave-site. They had even been coerced into riding to the cemetery in the limousine reserved for the family members; Charlotte's sisters and their families had made no objections and, indeed, had seemed to expect it. Naturally enough, Davy's parents were openly weeping; Patrick silently letting the tears course down his cheeks, while Charlotte's sobs were louder, but still restrained. Although he'd maintained a hand on one of Charlotte's the whole time during the closed-casket service and here at the actual burial site, Blair had shed no tears. The azure eyes remained determinedly dry; the grad student's free hand had, however-almost as soon as they'd sat down in church-crept across Ellison's muscled thigh to tightly clamp onto one of his lover's large hands. Trying to support his partner, yet unsure of what was the best course of action, Ellison had just firmly held the broad hand in his and shifted closer to his lover. Somewhat to his surprise, that action appeared to have been what Sandburg needed as the younger man had made no attempts to free his hand or physically distance himself.

Alerted by a slight change in the priest's sonorous tones, Jim looked up to find the ceremony was finally drawing to a close. Standing for the last prayer, Ellison continued to surreptitiously monitor his partner. While he had never expected hysterics, the detective was growing more and more disturbed over Sandburg's apparent lack of grieving for his friend. He knew Blair had been raised to believe that crying and showing emotion did not make him any less of a man, yet his young Guide was insisting on wearing the stoic mask that was typically more Ellison's style than his. Arm around his lover's shoulders as he guided him back to the limousine for the return trip to the church, Ellison once again reminded himself not to push.

Maybe once we're back at the motel, changing to get ready for the get-together, he'll be ready to talk. A quiet Sandburg is not a normal Sandburg.

Two hours later, Jim found himself, standing, glass of lemonade in hand, chatting with a co-worker of Patrick's under the widely-spread branches of a massive birch tree in the Connelly's backyard. Utilizing all his covert ops skills, he projected the proper air of someone totally invested in his current conversation while he was actually keeping a close eye-and ear-on his partner. Ellison's unease was steadily rising at the grad student's strange behavior and he was finding it more and more difficult not to stomp over to his Guide, grab him and demand that Sandburg tell him what was bothering him immediately. Luckily for Blair, the cop's common sense and dislike of causing a public scene were keeping him in check, but Ellison wasn't sure how much longer his will power would hold out. Yes, Sandburg had lost a good friend, but there was something else-something deeper-going on with the Guide and it was driving his Sentinel nuts.

The detective's hopes for a meaningful talk with his bizarrely-quiet partner at their motel had been dashed by four, little words. "Not now, Jim. Okay?" Taking in the pale face and the wide, begging blue eyes, the dark shadows under them testifying to the terrific emotional strain Blair was struggling with, Ellison had been unable rock the fragile composure and so, once again, had given in and determinedly counseled himself to be patient.

At the moment, Sandburg was standing a few feet away, talking with one of Charlotte's nieces. If further proof had been needed of the anthropologist's uncharacteristic behavior, it lay in the fact that Blair was remaining completely oblivious to the young woman's less-than-discreet flirting. Even though they now considered themselves a couple, both Jim and Blair had agreed a little harmless flirting was still acceptable behavior-as long as it did not go past the superficial-conversation stage. Changed out of his solemn funeral attire, Sandburg was currently dressed in clothes he considered more suitable for a cool Spring day: bright blue sweater, black jeans and his favorite Doc Martens. To Ellison's admittedly prejudiced eye, his partner was a walking wet dream come to life, particularly since Blair had decided to leave his hair loose and was wearing his glasses. More than one woman present, regardless of age, had sent lustful looks his way, yet the young man seemed to be totally unaware.

True to his own nature, Jim was unsuspecting that he had his own considerable group of female fans. It never once occurred to him that he was the cause of many lascivious looks; to Ellison, his choice of boots, jeans and gray Aran sweater was simply comfortable and appropriate. Since scanning his surroundings was a given for him, the detective had noted that a lot of the women at the gathering would circle around behind him, where they would softly talk and giggle for a few minutes, but he attributed this odd action to the stresses of the day.

Charlotte, however, was not unmindful of the attraction. Smiling broadly as she appeared at his side with a pitcher of lemonade, she asked, "Anyone need a refill?"

Both Jim and his conversational companion shook their heads. At that point, Patrick's colleague excused himself to go speak with someone else, leaving Ellison and Charlotte standing together under the old tree. As if they had a will of their own, Jim's eyes were soon back on his lover, now surrounded by a group of young men and all of them laughing at something.

Noticing where the big cop was looking, Charlotte gave a secret smile of approval before saying, "That's Tim Carstairs, John Everett, Don Spaulding and Tony Costello; they used to be part of Davy's 'gang'."

"It looks as if they at least put up with having Blair around," commented Ellison, well aware of how older boys tended to look down on someone younger attempting to follow them.

"Put up with?!" Charlotte gave a delighted chortle. "Jim, that blue-eyed, innocent-faced boy was the ringleader of the biggest group of mischief makers Stockridge has ever seen!"

This could be interesting. "Oh?" queried the detective, one eyebrow arching in question.

"Oh, yes," she confirmed happily. "I could never guess from one minute to the next what sort of trouble he'd be into, and dragging Davy and the others willingly right along with him. That young man was the cause of many of these gray hairs!"

"Do tell," urged Ellison, crystal blue eyes twinkling. "I need all the blackmail material I can get to keep the kid in line."

"You have my utmost sympathies," Charlotte said feelingly. She paused for a minute, seeming to consider. "Well, there was the Great Crisco Caper."

"The Great Crisco Caper," repeated Charlotte, laughing. "It seems that, due to the weather, the slide at the park had become less than slippery. Blair came up with the idea of greasing it with some solid shortening, so Davy crept home and grabbed our tub of Crisco. Soon, that slide was launching children like mini-torpedoes. When they ran through our tub, Tim dashed home and raided his mother's kitchen, then Don did his, then John..."

"Of course, Blair being Blair, he then got to wondering: if the Crisco made the slide so much more fun, what else could it help with?"

"You've got the idea. Those boys greased up the merry-go-round and were then shooting each other off it as if they'd been catapulted. From what I understood later, Tony Costello barely avoided taking out a low-flying pigeon with his head."

"There was a whole group of us mothers at the other end of Bennington Park, having our annual Catholic Church Ladies Picnic. We'd heard all the shrieks and laughter, but you know how loud young boys can get when they're having fun. I guess we all just figured it was boys being boys and ignored it, until..."

"Well, Davy decided it would be a good idea to grease the metal swings next. He did so, Blair hopped on, and Billy Markeson gave him a shove. That boy never really did know his own strength," Charlotte said reflectively. "Still, at least it comes in handy in his current profession."

A stray synapse sparked, and Jim stared, dumfounded, at his hostess. "You're talking about William Markeson, star defensive back of the Redskins!"

Taking her guest's dropped jaw in stride, Charlotte went on, "What those boys had forgotten to take into account was the fact that, because of all the sliding and whirling on the greased playground equipment, the seat of their pants was coated in the stuff. So when Blair gets this powerful push from Billy..."

"Yes. At the top of the arc, Blair's little Crisco-covered butt slides on the Crisco-covered swing seat and he goes flying. Some instinct made all us women look around at that precise moment, just in time to see Blair do a perfect three point landing-one nose and both knees-into the sand pit. He darn near flattened one of the little Peterson twins playing there.

"Of course, all the mothers screamed and we made a mad dash for the other end of the park. By the time we got there, Davy had Blair on his feet and was brushing him off, little Stephanie Peterson was crying at the top of her lungs from almost being squashed and the rest of the boys had 'guilt' written all over their faces in ten-inch letters."

"Was...was Blair okay?" Although the incident had happened two decades prior, Ellison was still feeling the shock.

The older woman gave another merry laugh. "Oh, my, yes. I come rushing up, expecting tears at the very least, and he turns, gives me this huge smile and says brightly, 'Did you see that, Charlotte? I'm gonna be sneezing sand for days!' I didn't know whether to laugh or cry."

"That evening, while Blair was taking his bath," Charlotte said, "Patrick and I had a little talk with Davy. We reminded him that just because Blair had thought of the idea, it was partly his fault, too, since he was older and should've known better. Blair's never said much about his mother-even now-but I've never gotten the impression he was taught much restraint over his wilder impulses.

"We didn't punish either of the boys, of course; there was no real need. Once we'd explained to Blair that he could have possibly hurt Stephanie, he was so appalled that he had to rush right over to the Peterson house the next day and apologize. I'm sure you know how it is when Blair gets that certain look on his face; I don't think Matt or Linda knew what had hit them. Blair stayed over there the entire afternoon, playing with both Stephanie and Shelby; Linda later told me that it didn't matter that Blair was only eight, he was the best baby-sitter they'd ever had and both little girls adored him."

"Nothing's changed much," muttered Ellison under his breath. Seeing Charlotte's questioning look, he clarified, "Blair still draws the ladies like flies to honey, and he's still getting himself, and others, into messes over his head. Back home, we call him 'the trouble magnet of Cascade'."

"That sounds appropriate. Poor Davy, he didn't show it as much initially, but he was really upset by what had happened. Patrick found him out on the front porch, just sitting in the swing and crying quietly. When we finally got him calmed down, he admitted that he was extremely sorry about almost hurting Stephanie, but that he was horrified at the idea that he could have been responsible for Blair being seriously hurt."

Charlotte looked the cop straight in the eyes. "Even though it had only been a little over two weeks since Blair had come to us, Davy, like Patrick and I, had already grown to love him. Davy was scared that we didn't trust him with Blair any longer and that he wouldn't be allowed to play with him."

"I'm betting you set him straight on that," Ellison said decisively. "Davy sounds like a perfectly normal kid to me, and I'm sure he would never have hurt Blair deliberately."

"No, he wouldn't have, and yes, we did tell him that we still trusted him to take care of Blair." Charlotte's brown eyes darkened suddenly, and tears welled up, although she didn't let them fall. "That was the first time Davy asked us to adopt Blair. We had already talked about it privately, but we wanted to give Blair a little more time with us; he could still be so skittish about the oddest things." She gave a tremulous sigh. "Unfortunately, before we could do anything legal about it..."

"I can certainly understand why you wanted to adopt Blair, but to be frank-even though he loves you and Patrick, and Davy-I believe he would've fought you tooth and nail." Ellison halted, trying to choose his next words carefully. While he didn't want to talk about his lover's mother behind his back, he also didn't want to insult the Connellys, whose only crime had been to love a beautiful, curly-haired little boy. "Blair would never have allowed anyone to take him away from his mother."

"You've met her, haven't you." It wasn't a question so much as a flat statement.

"Yes, I have." Again, the big detective was cautious with his words. "I confess I find her...lifestyle and certain habits...to be beyond my comfort range, but that doesn't matter. What matters is that Naomi is Blair's mother, and he loves her very much."

"Yes, I can tell that." Charlotte sighed again. "I just wish I could say with certainty that the reverse was true."

Jim found himself unable to honestly rebut Charlotte's doubt so silence fell between them. Patrick's voice calling Charlotte's name caused the couple to turn and see him escorting two new arrivals out the back door.

"Of course." Ellison nodded, and idly watched her greet her newest guests. He was just considering on whether to go over and join Sandburg when he became aware he was being stalked. Glancing around, he discovered an elderly man he'd seen earlier talking to Patrick was now making a bee-line for him. He stood his ground, waiting until the other man came up to him before offering a courteous, "Good afternoon."

"Afternoon," responded the stranger. He was shorter than Ellison, though taller than Sandburg, portly with just a straggly fringe of gray hair surrounding a shiny, bald head. The round face was wrinkled from the years and the sun, yet the light blue eyes, much like Ellison's own, still sparkled alertly.

The man stuck out a hand for Ellison to shake, saying, "The name's Carl Shostak. Sorry to bother you, Mr. Ellison, but Patrick told me you're a detective back in Washington. I was the Chief of Police here for about twenty-five years."

Ah, that explains that...cop shop talk. Jim smiled, shook hands and asked, "When did you retire, Mr. Shostak?"

"Just call me Carl; around here, folks aren't much for formality. I retired about two and a half years ago. Figured I'd better do it while I still had a little of my sanity left."

As Jim laughed, the Sentinel caught an abrupt surge in his lover's heart rate and breathing. Flinging a quick look over Shostak's shoulder, Ellison noted that Sandburg was staring at the old man, a worried frown knitted deeply in the lowered brows. The full lips were pulled into a thin, tight line.

Before the cop could attempt to figure out the cause of his partner's manifest unease, Shostak went on, "Patrick also told me that you and Blair were partners."

Tensing, Ellison quickly scanned the other man's vital signs. Finding nothing but sincerity, he nodded. "Call me, Jim, please. Yeah, Blair works as a police consultant with the Cascade PD."

"I bet I'm not telling you anything you don't already know, but I wanted to be sure that you knew how determined and courageous that young man is."

Again somewhat taken aback, yet pleased by the compliment to his partner, Ellison acknowledged, "There's a whole Major Crime Department back in Cascade who would completely agree with that."

The detective's in-built radar pinged, and he glanced up to see Sandburg on his way over to the two men.

"I wouldn't believe anything Chief Shostak tells you, Jim," joked the younger man as he drew even with his lover. "He's got a well-deserved reputation for being a teller of tall tales."

Although he was jocular and smiling, the Sentinel could easily sense the increased tension and apprehension in his Guide and it puzzled him. Carl Shostak has had nothing but kind things to say about Sandburg, and the kid surely can't be frightened of him, so what's the deal?

"Oh, I think I can believe this stuff, Sandburg," replied Ellison, keeping his tone light. Acting as though he hadn't noticed his lover's discomfiture, he said, "Carl was just making sure I knew I had a hero for a partner. I told him there was an entire police department that would agree with him on that one."

Blushing faintly from the compliment, the anthropologist lost a little of his apprehension, although his shoulders remained tight. "Yeah...well...I told you he told tall tales," Blair finally stammered.

"It's not a tall tale, and you know that very well, young man," Carl denied firmly. He gave the grad student a quick up and down look. "Good lord, but you've grown since I last saw you, Blair. Charlotte tells me you're even going for your Ph.D."

"Yeah, in anthropology," Sandburg answered, losing a little more of his stress. He'd relaxed enough to ask a polite question, "How are you doing, sir? Are you still Chief of Police?"

Blowing out an unheard breath, Ellison allowed some of his own tension to ease since Blair was starting to settle down.

Shostak shook his head. "As I was telling your partner here, I retired about two and a half years ago. You remember Emil Lundgren, don't you?"

"Emil Lundgren?" Sandburg's whole face screwed up in his effort to draw the man from his memory. Expression clearing suddenly, he exclaimed, "Tall, skinny guy, blonde hair and with ears that stuck out like Dumbo's?"

Chuckling, Shostak confirmed, "That's him on the nose. Emil was elected after I decided to retire." He glanced down at his watch. "Darnation, I don't have much time. I only stopped over to convey my condolences and I wanted to see you, Blair."

"Unfortunately, no. See, tonight's the annual Chamber of Commerce shindig and Mayor Wilton-the old windbag-insists on me being there, even though I'm retired. I think he just wants a bigger audience to bore."

"As I was saying, I just wanted to give Patrick and Charlotte my condolences and to see young Blair," Shostak repeated. He gave the younger man a penetrating look. "I missed seeing you all those other times you were back, and I wasn't sure if the Connellys kept you updated much."

In a split second, all the stress and trepidation were back in Sandburg; his spine was so taut with tension, Ellison was surprised not to hear it cracking under the strain.

"I wasn't aware there was anything to be updated on," Sandburg attempted to answer blithely, but the shakiness of his voice betrayed him. "Is there something I should know?"

To the over-protective Sentinel, it seemed as if his Guide was terrified of the answer Shostak would give. Moving instinctively, he positioned himself slightly in front of the grad student, as though his mere presence would deflect any verbal blows from the elderly man.

Shostak shook his head. "Something you should know? No; just thought you might be interested, that's all." Although he didn't say anything on the subject, the glint in his eyes indicated he'd seen Ellison's maneuver and guessed the reason behind it.

Each word sounding as though they were being forcibly torn from his throat, Sandburg asked hoarsely, "What might I be interested in?"

Stockridge's former Chief of Police shot a quick glance at Ellison, then returned his full attention to the rigid anthropologist. "Halpern and McCandless got cut loose about five, six years ago. McCandless is working in St. Louis as a mechanic and, the last I heard, Halpern went up to his grandpa's place up north near Hamilton and is helping him out on the farm."

Once again shaking his head, Carl said, "He got into a fight about three years ago with another guy and got one of those home-made shivs stuck in him. Dead before they could get him to the hospital, I heard." One side of his mouth twisting up, Shostak added bluntly, "I wasn't real surprised at the news, considering that little bastard."

A greenish tinge had over-taken Sandburg's pale face. Perhaps seeing this, Shostak said apologetically, "I didn't mean to upset you, Blair. I...just thought you might want to know."

"Excuse us, please," Ellison put in curtly. Slinging an arm around Blair's shoulders, the cop swiftly steered him out of the crowded back yard, around the side of the house, and up onto the front porch. Nudging gently, he managed to get his lover to sit down in the porch swing.

"Be back in a minute, Chief. Stay put," came the soft order as Ellison darted into the house.

Seconds later, the bigger man was back, wearing his jacket and carrying Sandburg's. He calmly helped a still-silent Blair to put his jacket on, then he sat down closely beside his partner and put his arm around the wide shoulders once more. Uncaring at this point what the people coming and going might think, he gathered the younger man to him and set the swing to rocking slowly. Keeping his thoughts to himself, Ellison concentrated on comforting his Guide.

If I didn't know better, I'd swear those guys Shostak was talking about were cons...two ex-cons and one dead one. But why would Blair-as a kid-be mixed up with criminals, and why the hell did Shostak think the kid would be interested to hear about them?

Minutely, in creeping increments, the tension and strain started to bleed from Sandburg's body. Having been monitoring the slowly decreasing heart rate and respiration, the Sentinel was not surprised when, suddenly, a slightly shaky hand reached over and started rubbing absently up and down his thigh. Ellison noted that the longer he stayed silent, the more Blair relaxed, so he bit his tongue and went on simply cuddling the shorter man. His attention on his Guide's hand caressing his thigh and the steady movement of the swing, the Sentinel allowed himself to sink into a semi-zone.

An unknown length of time later, Ellison was startled back to full alertness by the porch light abruptly coming on. Giving a quick glance around him, the cop was stunned to see that darkness was falling and that most of the cars parked along the street were gone. At the squeak of the front screen door, he looked up as Patrick and Charlotte came out on the porch. Both were wearing small smiles and Charlotte was shaking her head.

"You boys look as though you're about to fall asleep," she scolded gently. "Don't you think you'd be more comfortable doing that back at the motel?"

"I am tired," Ellison admitted, standing, then reaching down to help his equally-as-exhausted partner to his feet. "We'll just help you clean up, then we'll head..."

Patrick was shaking his head. "Myrna and Irene," naming Charlotte's sisters. "and their kids are staying over for a few days. Don't worry about it, they'll help with the mess. You kids head on back to the motel; I don't want to hear about any accidents because you fell asleep behind the wheel."

As he was speaking, Charlotte was giving Sandburg an enormous hug. "Doesn't seem right, does it?" she said, sniffling slightly. "You've just got here and now you've got to leave again."

Patrick was shaking Jim's hand. "Don't you two be such strangers," he chastised quietly. "Surely even cops get vacations."

"Yeah, we do." Ellison grinned and offered, "So why don't the two of you take some time when you can and come visit us in Cascade?" He looked down at his partner, pleased to see a spark of animation in the azure eyes. "You think that's a good idea, Chief?"

"I think that's a great idea, man!" Blair said with some of his usual vitality. He turned big, pleading eyes onto Patrick and Charlotte. "C'mon, guys, what do you say? It'd be fantastic!"

Laughing softly, the couple exchanged a quick look before Patrick said, "Okay, you've talked us into it. I'm not sure when I can get the time off; it might be in July. Would that be all right?"

"No problem, man!" More of Sandburg's normal enthusiasm was returning by the moment. "I'll make sure not to teach any classes this summer, and Jim...well, Simon-his boss-is forever yelling at him to take his vacation time. Just let us know when you can make it, and we'll get everything set up."

Somewhat to his surprise, Ellison was also the recipient of a bear hug from Charlotte. The top of her head coming up to just about his mid-chest, the older woman murmured, "Look out for him for me, please, Jim? I can't help it, I worry sometimes and now that Davy's..."

"Try not to worry," reassured Ellison, leaning over to place a kiss on the top of her head. "I'll promise I'll protect him to the best of my ability; he's my whole life."

"And you're his." Lifting her head, Charlotte fixed him with a stern stare. "So you watch out for yourself, too, mister."

"Yes, ma'am!" Chest shaking in silent laughter, Ellison placed another kiss on her cheek. He quickly zipped up his jacket; now that the sun had vanished, the night air was a little cool.

Continuing to call out good-byes, the men from Cascade got into their rental car and Ellison carefully backed out of the drive. Stopping so he and Sandburg could wave one last time, Jim put the car into gear and pointed its nose toward their motel.

"It's been one hell of a day," stated Ellison, shutting the motel room door behind them.

"You said it, man," agreed Sandburg, shrugging out of his jacket. He dropped it on the bed and wandered over to stare out the window.

Picking up the jacket and hanging it alongside his own, Jim said, "When the Connellys come to Cascade, you're going to have to show them all around Rainier."

"Yeah, and we've got to take Patrick fishing. He just loves it; Charlotte's not so keen, but she likes to camp."

Momentary diversion over, Sandburg lapsed back into silence and returned to staring out the window.

Okay, I've had enough...this Sentinel's going to explode if he doesn't find out what's bugging his Guide.

The Sentinel heard his partner's heart rate and respiration speed up and knew his Guide was debating on which obfuscation to use. He eased himself down to sit on the edge of the bed and gazed, expectantly, at the younger man.

"I really don't know what else you want me to say, man," declared Blair wearily, sinking into the chair beside the window. "I've already told you everything; what more could you possibly want to know?"

"How about the full story this time?," Ellison suggested mildly. "There has to be more to what happened to Davy than what you've told me, or you wouldn't be acting so strangely."

"I don't know what you mean, Jim; I've told you the truth about Davy," insisted Sandburg. However, he didn't seem able to meet the older man's eyes.

Noting this, Ellison said levelly, "I'm sure you have, Chief." He paused for a moment, then went on, "Just not the whole truth."

Sandburg didn't respond to the implied accusation. A curiously blank look on his face, he gazed out the window at the inspiring view of the motel's fluorescent-lit parking lot.

"Blair." Jim deliberately kept his voice quiet and non-confrontational. "Tell me what made Davy Connelly become a brain-dead vegetable for the last twenty years of his life."

The bald statement caused Sandburg to flinch violently. Swallowing heavily, he brought his gaze back into the room and down to his clenched fists resting on his thighs. When he finally spoke, his words were so soft, Ellison, even with his sensitive hearing, had to strain to hear them.

Not believing a word of it, Jim asked calmly, "Why was it your fault, Chief? Did you cause Davy's accident?"

"No!" Blair heard himself and moderated his tone. "No, I-I didn't, but... I should've been quicker; maybe if I'd been faster getting him to help, the doctors could've done something..."

Sighing deeply and sensing that his partner was not going to let this go, Blair got to his feet. Needing an outlet for the nervous energy boiling through him, he began pacing in the small space between the bed and the motel room door.

"Davy and I were out fishing one afternoon at a small pond just west of town; it's about two miles from the house. We'd ridden the bikes there lots of times. He was thirteen and I had just turned eight a few weeks earlier. It was one of those Spring days when the whole world seemed as though it had been plucked straight from a picture postcard: the sun was bright and shining; the grass and leaves on the trees were so green, they seemed to shimmer; a slight breeze was blowing; and far off, you could hear kids playing baseball."

Sandburg gave an abrupt shiver, and wrapped both arms around himself. Swallowing once more, he continued determinedly, "We were only fishing, not hurting or bothering anyone. Suddenly, these three older kids came up behind us; one of them was carrying a paper sack and another one had a baseball bat. Before we could figure out what was going on, they started beating on us. They were all bigger than me and two of them were bigger than Davy. These guys were just punching and kicking us for no reason at all."

Blair's voice got deeper and more strained; his attention appeared to be fixed on his boots. "Then...then this kid pulled some duct tape out of the paper sack and, while the other two held us down, he wrapped it around our wrists and feet. The guy with the baseball bat, he just...he just began whaling on Davy. Over and over again; the louder Davy screamed, the harder this guy swung that fucking bat. Until the day I die, I will never forget the sound of the bat connecting with Davy's skull... When the bastard got tired of hitting poor Davy-he...he wasn't moving anymore-the guy came after me. I saw what he was going to do, and sort of ducked. He still got me good, but... I pretended to be knocked out and he didn't hit me anymore."

Gritting his teeth, barely holding back his rage, Jim encouraged softly, "Tell me the rest."

By this time, Blair didn't need any further prodding. "I don't understand why they did it, Jim; to this day, I don't understand why they would do that to us." Looking up, he stared blindly at his lover. "They didn't know I was still conscious. I could hear them talking-they didn't want our bikes; they didn't search us for money; they weren't after our fishing poles. T-Those fucking bastards...they just laughed a-and joked as they picked Davy and me up and threw us in the pond. I was so scared as I let myself sink beneath that water. My head hurt so bad and...and I couldn't hold my breath anymore... When I finally opened my eyes and looked around, they were gone. It seemed to take forever to get my arms loose, and then I couldn't get the damn tape off my legs...

"When I finally found Davy, there was so much b-blood; it was coming from his head, his nose and his ears. After I got him to the side of the pond, I didn't even check to see if he was breathing; I didn't stop to take the tape off him...I just slung him over my shoulder the way I'd seen the guys on TV do it and took off for the nearest house. It was so far away, and I was so dizzy and sick to my stomach-I thought I wasn't going to make it. Luckily, the lady of the house had seen me staggering up her drive and had already called the ambulance. She came out just as I reached her front steps... The ambulance brought us into the clinic here, and after the doctor had stabilized Davy, we were taken to St. John's Hospital in Springfield."

So lost was he in the dark memories, Blair never noticed Ellison reaching up with one long arm and drawing him down to sit next to the Sentinel. Tucking his Guide in close to him, Jim whispered, "You did nothing wrong, Blair."

Slowly shaking his head, Sandburg refuted, "I should've been quicker getting out of the tape. Maybe, maybe if I'd been faster getting Davy to that house, the ambulance could've gotten him to the hospital faster. Maybe then the doctors could've done something..."

"Did the doctors say that, Chief?" Ellison didn't really think so; it had sounded as if Davy's brain had already been pulped before he'd even been tossed in the pond. Jim gave a mental wince...Sometimes, medic training can be a real bitch. "Did someone say that Davy could've been saved if he'd been gotten to the hospital sooner?"

"N-No," Sandburg admitted unwillingly. "I-I overheard the doctors later, talking with Patrick and Charlotte. They said...they said Davy's brain had been badly hurt from the baseball bat and that, even if he'd been gotten to the ER within minutes, his brain would still have been damaged beyond their ability to repair. According to the doctors, the only reason he was alive at all was because I'd gotten him to help as soon as I did."

"Did Patrick or Charlotte tell you it was your fault?" Here, Jim held his breath. The couple had appeared to be honest, caring people but to suddenly have their only child injured so catastrophically and permanently... Well, horrific stress occasionally caused decent people to say things they later deeply regretted.

Blair shook his head once more. "No; I was so surprised, man. Even though...even though I was okay and Davy wasn't, they stayed nice to me. They still let me live at their house when I got out of the hospital. Charlotte fussed over me and made sure I followed all the doctor's orders."

Frowning a little, wondering again how Blair had come to be staying with people like the Connellys in the first place, Jim thrust that issue aside and declared quietly, "Then there's no reason to blame yourself. From what you've told me, you acted swiftly and responsibly. Even though you were injured yourself, even though you were younger and smaller, you still got your friend to where he could receive medical help as soon as possible. And you did this when you were only a kid of eight-sounds pretty brave to me. Carl Shostak was right, Chief; you were a hero then, and you're still a hero now."

His lover's soft words a soothing balm on old wounds, Blair gave a deep sigh and burrowed in closer to Ellison's healing warmth. He felt a sudden urge to finish the painful tale.

"Of course, the cops caught those kids," he informed Jim, face buried in the other man's neck. "They were just a bunch of teenagers out for kicks...Brian McCandless and Jay Halpern were only sixteen, and Reese Lewis had been seventeen for less than a month. Reese-the guy with the baseball bat-told the cops they weren't looking for anyone in particular that day; Davy and I were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. He'd just wanted to see what it felt like to kill someone, and he talked his friends into coming along for the ride."

"Because of the nature of the crime, the State had decided to try them as adults. All through the trial," Blair said, shivering slightly, "Reese just sat there, and smiled...at the judge, at the prosecutor, at the jury...me. It was so totally creepy, man. Jay and Brian-they acted like your typical scared kids; Jay even cried when the guilty verdict was read. But not Reese...h-he just looked at me and laughed. It was years before I could close my eyes and not see his face, smiling and laughing at me, as he swung that damn baseball bat at my head."

Ellison could think of nothing to say. The thought that an eight year old Blair had had to endure such a nightmare-alone and in the midst of people who were virtually strangers to him-was overwhelming. His arms tightened instinctively around the warm body pressed so close to him, as if he could protect the adult-Blair from the terrors the child had had to face. He brought one hand up and stroked through the lush chestnut curls.

Clearing his throat several times, Ellison said huskily, "I'm so sorry, Chief; so sorry you had to go through that."

Blair didn't give a verbal answer; he just sighed and collapsed against Ellison, both arms going out to wrap around the cop's trim waist. Long, quiet minutes passed: Blair content to remain in the protective circle of his Sentinel's arms; Ellison content to be able to provide that feeling of security for his Guide. Finally, however, Blair pushed away slightly so he could see his lover's face.

"Patrick and Charlotte have always been so good to me," he told Ellison. "After...after I had to leave, I sort of lost contact with them. But ten years later, when I was a sophomore at college, I came back to Stockridge on my summer break. I-I'd wanted to see Davy, see how he was doing... They were great about it, even though I just showed up out of the blue on their doorstep. After that, we kept in touch through letters and I would try to come back at least once a year to see Davy."

"Until you met me," Jim put in wryly, somehow feeling it was his fault that Blair had not been able to visit his incapacitated friend during their eighteen months partnership.

Knowing his Sentinel's tendency to assume guilt even if he were blameless, Sandburg rushed to reassure. "It wasn't your fault, Jim. I could've made a visit; I know you would've understood if I'd told you why I needed to leave for a few days." Sandburg paused; then, hanging his head in shame, confessed, "I-I just couldn't stand to see Davy like that anymore! My god, I don't know how Patrick and Charlotte stood it...day after day, week after week, month after month, for all these years!"

Giving a convulsive shudder, Blair whispered, "Once, just before I met you, I was back here visiting and I tried looking straight into his eyes. I was so sure that, if I did, I would somehow see the real Davy looking back at me. That he would know I was there and acknowledge me."

"No." His voice barely audible, Blair said, "There was nothing behind his eyes, Jim. No intelligence, no self-awareness, no nothing. It was as if he were just a great, big doll sitting there. Don't get me wrong, man-his body was alive, they couldn't just neglect him, and yet... At that moment, I finally realized something: the Davy who'd accepted me and treated me like a little brother, even though I'd practically been forced onto him-that Davy was gone, and nothing I could do would ever bring him back."

Eyes glittering with unshed tears, Sandburg said thickly, "At last I accepted that Patrick David Connelly, Jr. had died when he was thirteen, and that this body in the chair was only an empty shell. After that, I-I just couldn't stand to see him again. He just wasn't Davy to me any longer. Thank god, Patrick and Charlotte understood, and didn't hold it against me."

"I'd wondered why you didn't cry at his funeral," admitted Jim, brushing curls away from Sandburg's sorrowful face.

"I couldn't cry." Blair shrugged, then laid his head on a broad shoulder. "There didn't seem to be any reason to mourn him now...he'd actually died twenty years ago."

Jim thought now would be a good time to finally voice the question he'd been holding back ever since Blair had initially told him about Davy Connelly back in Cascade.

"What I can't understand, Chief," he started, "is this: Just where the hell was Naomi while you were going through this shit? Didn't the Connellys contact her at her retreat or whatever it was, to let her know you'd been injured and needed her?"

Blair stiffened abruptly and pulled out of his arms. Regaining his feet, he re-commenced his agitated pacing.

Ellison watched him, wide-eyed, for several moments, then, "Chief?" he queried, wondering what he'd said wrong.

Sandburg whirled to face him; the expressive face was curiously pugnacious. "It wasn't Naomi's fault, man," he retorted defensively, "and I won't let you blame her for it!"

Oh, god, major issue here. "I never said it was, Chief," Jim said carefully, trying like hell to avoid stepping on another inadvertent conversational land mine. "I only wondered, since she'd left you under the Connellys' care, why either Patrick or Charlotte didn't let her know about what had happened."

Blair's face lost all traces of aggression. "Sorry, man; sorry. I know you weren't suggesting anything. It's just that..." The grad student closed his eyes and took several deep breaths before continuing, "Naomi didn't leave me with Patrick and Charlotte, Jim...I left me with them."

Sighing, Sandburg started pacing again. "That Spring, Naomi and I were staying at a commune about fifteen miles outside of Stockridge. There were only about fifty or sixty of us there-mainly adults, but about a dozen or so kids, too. Enough kids were present that a couple of the adults had started a school. Well, one morning during class, I got into this big argument with Cinnamon-one of the teachers-about something she'd just said. I can't even remember now exactly what we were arguing about; but I knew she was wrong, man, and I could prove it, too, because I had just read a library book about it.

"So...that afternoon, instead of going back to class with the rest of the kids, I decided to head for the highway." Blair glanced over to see Ellison looking at him in astonishment. "I know, I know," he said, shaking his head. "Looking back on it now, Jim, I can see how stupid that was; but at the time, all I wanted to do was prove I was right.

"A couple of miles from the commune, a farmer's truck had broken down. While he was working under the hood, I just hopped into the back where he had a bunch of piglets in cages. Man, I don't know which god was watching over me that day, but I was incredibly lucky-the guy got back into his truck, started off and drove into town without once looking in the rearview mirror. When he stopped for a red light three blocks from the library, I jumped out. I figured I could find the book, then hitch a ride back before anyone even noticed I was gone."

"Hitch a ride?" Jim's shock ratcheted up another notch. "You weren't going to call...?"

Sandburg shook his head. "The commune didn't have a phone, man. No modern conveniences at all; the commune members were really into the 'Back to the Past' movement-you know, getting rid of everything and anything that modern society used to trap people into unhealthy lifestyles. We used candles that we'd made ourselves; hauled water from the lake for drinking, cooking and bathing; planted the crops by hand... We even had our own livestock-a few cows for their milk, an old horse for the plowing and chickens for their eggs. There was a rattle-trap of a bus the commune used to drive into town once a month so they could sell the eggs and the stuff they'd made, but that was it.

"Anyway, I went into the library and I found the book I was looking for right off, but..." The younger man shook his head again. "Me, being me, I got distracted by this book on early native peoples of the region. I told myself I was only going to read a little of it..."

Jim hid a smile; well-knowing his ever-curious Guide, he could guess what had happened.

"I was so into the book, I was completely ignoring what was going on around me. First thing I knew something was wrong was when the lights went out. I looked around the stacks in time to see the librarian outside, locking the door for the night. I went over to the door and yelled, but she didn't hear me."

Ellison quit smiling; this he hadn't expected. "You were locked in? Alone-all night? Didn't the librarian check the place before closing up?"

Catching the frown on the handsome face, Sandburg hurried to reassure him. "I wasn't scared, Jim. In fact, I was more pissed at myself than anything else for letting time get away from me. As for checking..." He shrugged. "I'm sure she probably did, but I've always been small for my age and I was sitting on the floor behind the stacks; it wasn't impossible for her to have missed me. Like I said, I wasn't particularly worried; I figured I would leave when the library opened the next morning, hitch a ride back to the commune, grovel a little if Naomi scolded me, and that would be that."

"What happened, Blair?" Jim asked again, keeping his eyes on his frenetically pacing lover.

"It just hit me, man; in the middle of the night... I didn't know where the fucking commune was!"

Giving a soul-deep sigh, Blair came over to drop down beside Ellison on the bed. Throwing his hands in the air, he admitted, "I realized I didn't know where the commune was in relation to Stockridge. I knew that, when we came into town, the bus turned left onto the highway, then we passed a huge red barn that always had cattle grazing in the field in front of it, three white farmhouses and a huge, old tree next to a farmer's drive...but I didn't know in which direction to start searching for those landmarks." Looking into the stunned cornflower blue eyes, Blair said quietly, "That's when I started to get scared."

"I'll bet." Automatically wrapping him in a firm hug, Ellison went on, "Even if you didn't know for sure where the commune was, Chief, you did know that you could just tell an adult, right? In the morning, when the librarian came to open up again, you did tell her so she could notify the police, didn't you? I'm sure they could have found the commune. Or did you just tell Patrick?" Maybe Blair had been afraid to tell the librarian, and when Connelly had come into the library for some reason, the lost youngster had confided in him.

"I didn't meet Patrick then-not until two days later." Blair's gaze was on the floor, his face obscured by the fall of his curls.

"Then you told the librarian?" When Sandburg didn't answer Ellison's frown deepened. "Chief?"

"No, I didn't tell the librarian, Jim." The anthropologist's voice was very soft.

"Whom did you tell?" This time, when the younger man didn't reply, Ellison slid his hand under his lover's square jaw and gently raised Blair's face so he could see him. "Blair...you did tell someone?"

"No, I didn't tell anyone, Jim-I couldn't." When Ellison opened his mouth to protest, Sandburg hurried on, "I was afraid that if I told anyone what I'd done, they'd call the cops."

"Jim, think about it a little here! It was 1977, in the middle of small-town America where everyone went to church at least twice a week and you were considered a flag-burning liberal if you voted Democrat-do you honestly think these people were happy to have a commune just outside the city limits? The City Council would only let us come into town once a month to sell our stuff, and only then because there would be lots of cops hovering close by to make sure the hippie freaks weren't trying to sell drugs or run off with their decent, clean-cut Christian kids."

Sandburg took a deep breath and toned down his verbal assault. "Not all the cops hassled us, true; but enough did that I was scared. Remember also, I'd been raised believing all cops were Nazi-like authority figures who enjoyed trampling all over innocent people's civil rights; the other adults in the commune only backed up Naomi's teachings. I was scared that, if the cops found out that I'd hitched into town on my own, they would close the commune down and all those people would have nowhere to go." He bit his lower lip for a minute, then confessed, "I was also afraid that they would blame Naomi for what I'd done and put me into a foster home. I couldn't let that happen, man; I had to look out for her."

Ellison just stared at him for a long minute, thoughts tumbling about, before querying, "If you didn't tell anyone, Chief-what did you do?"

The grad student returned to staring at the floor beneath his feet. Finally, shrugging again, he said, "I stayed at the library, man. For the next two days, while I tried to figure out what the hell I was going to do, I just hid out at the library. During the day, I hung out among the stacks so people wouldn't see me."

"B-But what about food?" questioned Jim, dazed, trying to wrap his mind around an eight year old boy hiding out in a strange library for days, with no way to get something to eat, no warm place to sleep...

"The library staff had a lounge in the back, next to the rest rooms; you know, coffee maker, small fridge where they kept their lunches...that sort of thing. I, um, 'borrowed' an apple one day, a tuna sandwich the next-let me tell you, that was weird; first time in my life I'd had meat of any kind. Anyway, I figured no one would be the wiser; the librarians would just believe that they'd forgotten to pack their complete lunch. However, I hadn't taken the Head Librarian into account." Amazingly, Blair looked up and grinned.

"Charlotte?" queried Jim, abruptly remembering a snippet of the phone conversation from Thursday night.

"You've got that right. My third night there, after everyone had left and she was preparing to lock up, she stopped at the front door and said, calm as you please, 'You know, you can come out. I'm not going to call the police, if that's what you're afraid of.' And...and I did. I don't know why; all I can say is that I believed her."

"I walked up to her and she just looked at me for a few minutes, then she asked if I was hungry. I admitted I was, and the next thing I knew, I'm sitting at the table in her kitchen, eating this huge peanut butter and jelly sandwich-first time I'd had one of those, too. I'll never forget the look on Patrick's and Davy's faces when they walked in later." Sandburg laughed. "Patrick had picked up Davy from baseball practice; they came home anticipating a good meal and a normal evening of doing homework and watching TV...and walked in their back door to find a scrawny, runt of a kid with a briar brush of curls going every which way, dressed in a tee shirt three sizes too big, faded jeans and sneakers with holes in them."

"I have to give Patrick some kind of credit-he didn't get all mean and demand I had to leave. But he did start our acquaintance off on the wrong foot."

"How's that, Chief?" The Sentinel's grin grew wider at the twinkle in his Guide's cerulean eyes.

"He looks over at Charlotte, standing at the stove, and says, 'Who's the little girl?' Man, I was instantly pissed, I can tell you!" Over the cop's chuckles, Blair went on, "Before I could say anything, though, Davy glares up at his dad with this disgusted look on his face and goes, 'Jeez, Dad-get some glasses or something. That's a boy!' I knew right then...Davy and I were going to be good friends."

Sandburg went over to the in-room coffee pot and started making fresh coffee. "Patrick, bless him, immediately apologized-and he wasn't sarcastic about it at all, not like most adults would've been, if they'd been corrected by a kid. Then he told me that-since I was going to be staying for dinner-maybe I wanted to go take a bath and get into some clean clothes. I kind of hesitated, but Charlotte said it'd be all right and that we'd discuss everything after dinner. So Davy brought me some clothes he'd outgrown, I took a bath and we all had dinner. Then we all sat down in the living room for our 'talk'."

"What obfuscation did you feed the poor people, Chief?" questioned Ellison. "I mean, I'm assuming here you didn't come out and just tell them the truth."

"I couldn't, Jim; I told you that! A couple times before this-in two separate places-the social workers had gotten too interested in me, decided I was a neglected child and called the cops. Back then, being an unwed, single mom was bad enough; if you were also unconventional, you were automatically labeled a child abuser."

As the coffee finished perking, he poured Ellison a mug of coffee and brought it over to him. The older man accepted it with a nod of thanks and took a large sip. Going back over to the pot, Blair poured himself a mug and then propped himself against the counter.

"I really didn't tell them any lies, man. Patrick and Charlotte assumed I was an abused runaway from St. Louis or Kansas City, and I just didn't tell them any differently." Sandburg stared blankly into his mug. "I'd come up with this idea while I was taking my bath. The commune had just been in Stockridge about a week before this-if I could stay with the Connellys until the end of the month, the commune would be back in town and I could catch a ride back with them. I was a little worried that Naomi would be upset, but I couldn't see any other way out of the mess I'd made."

"You know, Chief," Ellison commented quietly, "not many kids the age you were at the time would've been able to survive two days basically by themselves, let alone come up with a long-range plan on how to get home. You were awfully mature for your age."

The big detective watched in astonishment as a spasm of unreadable emotion flashed across his partner's face.

"Oh, yeah...I was mature, Jim. I'd had to learn to be." Sandburg shrugged once more and gave a rueful grimace. "A year before this, while we were staying with some friends of Naomi's in LA, I'd overheard Naomi and another woman talking. Bree-her friend-was complimenting Naomi on how I really didn't need much looking after: if I wanted to eat, I fixed myself a meal; I made sure I took my bath, did my homework and got myself off to school each morning. Naomi told her...told her that she wasn't going let one stupid mistake ruin and run her life for any longer than absolutely necessary. From the moment I could walk, Naomi said she'd made sure I'd learned to take care of myself. She told Bree I was going to grow up to be strong, independent and self-reliant; that way I wouldn't need to bother her for every minor crisis and I'd grow up better equipped to deal with Life than most kids." Blair never raised his eyes from his coffee mug.

Ellison's grip on his mug tightened as renewed anger flooded through him. He took another sip of coffee to give himself time to think. Well, now I know the origin of that comment about panic attacks, he fumed mentally. What the hell was Naomi thinking?! Not about her son, that's for sure. I can't believe she called the most loving soul in the universe a mistake! Wonder if she's ever once in her selfish life considered Blair's needs, Blair's wishes?

Knowing better than to voice anything of what he was thinking, the cop said calmly, "I take it Patrick and Charlotte agreed to let you stay." He didn't make it a question.

Too caught up in his own emotional whirlpool to notice the subtle signs of temper in his Sentinel, Sandburg just nodded. "Yeah. I begged them not to call the cops, and they agreed. They said they would just tell everyone that I was Charlotte's cousin's kid, visiting for a little while. Looking back now, I can see they were hoping that, after I calmed down and settled in, I would feel differently about going to the cops. So..." he trailed off.

"So Patrick set up a cot for me in Davy's room, and I sort of moved in. I apologized to Davy that night after we'd gone to bed-told him that I'd be just as happy sleeping on the floor in the living room, but he wouldn't hear of it. He told me that he'd always wanted a little brother." The anthropologist's voice cracked on the last two words. "Said he was going to show me all the cool things to do in Stockridge; when he found out I'd never gone fishing, he promised to show me how.

"The next morning, which was a Saturday, Charlotte took me shopping in Branson for a whole new wardrobe. Man, I'd never seen so many clothes in my life; I had a different pair of jeans and a fresh shirt for each day!" A faint grin lifted the full lips. "I've thought several times over the years about giving them some money to re-pay for what they spent on me for clothes, food and such..."

"They'd probably be very insulted if you tried that, Chief," Jim interrupted gently. "I realize I don't know the Connellys all that well, but they strike me as the kind of people who never gave a second thought about everything they did for you."

"You're right, man," Sandburg agreed instantly. "They didn't; and that's why I always talked myself out of sending them any money. I didn't want to return their kindness to me with an insult."

"Just a little over three weeks," replied the grad student. "Davy and I didn't have school that Monday, so we decided to go fishing and you know what happened then. That following Saturday, while I was still in the hospital in Springfield, the commune made its monthly trip into town."

Blair shrugged and took a large drink of his coffee. Setting down the mug, he commenced pacing once more. "I knew that I'd missed them, but there wasn't anything I could do about it. So, when I got discharged, I just went back to Patrick and Charlotte. I had thoughts about trying again the next time they came into Stockridge, but..."

"That evening, while Charlotte was staying with Davy in the hospital and Patrick was at the house with me, Chief Shostak came by. The cops had gotten an initial statement from me at the hospital, but now he wanted a full one. He could tell I was pretty leery about speaking with him, so he took his time with me, never got mad and just let me tell what had happened in my own way. When I finished, he got down on one knee so he could look me in the eyes and promised me that the police would get those kids who had hurt Davy and me; he told me that I would never again have to be afraid to go outside." Blair huffed a sigh and looked over at his lover. "I'd never told anyone that I was scared to go outside, man; not even Patrick and Charlotte. I wonder how he knew that?"

"Carl Shostak struck me as a good cop." Jim gave a half-shrug. "He cares, Chief; that's how he knew."

"Yeah, I guess." Blair mulled that over for a few minutes, then said, "Chief Shostak also told me that I had to do my part in stopping those kids. I asked him what part, and he told me that I had to be brave enough to come down to the police station and formally identify them once they'd been arrested; that I had to be prepared to testify against them at a trial. Going into a police station was a scary enough idea-actually getting up and testifying in a court room...whoa!" Sandburg gave a short, mirthless laugh.

Going over to the window, the anthropologist stared into the middle distance. "That night, lying in bed, I couldn't sleep, worrying about having to deal with the cops and going to court. I finally decided that, if the cops were as clueless as Naomi had always told me they were, they probably wouldn't ever catch those kids anyway and that I had nothing to worry about. So I rolled over to try to go to sleep...and I saw Davy's bed, neatly made, with his jacket lying across it because he'd decided it would be too warm that day to need it.

"I hadn't understood a lot of what I'd heard the doctors telling Patrick and Charlotte, but I had grasped one thing: Davy was never going to get better and be able to come home again." Unaware of the tears coursing down his cheeks, Sandburg said dully, "There aren't any words, Jim, to describe how much I hated myself then. Here I was, feeling so relieved and happy that I wouldn't have to get any further involved, that I wouldn't have to work with the police, for god's sake, and poor Davy was never going to be the same. Man, you talk about self-loathing...Naomi had tried my entire life to teach me to do the right thing and all I could think about was myself and how scared I was of co-operating with the police. And what if those bastards decided to do it again to some other poor kids?"

Sandburg gave a dismissive shrug. "I decided, right then and there, that I'd do anything to help the cops catch those damn kids; even if it meant getting up and testifying in court-even if it meant missing more chances to get back to the commune and Naomi."

Jim got up and come over to the other man. Putting his hands on both shoulders, he said quietly, "That's exactly the kind of behavior I'd expect from you. Yeah, you were scared of the police because you'd been taught to be afraid of them, but you faced your fears and did the right thing after all." Feeling better at the slight smile on his lover's face, he went on, "I'm very proud of you, Chief; and I bet, once you'd told Naomi, she was extremely proud of you, too."

Smile abruptly switching off, Sandburg shook off Ellison's hands and started pacing again. Frowning thoughtfully, the big detective wondered what he'd said wrong this time. Deciding not to press the matter, he only asked, "Did it take the cops long to catch those three?"

"Huh?" His thoughts clearly elsewhere, Blair looked up at him blankly for a few moments before the question penetrated. "Oh, not really, no. Chief Shostak came to see me on Sunday evening and Patrick got a phone call from him Wednesday morning to bring me down to the station for a line-up. From what I over-heard him tell Patrick later, the cops were pretty sure who they were looking for even while I was still in the hospital, but they wanted to make sure they had enough evidence to convict, so they waited a few days to let Forensics do their thing."

"Well," commented Ellison, leaning against the window sill, "somebody obviously did their job right since they did get their convictions."

"Thank god for that." Blair sighed and dropped down onto the edge of the bed again. "I-I don't know if I could've lived with myself, Jim, if the jury had found them not guilty or something. I mean, I was the prosecution's main witness and it was my responsibility to see that those guys never hurt anyone else again."

"Wrong, Chief," denied Ellison bluntly, sitting down beside him. "It was the prosecution's responsibility to prove guilt beyond a reasonable doubt. If they'd muffed the case-or if the jury simply didn't believe them-then the fault would've been theirs...not yours. Never a witness' fault, especially an eight year old kid's."

"But nothing, Sandburg," Ellison declared firmly, shaking his head. "If the verdict had turned out differently, that would've been tragic and wrong, but you would've done your best and that's all anyone can ever do. I bet you any amount of money you care to name that that was all Patrick and Charlotte asked of you...to do your best."

A faint grin turned up one corner of the lush mouth. "Sucker bet, man, and you know it."

Ellison grinned back. Feeling as though he were walking on eggshells, he queried gingerly, "So how did you get back to the commune?" Somehow not surprised, he watched as Blair regained his feet and re-started his pacing.

"Talk about your Karmic deals: the trial ended on a Friday afternoon, and the commune was due in Stockridge the next morning." Hands stuck in his back jeans' pockets, the grad student said, "I used to get up before Patrick and Charlotte on the weekends and went outside to play, so I knew they wouldn't be looking for me until around lunch time. Patrick always has to have lettuce on all of his sandwiches, so I left a note next to it so they wouldn't worry. I mean, that would've been so rude to let them worry, what with Davy and all..." Blair glanced over at his partner. "I apologized for misleading them about me being a runaway, but said it was too long of an explanation to go into; then I thanked them for everything they had done for me, and told them that they-and Davy-would always be in my thoughts. After that, I simply walked downtown to where the commune bus was already parked and everyone was setting up their stalls."

"Was Naomi very upset?" questioned Jim. "I mean, it had been what...at least three months, by this time?"

"Four and a half," Sandburg corrected; then, biting his lower lip pensively, he said reluctantly, "No, Naomi wasn't upset...shewasn'tthere," he finished in a rush.

Blinking, Ellison stared up at his Guide. "What do you mean, she wasn't there, Chief? You mean she hadn't come into town on this visit?"

"Just what I said, man-she wasn't there!" retorted Sandburg. Hearing himself, the anthropologist dropped his head and took several deep, calming breaths. No need to get mad at Jim, you idiot! How is he supposed to know that-even after all these years-you still haven't processed all your childish feelings of betrayal and resentment? Get a grip, Sandburg and grow up. She was only being Naomi.

"Sorry, Jim," he apologized, dropping down next to the larger man. "Naomi didn't come into Stockridge with the rest of the commune that day because she wasn't at the commune.

"What?!" Ellison felt his jaw drop. He can't mean what I think he means... "You mean she'd just gone off and left you behind?"

At the exasperated denial, Ellison started to sigh in relief, then almost choked at his Guide's next sentence.

"She hadn't left for good, man; Solomon told me she was due back the following Wednesday. I'd completely forgotten about that retreat she'd wanted to go to in Mexico."

The cop felt his jaw hit his knees again. Knowing he was risking a major explosion, but quite unable to stop himself, he asked incredulously, "Her son was missing for several months...and Naomi not only doesn't file a police report, she goes on a retreat?!" His whirling mind just couldn't seem to wrap itself around the bizarre concept.

"See, that's exactly the attitude I knew you'd take!" Sandburg jumped to his feet and stood glaring down at his lover. "Everyone always leaps to the immediate conclusion that Naomi was some rotten and neglectful mother, and man, that really pisses me off."

"So explain it to me, Darwin." Locking eyes with his angry lover, Jim slowly rose to face him. Trying to contain his almost-overwhelming rage, he growled, "Tell me how I should look at a mother who takes off and leaves the damn state...never mind the fucking country...to enjoy herself at some stupid retreat while her eight year old son is missing!"

Flushing at the biting sarcasm, Blair dropped his eyes to the floor. Good question, Jim. That's the same one I've been dealing with for twenty years. I just wish I had a good answer for it. His anger drained away as suddenly as it had appeared, leaving him feeling weak and slightly dizzy. "Don't you understand, Jim," he began tiredly, "Naomi just didn't see it as wrong. She wanted me to feel free to explore, to discover new things, to have adventures of my own. Yeah, she went to Mexico but she was planning on coming back because she knew I'd return to the commune when I was ready." He raised pleading eyes to his Sentinel. "It's just a difference in lifestyle, man. Can't you understand that?"

Taking in the ocean-colored orbs begging for his acceptance of an indefensible betrayal, Jim felt a surge of love and compassion wash over him. Oh, Chief. I guess there really is none so blind as those who will not see... Taking a deep breath, he tried to shove his unreasoning anger away; the situation was twenty years in the past, he could do nothing about it now. Voice rough, he said, "I'm sorry, Chief." Spine tightening in trepidation, he bit out, "To me, that's not just a difference in living, it's flat out child abandonment and neglect, and I would gladly arrest any parent I caught behaving that way. I know you're probably going to be furious with me now, but I have never lied to you before and I can't lie to you about this." The Sentinel continued sotto voce, obviously not expecting Sandburg to be able to hear, "God, Naomi...and you had the balls to accuse me of being a bad influence on your son!"

Blair heard, however, and pounced on the low comment. "Bad for me? Why would she say that? When did she say that? Jim?"

Ellison swiftly started to backpedal. "It's not important, Chief; nothing for you to worry about. Honestly."

Sandburg refused to be placated. "The hell it's not important!" he objected harshly. "You and Naomi obviously had a private conversation about me some time in the past. Don't you think I have a right to know what went on between my lover and my mother?"

"There's no need to get upset," soothed the detective, trying another tack. "Your mother was just worried about you, that's all. She's your mom; she has a right to be concerned."

"Naomi has never worried about me before, and I sincerely doubt she's changed her habits. The only time she 'worries' about me is when I'm not doing what she thinks is right." The statement was flat and filled with a surprising degree of bitterness. Sandburg fixed his Sentinel with a sharp stare. "I'm not letting this go, Jim. I'm your lover and your Guide-I have a right to know. What did Naomi say to you?"

Damn it, Ellison, you never used to have trouble keeping your thoughts to yourself! Blair's already stressed enough...he doesn't need to hear this shit on top of everything else. The cop continued attempting to downplay the incident. "Naomi and I had a little...talk...once when she'd phoned, looking for you, okay? You hadn't returned home from class yet. Naomi stated her opinion; I stated mine, and that was that. No big deal."

"Good." The husky voice was implacable. "If it was no big deal, then it won't take long to tell me what she said."

And he calls me stubborn! Ellison shook his head, but knew he was defeated. Sinking down onto the bed behind him, he hung his head and said wearily, "She's just concerned about you, that's all. She knows you're this beautiful, brilliant and talented kid who is well on his way to being the tops in his field. Or you were, until you became mixed up with an aging, emotionally-barren, violence-loving cop. Naomi pointed out that I've pretty much destroyed your professional reputation and chances since you haven't been able to do any field studies since we hooked up together. She's afraid that I'm going to go on to get you seriously hurt or killed."

The detective shrugged and leaned forward, resting his arms on his thighs. Looking fixedly at the carpet beneath his feet, he said evenly, "I told her that I could understand her worries, that I agreed with her that you were someone extremely special and that your life was very precious to me. I told her I...frequently...had the same concerns, and that I'd do everything within my power to keep you safe and unharmed."

Ellison gave another shrug and kept his eyes firmly downward. "She wasn't impressed. She wanted to know when I was going to improve in keeping you safe, because I've obviously done a piss-poor job of protecting you thus far."

Blair felt a surge of rage so intense, his vision went a bright scarlet for a few moments. Forcing himself to take deep, regular breaths, the younger man fought back his anger and observed mildly, "Knowing you, you probably didn't argue with that." He was distantly amazed at how normal his voice sounded.

A months earlier request flashed through the grad student's mind. "That's why you didn't want me to tell Naomi that we'd become lovers, isn't it? I thought it odd at the time, but I decided you just wanted to keep our private life private. But that wasn't it at all, was it, Jim?"

The Sentinel still would not look up. "It just would've upset her, Chief; and then you would've gotten upset, too. Between school and working with me, I just thought you didn't need any additional worries."

A strained silence fell. It was broken long minutes later by Sandburg's level voice. "Well, I've only got one thing to say about this, Jim."

Inwardly cringing, the cop braced himself for the onslaught. You fucking idiot, Ellison! You know how much he loves Naomi; how he thinks she can do no wrong. Now you're basically asking him to choose between the two of you. Why do you do this to yourself-you know who he's going to pick.

Busy berating himself, it was several seconds before Ellison realized that Sandburg had said something. When he did realize it, it took several more stunned seconds before what the anthropologist had said to permeate his whirling brain. Finally looking up, he stared dazedly at his lover and struggled to get his mouth to work. "W-What did you say, Chief?"

"I said," Blair repeated calmly, "screw Naomi." Each word was precise and clear. "In fact," he continued, unable to disguise his anger any longer, "fuck Naomi."

Topaz eyes sparking with anger, Sandburg ground out, "She had no right to say those things to you!" Swinging a leg over Ellison's knees, the younger man invited himself onto his lover's lap.

"She had the right, Chief; she's your mother." Ellison's head was spinning from the twists and turns of their conversation.

"That still doesn't give her the right to say cruel things to you behind my back, to make you doubt yourself." Blair reached up and cupped Ellison's aristocratically handsome face. "No one has that right. No one."

Becoming increasingly distracted by the nearness of his lover, Ellison was fighting to keep his mind on the discussion at hand. "Your mother does. No matter how you feel at this moment; Naomi is your mother and you love her. Don't let me get between the two of you. I couldn't stand that."

"She just wants to get between the two of us," murmured Blair, bringing his forehead down to rest against the other man's. "She may not officially know about us being a couple, Jim, but she knows we're closer than she likes; too close for her comfort level. If she were any other mom, it would be the fact that you're a man that she wouldn't be able handle; with Naomi, it's the fact that you're a cop. My being so friendly with the police isn't something she ever envisioned would happen, and she wants it stopped." He gave a short laugh. "I'm sure you've noticed by now that whatever Naomi wants, Naomi is used to getting."

"Well, I'm afraid it's not going to happen this time," Jim stated, running his hands up and down Sandburg's back and flanks. Leaning forward, he started to nibble on the tempting neck. Interspersing words with licks and bites, he continued, "The only way you're getting rid of me is to tell me to go; and to be honest, Chief-I'm not sure if even then I'd go quietly."

"Good," declared Sandburg, tilting his head back so Ellison would have easier access to his neck. "I don't want you to go quietly; I like it much better when you moan and scream. Loudly."

"You do, do you?" Jim sucked a convenient earlobe into his mouth, biting gently. "Sorry, babe; going to have to disappoint you tonight. Motel, remember? It's not polite to disturb the neighbors."

"Damn." Despite his words, Sandburg didn't appear too disheartened. Reaching for the hem of the cop's sweater, he pulled it up and over his lover's head. Without encumbering clothes in the way, his hands began to rove continually over the broad, muscled chest; they patted lightly here, flitted softly there and caressed everywhere else. By the time they arrived at the two salmon pink nubs waiting so impatiently for him, the nipples were already pebbled hard and Jim was panting lightly.

As Blair reached for them, he was considerably startled when Ellison's hands flew out to trap his wrists. "Huh? Jim...?"

"You've got too many clothes on." With a sure, deft move, the former Army Ranger flipped the younger man over and onto his back on the bed. While the mattress was still bouncing, his hands had stripped off the other man's sweater, and Sandburg's pants, shoes, socks and boxers were soon lying in a heap on the floor.

"Hey, no fair!" giggled the anthropologist. "You're still wearing most of your clothes."

"If you can't think of a way around that, Darwin, then you don't have half the imagination I give you credit for." Almost before he finished speaking, the detective found his jeans had been unzipped, and they, along with his boxers, pushed down below his knees. Wriggling, the big man was able to coax them the rest of the way off. "See, I knew you could come up with a solution if you just put your mind to use." Jim pulled off his socks, and uncaring for once, threw them across the room.

"It's not my mind that I'm wanting to use here, man." Blair gasped as large hands found his nipples, twisting and pulling them until they were cherry-red and as hard as stones. Grabbing blindly, he yanked Ellison down so they could kiss.

Ellison groaned into his lover's mouth at the silky feel of the tongue gliding against his. He lapped like a kitten, straining to taste all the textures, all the flavors, of Blair's mouth. The wet velvet heat an irresistible beacon, Jim had just decided he was going to spend the rest of his life kissing Blair when the younger man tore his head away, drawing in huge gulps of air. Before he could voice any complaints, Sandburg had flipped them over so that he was on top, leaned in and darted his tongue around both of Ellison's nipples. Panting harshly, Jim arched into the contact, hands weaving into the long curls to hold the grad student in place.

Finally, just as the detective was sure he was going to come from no more stimulation than that, Sandburg broke off what he was doing and began licking and kissing his way down to the firm abdomen. Jim, meanwhile, was sweeping his hands over and around his lover's back and buttocks, kneading and stroking the tight ass cheeks. One finger trailed slowly through the valley hidden there, causing Blair to arch back and moan. Jim swooped in for another kiss.

Their mouths melted together, exchanging deep, wet, plundering kisses, tongues dueling wildly as both fought for control, both ceded it. Breaking off only when his lungs demanded it, Ellison nipped at Sandburg's full lower lip then moved downward, biting at the square chin and the softness of throat. He paused to nibble and suck on the prominent Adam's apple, grinning to himself as he heard Blair start to curse softly.

Moaning and swearing under his breath, Blair reached down and grabbed the large cock bobbing against him. Teasingly running his thumb up and down the turgid shaft, he started a slow, tortuous milking. It was now Jim's turn to moan, and he did so, loudly.

It was all suddenly too much for Blair, and squeezing the hot cock in his hand to make sure he had his lover's attention, he panted, "In me, Jim. I want you in me. Now."

His pupils so dilated that all that could be seen of his ice blue eyes were the merest rims, Ellison raised his head and looked around somewhat wildly. "Lube?" he gasped thickly.

Concentrating on relaxing, trying not to come too soon, Sandburg had barely taken a couple of deep breaths before his lover's strong, hard body was pressing against his once more. Taking a fierce, possessive kiss from the swollen, lush mouth, Ellison then eased back onto his thighs.

"Now, Jim..." begged Blair, hands knotted into fists so he wouldn't grab Ellison and force him to where he most wanted his lover to be. "Please... Jim..."

"Shh, be patient, babe." Jim leaned back down for a moment and pressed a quick kiss on the anthropologist's trembling stomach. "We're getting there."

Crooning softly to soothe his over-stimulated lover, Jim squeezed some lube onto his fingers. Biting his lip, fighting back his ferocious need, he thickly coated his eager shaft. After putting some more gel onto his fingers, he lightly traced and teased at the ring of Blair's anus, before gently easing first one, then two, then three fingers inside the tight opening. Without removing his hand, Jim helped Blair to slide a pillow under his hips to help create a better angle.

Moments later, carefully withdrawing his fingers, Ellison placed the tip of his cock at the dilated entrance and carefully pushed forward-just a few tantalizing inches at first, then, amazingly, the whole length of himself slid inside. Oh, god...nothing is ever better than this, he groaned mentally, as the tight, moist heat gripped and tugged at him. Gathering Blair's cock into his hand, he stroked and pulled in time to his deep pelvic thrusts. His lover's nonsensical babbling an aphrodisiac, Jim soon gave up all conscious control and let his needs and instincts take over.

Far too soon, way before he was ready, Ellison felt himself edging toward the edge of the cliff. His senses trained on the writhing, humping body beneath his, he could tell Sandburg was also on the brink. One last thrusting, twisting shove, and Ellison was coming, his hand automatically tightening on his lover's shaft and causing it to explode, shooting strings of heat between them.

Panting heavily, brain feeling as if it'd been run over, Ellison gradually came back to himself and realized that he was more than likely crushing his partner. Murmuring an apology, he rolled off the younger man.

His action produced a quick, "Don't go yet, okay, man?" while Blair clutched at him almost frantically.

Putting aside his need to clean up, Jim brought his lover in closer to him. Tucking Blair's head beneath his chin, he assured the grad student, "I'm not going anywhere, Chief." He began rubbing lazy circles up and down the smooth back.

There was silence for several minutes then, without looking up, Sandburg said quietly, "I'm sorry, Jim."

Huh? "Sorry for what?" asked Ellison, rubbing his nose against the curly scalp.

"I'm sorry for what Naomi said to you; I'm sorry for the way it must've made you feel."

It gutted me, the cop admitted mentally. Out loud, he only said, "You have nothing to apologize for, Chief."

"Maybe not, but I know Naomi will never apologize." Blair sighed. "As far back as I can remember, I've been the one making the apologies for her actions, explaining her behavior to others so they wouldn't be mad at her. I don't know what she would've done without me there to defend her and protect her."

It should have been the other way around, Chief, and I think you're trying like hell to avoid admitting that to yourself. Knowing you, you probably never once as a young child questioned Naomi's motives or actions toward you; you just accepted them as the way things were. Then, you spent some time with Charlotte and learned what a real mother was like... It made it hard, didn't it, babe, to go back to a starvation diet of affection, once you'd had the buffet.

"I know she's not perfect." Sandburg snorted. "God, do I know she's not perfect! She can be flighty, impulsive, occasionally immature..."

"...careless of how her actions and words affect others, but you're right, Jim. She's my mother and I love her." Blair raised his head to look Ellison in the eye. "But that still doesn't excuse her for what she said to you. I didn't fall in love with an aging, emotionally-barren, violence-loving man; I fell in love with a physically and spiritually beautiful, mature soul who regularly exhausts himself in his efforts to keep the people under his care safe and happy. I have the utmost faith that you will always do everything you humanly can to keep me safe. Don't take what she said to heart; it doesn't matter, what's important is that you believe what I say to you."

Eyes glittering suddenly, Ellison said unevenly, "It's important to me that you know that I understand about Naomi. She's your mother, and as such, will always be welcome at the loft."

"Thanks, man." Blair leaned down and pressed a soft kiss of benediction on his lover. Pulling away, much to his embarrassment, he gave vent to a huge yawn.

"No problem, Chief." Jim planted a quick kiss on Sandburg's head, then moved to get out of the bed. "I'm going to get a warm washcloth to clean us off, then we can hit the sack, okay?"

Minutes later, with both men sketchily cleaned up and the washcloth returned to the bathroom, Ellison spooned in behind his lover, bringing his chest up firmly to the younger man's back, wrapping an arm around Blair's waist and draping a leg over both of the shorter ones.

"You sure we've got everything, Chief?" asked Ellison, coming back into the motel room from loading their luggage into the car.

"Yeah," answered Sandburg, finishing tying his hair back with a leather thong. "I checked the bathroom and the wardrobe drawers. We're good."

A hand in the small of his lover's back, Ellison guided the younger man down to the front desk to settle their bill. Although Blair was striving to act normally, the cop could tell something was still bothering his partner. Due to the circumstances, Jim wasn't expecting the grad student to be his usual hyper-talkative, enthusiastic self, but Sandburg was a little too quiet for Ellison's peace of mind. Deeply introspective, the anthropologist didn't even attempt to flirt with the very pretty young girl behind the front desk...much to her obvious dismay. As least the emotional blood-letting of the previous night had helped in some ways; both men had been able to get a decent night's rest without troubling nightmares.

"Umm, Jim?" The confident voice was unusually tentative. "I was just wondering..."

Ellison waited, but when several moments had gone by, he quietly prompted, "Wondered what, Chief?"

"Since...since we have to go right past it on the way back to Branson, I thought maybe we could stop at the cemetery one last time?" Sandburg didn't look at his lover; he knew those crystal blue eyes would be full of impatience for the unnecessary delay.

Ellison's easy acquiescence startled Blair enough that he turned to look at the other man. The big cop was gazing at him steadily; the eyes that Blair had feared would be censorious were, instead, full of nothing but support and understanding. A swell of love, so huge and powerful that he thought his heart would burst, swept over Blair and he had to swallow hard to get past the sudden boulder in his throat.

"Thanks, man." Hearing his voice come out thick and shaky, Sandburg swallowed again before continuing, "It's just...Davy gave me something when I first came to live with him. I-I wanted to give it back."

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather keep it to remember him by?" questioned Ellison softly. So that's what he's been hiding...

Sandburg shook his head. "I don't need it to remember him, Jim. I remember him just fine." He placed his hand over his heart. "In here."

Placing one of his own hands over the capable one resting on Sandburg's chest, Jim earnestly agreed, "That's the best place to keep him, Chief. In there, Davy will always be young and happy."

Eyes flooding with abrupt tears, Blair reached out blindly and was immediately pulled into a strong, comforting hug. Both his hands tightly gripping the detective's leather jacket, Blair buried his face against a broad shoulder, sobbing, finally letting go of the grief and guilt he'd carried for so long. Murmuring nonsense, Jim just held on tightly to the trembling figure, rocking him slightly as one would a small child. Long moments passed before the crying stopped and the shudders racking the compact frame ceased.

Firmly wrapped in the loving embrace, Sandburg concentrated on controlling his breathing. Suddenly, he said, "You know, last night...when we were talking about Davy and how you said you were proud of me for helping find those kids and that you knew Naomi would be proud, too?" The words had popped out without any conscious volition on his part, but once he'd started speaking, Blair knew he had to tell his lover the rest of it. God, please let Jim understand.

Taking a deep, bracing breath, Sandburg pulled back a little so he could see the handsome face. Needing to get the words out before his courage failed him, Blair rushed on, "She wasn't, man-proud of me, that is. When...when I told her about it, she got very angry and said I had helped perpetuate a tyrannical, domineering and fascist institution. She agreed that what those boys had done was wrong, but that I shouldn't have committed another wrong by assisting the police to put them into prison. The prison, she said, wouldn't help them see that violence is wrong, and maintained that Reese, Jay and Brian would've been better taught by making them work alongside Patrick and Charlotte so they could've seen first hand just how much pain they had caused. She said... Naomi said she couldn't believe I would do anything so cruel and vindictive, and that she was extremely disappointed with me."

Thoughts slamming up against each other like vehicles in a multi-car pileup, all Jim could manage to squeeze out was a low, "Oh, sweetheart." Pure, undistilled rage-white and hot-boiled through him, literally leaving him breathless for an elongated minute.

Sandburg plastered his face back against the leather clad shoulder. "Guess she'd really be disappointed in me-if she ever heard about what happened to Reese." Try as he might, he was unable to keep the tremor out of his voice. "You must be, too, huh? I mean, after all my big talk about violence not solving anything... Now you know that, not only did I help put three kids into an adult prison, one of them even got killed while he was in there."

The Sentinel was momentarily shocked speechless; that his Guide could believe for even one second that... It was only when he felt Sandburg stiffen and attempt to pull away that rational thought returned.

Lowering his head so his mouth was near Blair's ear, Ellison whispered intensely, "Listen to me, Blair, and listen very closely. You. Did. Nothing. Wrong. Do you hear me? As a scared, injured kid, you were able to put aside the prejudices you'd been force-fed from the time you were an infant and help the police put away three kids who probably would've gone on the next time to actually murder someone-especially that Lewis bastard. That took real guts, Chief, to go against everything you'd been taught, to do the right thing...and you were only eight. It probably didn't ease Patrick's and Charlotte's pain over what had happened to Davy, but you gave them something they could cling to: the knowledge that those bastards would pay for what they'd done.

"You made them proud of you twenty years ago, and I know they still are today. After all these years, Chief Shostak still remembers your courage and determination. As for me...Blair, I'm so proud of you, I could explode. I've always known you had the most loving, giving and courageous soul in existence; this incident is just one more proof. You should ask the guys in the bullpen sometime-they'll tell you that some days, all I do is brag about you."

Feeling the tension beginning to leave his lover's body, the cop went on, "I'm not trying to drive a wedge between you and Naomi, but what she said to you twenty years ago was wrong, Blair-totally and completely, wrong. More than that, it was cruel and stupid. I love you, babe, with all my heart and soul and I know, to the bottom of my soul, that there is nothing you could ever do that would make me disappointed with you. Nothing." The final word came out as an unbreakable vow.

Drawing in a shaky breath, Blair levered himself back up. Gazing into the radiant cornflower blue eyes watching him so closely, he said vehemently, "I love you, Jim...so much I ache with it sometimes." He leaned forward and took possession of the mouth so close to his, using the fierce kiss to express all his love and gratitude for Ellison's unconditional and unwavering support.

When the kiss finally ended, both men's lips were swollen and cherry red. Face flushed with passion, all the Sentinel said, however, was a prosaic, "Time to get this show on the road, Chief."

"Sure thing," replied the Guide, settling back into his side of the car and reaching for his seat belt.

Ten minutes later, Ellison was carefully steering the car over the many potholes and ruts in the gravel road running through Stockridge's small cemetery. Pulling up near to the mound of freshly-turned earth, he turned the engine off as Sandburg opened his door. By the time the detective joined him at the rear of the car, Blair was already re-zipping his battered duffel bag. In his hands was a well-worn baseball glove.

Reading the other man's mind with ease, the grad student said, "He wanted to go out and play catch in the backyard that Saturday afternoon when we got back from shopping in Branson. His dad had just bought him a new glove and he wanted to try it out." Slamming down the trunk lid, Sandburg started across the thick, green grass, his lover walking patiently at his side. "He knew I didn't have any of my stuff with me, so he said I could borrow his old glove and got it out for me. When I didn't take it from him, Davy asked what was wrong. Man, was I embarrassed when I had to admit, that I'd never even seen a baseball glove before, let alone knew how to use one. It wasn't until after Stockridge that Naomi took up with some guys who taught me all about baseball."

Coming to a halt beside the new grave, the younger man gave a half-smile as he turned the weathered glove over and over in his hands. "Davy gave me this peculiar look, like I'd just announced the world was flat or something and then he said 'Well, come on-I'll teach you.' And he did; he spent hours that afternoon showing me the best way to use this old glove. When his mom called us in for dinner, I went to give the glove back and he just shook his head. Told me that 'every boy needed a baseball glove, for crying out loud' and that I should just keep it in case I ever needed it again." The anthropologist glanced up at the silently attentive man beside him. "He was so sincere about it, Jim...like it was a crime or something that I didn't have one. I didn't know what else to do, so I kept it."

Staring down at the mound of fresh dirt, Ellison stated, "I wish I'd known him, Chief. Davy sounds like he was a great kid."

"He was, man. For about three weeks, I had a big brother and it was fantastic." Crouching down, Blair gently laid the glove at the head of the pile of earth. "Here you go, Davy," he murmured sadly, gently stroking the dirt covering his friend. "Thanks for letting me use it, man."

Ellison held his silence, and within a couple of minutes, Blair clambered back to his feet, wiping the clinging dirt off his hands. He gazed downward a few seconds longer then, squaring his shoulders, looked over at his lover and jerked his head toward the car. "If we're going to get to KC in time to catch our flight, we'd better be going."

"Right with you, Chief," replied Ellison. Arm around the wide shoulders, the cop escorted his somber lover to their car. Leaving him at the passenger side to walk around to the driver's door, the Sentinel halted for moment, head tilting slightly.

Halfway into the car, Sandburg noticed the familiar listening posture. "What's wrong?" he asked curiously.

A tiny smile playing at the corners of his mouth, Ellison shook his head and answered, "Nothing. Just thought I heard something, that's all." He got into the car and shut the door.

Blair finished getting in and shut his own door, saying, "It was probably the wind in the trees, man. They can make some pretty weird sounds."

While Blair was preoccupied in fastening his seat belt, the Sentinel listened closely once more. Hiding his smile, he started the car's motor and put it into gear. Sandburg was more than likely correct about the wind making the trees produce odd sounds, but somehow, he didn't think that was the case this time.

After all, since when did the wind sighing through the trees sound like the peals of a young boy's joyful laughter?

As he stopped at the intersection of the cemetery road and the highway, Ellison glanced behind him through his outside mirror and grinned. There, among the silent bastions of eternity, stood a young boy of about thirteen. His freckled face was glowing in the sun, hazel eyes sparkled with life, the red hair was tossed by the wind and the child was dressed in a well-worn tee shirt and scuffed-at-the-knees jeans.

He was happily throwing a dirty baseball in the air and catching it with an old, battered glove.

Acknowledgments: Many thanks to Tennille, who only needed a bribe of a Peanut Buster Parfait to forego her movie night so she could beta this story. I also want to send deepest appreciation to Patt for the lovely artwork created for my story.