Jim Ellison drove without thought, allowing his subconscious to take him wherever it deemed he should go. God knew he didn't want to return to the loft. The silence would taunt him with emptiness and the restlessness would only intensify. After the hellish day at work, all he wanted was oblivion.

Still on autopilot, Jim pulled into a parking space in front of a warehouse, which had been converted into trendy, spacious apartments. This entire area, once a haven of drug addicts, hookers, and all vice known to man and then some, had been one of Cascade's more successful restoration projects. If he hadn't already had a loft apartment, he might have considered a place here, putting him closer to...oblivion.

Heat exploded in his belly and lightninged to his groin.

Yes, this was what he needed--sexual narcosis, which would leave his body sated and enable him to sleep.

Jim's feet dragged on the concrete sidewalk that led to the secure door. He pressed the familiar button.

"Yes?" Although the voice was tinny, it was deep and radiated strength.

Jim found his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. His body needed this, but his mind and heart wanted...

"Who's there?"

"Uh, Jim."

After a moment's hesitation, there was a click and the lock buzzed. Jim jerked open the door before he changed his mind and hoped this would be the last decision he would have to make tonight.

He climbed the stairs to the second floor and found the door slightly ajar. He paused and his nostrils flared at the familiar scents. Jim entered and was met by a man an inch or two taller than himself with a body that rivaled his own.

"I didn't expect you tonight. Are you all right?" Travis asked as he gazed at Jim with concern.

Jim stood awkwardly, feeling like a boy on his first date. "Yes. No. Shit, I don't know. I didn't know I was coming here until I was here. I should've called...."

"No, that's all right. I'm glad to see you." The sandy-haired man smiled. "I was missing you, and Saturday night seemed a long time away."

Jim managed a smile. "Two days."

"Two days too long." Travis gripped Jim's hips and pulled him flush against him. "I wish you'd just move in with me."

Jim's headache sharpened. "Not tonight, Travis. I-I don't want to think anymore. I just want--" he faltered as his face heated with shame.

Travis suddenly kissed him hard and forced Jim's lips open. Their teeth collided and Travis' possession of his mouth was almost brutal. "I know what you want."

Hot blood roared through Jim's veins and he welcomed the powerful surge of lust as it blocked out everything else.

Travis' palms slid under Jim's jacket and over his T-shirt-covered chest, pinching the nipples and nearly bringing tears to Jim's eyes. Abruptly, he stepped back. "Go shower. When you come out, I'll have dinner ready."

Jim opened his mouth to protest, wanting to satisfy another appetite first, but Travis was in command, just as he'd been since the moment they'd met two months ago. And, oh God, it felt good to have someone else take charge.

"Yes, Travis," Jim replied and forced himself to walk slowly down the hallway and into his lover's bedroom. He halted and stared at the king-sized bed. Wet carnal memories bombarded him and for a moment, Jim thought he would come simply from the sensory recall. He forced himself to breathe slowly and evenly.

That's right, Jim. Take a deep breath, hold it, then let it out slowly. Easy now. Let each breath take all your worries with it. See them leave with each exhalation. It was his guide's voice which he heard, his guide's voice which calmed him.

Jim swallowed hard, wishing it was his guide's voice and not Travis' which he would obey tonight.

Shoving aside the sharp ache, he went into the bathroom and stripped mechanically. He knew where everything was and took a long hot shower, cleansing himself thoroughly. The black robe hung in its usual place and Jim slipped it on, tying the belt snugly around his waist with a bow, not a knot. Travis always insisted on a bow.

He stepped out of the lavish bathroom and could smell the promised dinner--a large ham and Swiss cheese sandwich. He knew Travis would also have two large glasses of water ready for him.

Straightening his spine, he walked into the kitchen and stood by the table silently. Travis was already seated.

"Sit down. Eat and drink." Travis' voice brooked no argument.

Jim did as he was ordered, not speaking or looking at his companion who dug into his own thick sandwich.

"Did something happen today?" Travis asked.

Jim chewed and swallowed. "The usual."

"If it was a usual day, you wouldn't be here."

"Don't push it!" Jim surprised both himself and Travis with his outburst. Jim's impatience fled--even anger took too much energy. "I don't want to talk tonight."

Travis' sensuous lips thinned to a scowl, but he didn't argue. Even though Jim gave his body freely, he knew Travis wanted more. He wanted all of Jim, but the detective had one inviolate rule: a person could have Jim Ellison's body or his heart. To give both would be relinquishing more than he dared.

Travis carried his plate to the sink and leaned against the counter. Jim calmed himself and waited for the next command.

"Put your dishes in the sink then kiss me. Thoroughly."

Jim's heartbeat increased and his cock immediately hardened, nudging at the robe. As he carried his plate and silverware across the kitchen, Jim dialed down his senses. He had never allowed himself to experience a night with Travis with his senses above normal. He couldn't take the chance of zoning, especially now when Blair lived at the other end of the city in his own place.

No, don't think about him. Concentrate on the here and now.

Jim placed his arms around Travis' waist and leaned forward, flicking his tongue across his lips before kissing him. Travis didn't allow Jim's tongue to enter his mouth and their lips ground together. Travis caressed Jim's terrycloth-covered ass. For a moment, Jim was tempted to raise his tactile sense, to feel the thick fingers tracing his crease then clutch his butt in tight, almost painful grips. The sexual fever rose.

Travis withdrew and said in a husky voice, which gave away his own arousal, "Go into the bedroom and lie on the bed. You know how I want you."

Jim inhaled sharply and smelled their combined pheromones. He hurried into the bedroom, giving up the pretense of calm. Every nerve ending in his body screamed for attention. He threw off his robe, but remembered to hang it neatly in the bathroom. He lay on his back in the middle of the bed, his arms and legs angled toward their respective bedposts.

Travis entered and smiled. "Very nice." His smile disappeared. "But for your outburst, I'm afraid we'll have to do something different."

Something different. Jim wasn't certain he liked the sound of that, but he'd given Travis his consent the first time they'd been in this bedroom.

Travis went into a large walk-in closet and Jim shivered, wondering what all he kept in there. He returned, his hands filled with various items. The jingle of metal links made Jim's hard cock throb against his belly.

"Close your eyes," Travis ordered in a low voice.

Jim complied and a blindfold was tied in place. He reveled in the darkness, welcoming its velvet cocoon. Travis wrapped a leather strap around one ankle and fastened it snugly, then brought Jim's legs together, and another cuff was placed on the other ankle. Jim frowned to himself, nervous, wondering what Travis had in store for him.

Blunt fingers grasped his cock and Jim couldn't restrain a groan of pleasure, but he knew what was next. A cock ring was slid down his length and tightened at the base. Travis laughed softly as he pumped Jim's length, heightening its sensitivity, and forcing Jim to lower his touch dial even further.

"I'm going to leave your hands free," Travis said. "For now."

Jim listened to Travis remove his clothing and heard the tear of foil. Then the mattress dipped, announcing his return. He knelt over Jim, a knee on either side of his head. The sentinel opened his mouth without being prompted. His mouth was suddenly filled with Travis' thick length. Jim choked slightly at the rapid invasion and the taste of latex, but was soon deepthroating his lover with sure, practiced motions.

Jim blanked his mind to everything except the cock in his mouth and the sexual heat that plundered his veins. He felt Travis' climax a split second before the man shot his load. Jim licked his dry lips after the man withdrew his softening cock and removed the condom.

"Very good, Jimmy, but don't think one good blowjob will make up for your lapse. Sit up and grasp your ankles," Travis ordered.

Confused and with the blindfold still in place, Jim did as he was told. Two rapid clicks and his wrists were connected to the leather ankle cuffs.

"Lie down," Travis said.

Frowning, Jim obeyed, and had to bring his legs up as his back rested on the mattress. In this new position, his ass was now completely exposed. He bent his knees to ease the pressure on his muscles, which only served to open himself more fully. They had never done this before and panic robbed Jim of his breath for a moment.

"I d-don't like this," Jim said hoarsely.

Travis chuckled and leaned close to speak in Jim's ear. "You will."

Travis bit down on his nipple, and Jim nearly arched off the bed as he keened a high moan. Fire ripped through him, obliterating everything but the needs of his body even though a small part of him remained cognizant enough to realize this wasn't right. But that kernel of rationality was soon buried under a deluge of physical hunger.

The next minutes--hours--passed in a haze of burning lust as Travis used his body as a sexual playground. Travis attached clamps to Jim's hard nipples, and Jim bit his lower lip, holding back his groans. The pain gave him something to occupy his mind, to keep him from thinking of...

Then, for the first time since he'd been with Travis, there was a harrowing moment when his senses spun out of control and agony crashed through his body. Then his dials settled once more.

Fear made his muscles go rigid. If only Blair were the one... No! Can't be. Won't be.

It took a moment for Jim to realize Travis had ceased his "play" and now had a slippery finger inside him, stretching him, preparing him. He relaxed, knowing he would now get what his body craved so desperately--what he had wanted since he arrived. Another finger, then three, massaging his prostate and making his tortured erection jump. Travis pressed his lubed and latexed cock into him in one surge of flesh. Jim nearly screamed from the combined pain and relief of finally being filled.

Travis fucked him in long steady strokes, his fingers pinching Jim's overly sensitive nipples and scratching Jim's sides. Then Travis changed his angle of thrusts, his cock brushing over the prostate with each motion and Jim cried out from the electric intensity. Now all Jim felt was the inexorable pressure in his balls, but the cock ring continued to hold his climax hostage.

A wildfire burned through Jim and he was afraid his mind would be toast before Travis allowed him catharsis. Abruptly, the cock ring was removed and Travis pumped his erection roughly. Once. Twice.

Jim's orgasm ambushed him. He screamed as he shot up his chest, striking his lips and chin. Travis leaned into Jim's splayed thighs and pistoned in three more times, then he was coming and Jim could feel his throbbing cock deep inside him.

For a moment, the world blinked out as Jim balanced on the edge of consciousness. But the ache in his muscles and nipples brought him back. Travis withdrew, bringing a hiss from Jim. He heard Travis remove and dispose of the second condom.

Travis uncuffed Jim's wrists first and his limbs dropped to the mattress with a painful groan Jim couldn't contain. Once the cuffs were removed, Travis removed the clamps, then took off the blindfold and used the cloth to wipe the semen from Jim's face. He ground his lips to Jim's.

"That was the best yet, Jimmy," Travis whispered. "God, you're so damned hot when you're all tied up like that. We'll have to do it again soon."

Jim didn't want a repeat performance. Nerve endings were coming back to life, tingling painfully after the unnatural position his body had been forced to endure for--he glanced at the clock--two hours. Shit. No wonder he felt like he'd been hit by that garbage truck Blair had saved him from so long ago.

The memory of Blair's body on his made Jim's cock, which he thought was completely out of action, twitch.

"You liked it, too, didn't you?" Travis crooned, unaware of the real reason behind Jim's awakening interest.

"It was great," Jim managed to say with a modicum of enthusiasm. "As soon as I find what's left of my brain, I have to go."

Travis' arms tightened around him. "Stay the night. I'll make it worth your while."

Jim smiled weakly. "Nothing left in me to make the while worth it. Besides, I need to be at work by seven." He eased his body to the edge of the bed, trying to ignore the distress in his limbs. Taking a deep breath, Jim pushed himself upright and gingerly walked into the bathroom, agonizingly aware of his sore ass, groin, chest, and cock, as well as the lesser aches throughout the rest of his body. He'd be lucky if he could move tomorrow.

He showered with almost blistering-hot water, hoping to soak most of the immediate muscle soreness away. When he stepped out of the shower, his body still twinged, but the sated feeling overrode it. Keeping his mind blank, Jim towel-dried and dressed in the clothes he'd arrived in.

Travis was in the living room, a bottle of beer in one hand as he reclined on the couch. "I wish you wouldn't go."

"Don't start."

The larger man jumped to his feet and stalked over to Jim. "And why the hell not? You can't seem to, at least not without a little help." Travis cupped Jim's crotch.

Jim jerked away from the intimate touch, which now felt obscene. "Good-bye, Travis."

Jim turned away but Travis grabbed his arm, yanking him around. "I'm just asking you to spend the night. It's not like I'm asking for a lifelong commitment."

"Not yet, but that would come next."

"Would that be so bad?"

Jim met Travis' desperate eyes. "Yes." He glared at Travis' hand on his arm and, after a moment, he was released. Jim strode out the door.

"Are we on for Saturday?" Travis called out.

Jim stopped and took a deep breath. "I think we both need some time to think."

"I love you."

Jim's breath faltered and he turned to look at him. "What?"

"You heard me. I love you. I want you in my bed every night, all night," Travis stated.

"Look, we had some good times the last couple months, but that's all it was for me. I'm sorry if it turned out to be more than that for you."

Travis stepped closer. "I know what you need, Jimmy. Don't deny it."

Jim flinched as if punched in the gut. "Good-night." He stalked out.

Jim stood in the cool night air and breathed deeply, trying to overcome his shame and humiliation. For eight years he'd lived without this craving...this need. Then, less than two weeks after Blair moved out, the desperate hunger had returned. Jim may not be as smart as his guide, but he could put two and two together and come up with four. The only question was why Blair's moving out had triggered the need, and the only person who might be able to answer that was the one person Jim couldn't ask.

Jim trudged over to his truck and sat for a moment, staring up at Travis' window. Telescoping his vision, he could see his now ex-lover peeking through a closed curtain, watching him. The sex between them had helped Jim get through the rough nights these past weeks, but this evening Travis had gone too far. Jim's spiking senses had clinched the deal--he couldn't take the chance of zoning. Shaking his head, Jim drove back to the cold, cheerless loft.

***

Dr. Blair Sandburg glanced up when clicking footsteps heralded the arrival of Dr. Heather Roberts, who breezed into his office.

"Hey, Heather, what brings you over here?" he asked the art professor whom he'd been seeing for three months now.

"Lunch," she reminded. "Our date?"

Blair slapped his forehead. "Damn, I forgot. I told Jim I'd be at the station at noon."

"Call Jim and tell him you'll be late." She rested her palms on his desk and leaned forward, her blouse gaping and giving him a pleasant view. "Very late."

Blair saw the promise of some afternoon delight in her eyes and body, and his trousers suddenly felt a little snug. He almost groaned with disappointment. "I can't."

Heather straightened and shook her head. "Either I've lost my touch or you're seeing someone else."

Blair laughed wryly. "Wrong on both counts. I'm just really busy. I don't want to mess up my first year as a professor."

"If you ask me, you should quit your consultant job with the police. You spend more hours there than here during the day, then most of the nights in your office working to catch up."

"And how would you know that?"

"Paul, one of the security men, told me. Besides, you've canceled three dates in the past two weeks."

Blair stood and came around his desk, his backpack already hitched over his shoulder. "I'm sorry, but I really have to go. I'm already late."

Heather sighed. "How about dinner tonight?"

Blair shook his head contritely. "We'll probably be working late. I'm sorry, Heather. How about tomorrow night? I'll take you to that little romantic Italian place."

She crossed her arms and angled him a look. "And then what?"

Blair wrapped his arms around her lithe waist and kissed her. "Does that answer your question?" His voice was husky with passion--it had been too long since he and Heather had had a date that was more than lunch.

She smiled and leaned in for another kiss. This one lasted longer.

"I wish it were tomorrow night already," Heather said, her lips slightly swollen and red.

"Me, too." Blair locked his office behind them and they walked outside together, Blair's arm around her waist. They kissed again, then separated at the bottom of the stairs with Blair headed toward the parking lot and Heather going to find some lunch.

Blair had moved into his own apartment over two months ago so he could have someone spend the night without worrying about bothering his sentinel. He had figured Jim would like the privacy, too, especially after he'd walked in on him and Lila, then him and Veronica few months later. Blair didn't want to hang around to see who was next on Jim Ellison's list of bed partners. For being so intelligent, Jim was pretty dense when it came to women.

Blair slipped into his dark green Volvo and simply stared out the front window. Who was he to judge? He'd made his own share of mistakes-- Maya, Sam, and Iris to name a few. He and Heather had been seeing each other since before Blair moved out of the loft--one of his more long-lasting relationships--but he knew it wouldn't graduate beyond what they shared now. He wasn't in love with her, and knew he never would be.

Twenty minutes later he drove into the underground police garage and was pleased to find a parking space next to Jim's truck. As he walked toward the department's door, his phone chirped.

"Hello," he answered.

"Where are you, Chief?" Jim's voice asked.

"At the station, just getting ready to come up."

"Stay put. I'm on my way down. We've got a new case."

Jim ended the call without a good-bye and Blair leaned against the concrete wall to wait for his friend. Two minutes later, Jim strode out and immediately turned to him, smiling a welcome. "Good timing, partner."

Blair grinned back. "It's a blessing and a curse, man." He fell into step beside Jim, surprised when he didn't have to take two strides for every one of Jim's. In fact, Blair noticed the older man moved a little stiffly and his face appeared almost haggard. "You okay?"

Jim jerked slightly. "Yeah. Just tired. Yesterday was a bitch."

Blair shuddered, remembering the bloody massacre scene with startling clarity. "Did anyone ever figure out what made him go postal?"

Jim unlocked the passenger side of the truck and opened the door for Blair. "His wife was having an affair with a man who worked there. He didn't know who it was, though, so just started shooting."

"Killing three people, injuring six others, then taking out himself." Blair shook his head. "Gods, he must've been insane."

"Finley had been in and out of hospitals and therapy for the last ten years."

"When did you find that out?"

"Last night after you left. Got a fax from Conover." Jim looked like he was about to add something else, then abruptly went around to the driver's side.

A sharp inhalation caught Blair's attention when Jim sat down. "Are you sure you're all right?"

"I'm sure, Chief," Jim said impatiently. He started the pick-up and backed out of his slot.

"What had Conover been treating Finley for?" Blair asked.

"Repression of homosexual tendencies which resulted in violent outbursts."

Blair glanced at Jim, but found the detective's gaze aimed at the street as he drove. "I suppose he grew up in an environment where that sexual orientation was considered an abomination."

"Yeah, pretty much." Jim braked for a red light. "We're headed to a convenience store. Third one hit in the last five days, same description and MO, but this time the perp killed someone."

"Shit."

"Yeah."

There was no more conversation until they arrived at the scene, which had three squad cars, a detective's plain sedan, an ambulance and a forensics team vehicle parked in the lot. Two patrolmen were guarding the perimeters, keeping the small crowd of curious onlookers back. Jim and Blair flashed their ID's and slipped under the yellow tape.

"Ellison," a man called out.

Jim looked away from the splash of red on the cigarette display behind the counter. "Rawlings." The two men shook hands. "This is Blair Sandburg, my partner."

Rawlings nodded as he shook Blair's hand. "I've heard about you. You're a consultant, right?"

"That's right, but I pretty much work with Jim," Blair said.

"We can use your help here." Rawlings flipped some pages in a small notebook. "Third robbery with the same MO. Perp comes in wearing a ski mask, hands in the pockets of a navy blue colored pea coat. Goes to the counter, pulls out a gun and one of those plastic shopping bags. Tells the clerk to put all the money from the till in it, as well as two cartons of Camel cigarettes. The first two, nobody got hurt. This time the clerk tried to be a hero." He motioned toward the stain on the wall. "Perp shot him."

Jim went around the counter and Blair followed. The consultant froze when he saw the scarlet-stained sheet which covered the victim. A pool of maroon blood was starting to congeal on the floor beside it. Blair tried to quell his squeamishness, knowing Jim would need his help to search for sensory clues.

Jim squatted down, reached for the sheet and paused to glance up at Blair. "Ready, Chief?" he asked quietly.

Blair curled his fingers around Jim's shoulder. "Go ahead."

Jim raised the sheet, revealing wide eyes and a silent scream trapped in the rigor of death. He lifted it higher and the wound became evident--one shot in the neck which had severed the jugular. It wasn't a pretty sight.

"Not a very good shot," Blair managed to comment.

"Or a very good one," Jim countered. He re-covered the corpse and stood, forcing Blair to take a step back. "Are you done with the body, Rawlings?"

The robbery detective nodded. "Yeah." He motioned to the two men from the morgue to take the victim.

"Were there any witnesses?"

"Two kids. I don't think the perp saw them--their pockets were full of gum and candy."

Jim grunted. "I hope they learned a lesson."

Rawlings chuckled. "Oh, yeah. My partner made sure of that after he interviewed them."

"Did they see anything?"

"Nothing more than the camera did, but they did hear his voice. Said it was husky, hoarse like he had a cold or something."

"The cigarettes," Blair interjected. "He's stolen six cartons of Camels in five days. Sounds like he's got a bad habit."

"So why now?" Rawlings interjected.

"Maybe he lost his job," Jim guessed.

"Or he's new in town," Blair added. "Or just passing through."

"Have you done a nationwide search for similar robberies?"

"Not yet," Rawlings confessed. "But I will."

"No, you won't. Ellison'll take care of it." Captain Simon Banks strode into the convenience store, his long overcoat flapping behind him. "Major Crime has it now and Ellison will be the primary."

Rawlings appeared surprised, but not overly upset. "I'll get the report on this one written up and get the file to you later today." He turned to his partner. "Let's go, Linc. We're handing this one over to Ellison."

Linc, an African American just as tall but not quite as broad as Simon, wasn't as accepting as Rawlings. "We've done the groundwork. We should be able to follow through."

"Talk to the chief--the clerk killed was his nephew," Banks said.

"Damn. It's all yours," Linc said with a sympathetic grimace.

Nobody wanted the chief breathing over his shoulder. Blair imagined what Jim was thinking--the clenched jaw confirmed it.

"I suppose the chief wants us to pull a rabbit out of a hat," Jim said dryly after the two robbery detectives left.

"He said he wanted my best team on the case." Simon aimed his unlit cigar at them. "Don't make me a liar."

"What about the follow-up paperwork on Finley?" Blair asked.

"I gave it to Conner and Taggert."

Blair glanced at Jim and shrugged. "Ready to look around?"

"After I talk to Bonnie and Clyde over there." Jim motioned to the two eyewitnesses, a girl and a boy, who appeared to be thirteen or fourteen years old.

Blair accompanied Jim and for the next hour, the two men tried to gather what details they could about the robbery. Blair talked Jim through using his senses to find anything related to the perp. Although Jim had a handle on the day-to-day use of his senses, it was instances like this that Blair had to lead the sentinel. The professor used his guide voice, and Jim followed his instructions without prompting.

Back at the station, Jim and Blair found an empty room to watch the security tape from the convenience store. Blair controlled the VCR remote while keeping Jim focused on the images on the screen.

"Stop," Jim suddenly said after the fifth run-through.

Blair immediately hit the pause button.

"Back up, just a little, to where the perp is glancing up at the camera," Jim said.

Blair rewound, then played, and Jim made him pause again. The detective pointed to a tiny white dot on the man's lapel.

"Can you tell what it is?" Blair asked.

"Some kind of pin, but I can't get any resolution. Serena and her crew will have to do that. Pop it out and let's take it down there."

By the time they returned to Jim's desk, Rawlings had dropped the file off. Jim and Blair went back to the empty conference room to spread the pictures and notes out on the large table.

"You want some coffee, Chief?" Jim asked.

"Sounds good. It looks like it might be a late night."

"Not too late. I know you have work to do."

Blair grinned, warmed by Jim's concern. "It'll be fine." His smile faded. "I was worried about you last night. I wish you would've let me take you out to dinner, just to talk and wind down."

Jim's eyes appeared brighter than usual as he ruffled Blair's curls. "You worry too much, Chief. I'm a big boy. I can handle it."

"That kind of macho posturing might work with everyone else, but I know you, Ellison. All that blood and death. You almost zoned a couple times."

"But you caught me, Chief. You always do."

Blair held Jim's eyes for a long moment, then the larger man spun around. "Two hot coffees coming right up."

Blair sagged in his chair after Jim left. He would've sworn there was something in Jim's eyes, something he wasn't certain how to interpret. Wishful thinking wanted him to believe it was attraction and arousal. Pragmatism told him it was gratitude and affection.

It suddenly occurred to him that Jim had successfully sidestepped his question. For the umpteenth time, Blair wished he hadn't moved out of the loft. When they were living together, they would wind down from work by preparing dinner then watching TV, drinking a beer and discussing things which had happened during the day. The daily routine and their camaraderie usually had them relaxed enough that they could fall asleep, and each man was assured the other was all right.

How had Jim handled it last night? Something told Blair he hadn't handled it well, which explained his drawn appearance.

Jim returned, bearing two steaming cups of sludgy, black liquid. He set one in front of Blair. "I put another pot on, but I thought this would get us started."

"Get us started and keep us going until midnight," Blair quipped.

"Let's hope we're not here that long."

Jim and Blair sat side-by-side and set to work, reviewing pictures, eyewitness reports, forensics results, and the actions which had already been taken, which were very few. One part of Blair's brain searched through the facts in front of them, while another part enjoyed Jim's proximity. Their arms and hips remained in contact, while hands and fingers touched when they reached for reports.

"We need to set up that search for any robberies with the same MO," Jim said two hours and two more cups of coffee later.

"Shit, that's right." Blair pushed back his chair and stood stiffly. He stretched and his backbone cracked. "I must be getting old."

Jim, usually Mister No Complaints, also rose carefully. He took a step and stumbled slightly. Blair caught his arm, once more worried about his friend.

"What'd you do, spend most of last night at the gym working out?" Blair chided half seriously.

Jim's face flushed. "Something like that." He shook off Blair's grasp and walked away with more of his natural grace, although there was still something not quite right. Blair just couldn't put his finger on it. "C'mon, let's get that search started."

Blair followed the sentinel back into the bullpen, which had grown much quieter. As they approached Jim's desk, Blair noticed a vase filled with roses.

"Your girlfriend, Chief?" Jim teased.

Blair frowned. He doubted it. Heather wasn't too happy with him right now for canceling so many dates. He reached for the little card perched in the thorns and opened it.

Jim. I'm sorry about last night. Let me make it up to you Saturday. T.

The air left his lungs like he was sucker-punched as he handed the card to his partner. "Something you're not telling me, buddy?" Blair tried to keep his voice light, but knew Jim heard his racing heartbeat.

His partner scanned the note and his jaw muscle clenched, but when he met Blair's gaze, he smiled sheepishly. "We had an argument last night."

"I thought you went home last night."

"I did." Jim paused and glanced away. "After I left, uh, Terry's place."

So Jim had found another girlfriend. It shouldn't have surprised Blair--Jim was one helluva good-looking guy. What did surprise--and hurt--him was that Jim hadn't even mentioned her.

Jim settled down behind his keyboard and Blair took his usual place at the end of the desk.

"How long have you been seeing her?" Blair asked, playing with the pens in Jim's pencil holder.

Jim shrugged. "I don't know. I met her a couple weeks after you moved out."

"Oh."

Jim looked away from his computer screen. "Oh?"

"I'm just surprised you didn't tell me. I mean, I told you about Heather."

"We're not in high school anymore, Sandburg."

"Really? Could've fooled me."

"What the hell does that mean?"

Blair plunged his fingers through his hair. "I'm sorry, Jim. I guess I'm just hurt you didn't tell me. I mean, maybe we could double date sometime."

Jim gave his undivided attention to his computer. "Not with Terry and me. It's over."

"The roses?"

"Her way of trying to get back together. It's not going to happen." Jim glanced around his desktop. "I need the file. Could you get it, Chief?"

Blair nodded. When he returned two minutes later, the roses were gone. He spotted a profusion of yellow and green in the wastebasket. "Uh, those were probably pretty expensive."

"She shouldn't have wasted her money," Jim growled. He held out his hand and Blair plopped the folder in it.

It took Jim fifteen minutes to set up the search. By then it was nearly seven thirty. Jim leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms high above his head and yawned. "I don't know about you, Chief, but I'm ready to call it a night. I'll come in early and see if anything's come back on the search and hope Serena got that pin cleaned up." He glanced at Blair. "You have a date tonight?"

Blair chuckled. "If Heather had her way, I would."

"What do you mean?"

The young professor shrugged. "Too much to do and too little time for her. I told her I'd make it up to her tomorrow night."

"This another one of those windows of opportunity?" Jim teased.

Blair played with the zipper on his backpack. "She doesn't like me working here. She said I should quit."

Blair could feel Jim's scrutiny and tried not to fidget beneath the steady gaze.

"Maybe she's right. You are stretched awfully thin, Chief."

Blair jerked his head up to meet Jim's eyes. "Do you want me to quit?"

The detective scowled. "That isn't what I said. You work too hard. Something's going to give if you don't ease up."

"I want to be here, Jim. Being your partner is more important to me than those three letters after my name. I told you a long time ago, it's about friendship."

Jim stared at him for a long moment, then a smile lit his weary eyes and he leaned forward to clasp the back of Blair's neck. "I'm glad, Chief, but then, I'm a selfish bastard, too."

"Selfish, maybe, but I'm the bastard," Blair quipped.

"Smart ass." Jim stood and reached for their jackets. He handed Blair's to him and frowned quizzically. "Is it Friday?"

"Yep. No classes or office hours for two days."

"Which means you can sleep in tomorrow. How about some dinner? We can either go out or I can throw something together at the loft." Jim paused awkwardly. "Or maybe you should go see Heather since it's still early."

Seeing Heather tonight didn't appeal to Blair. Besides, he hadn't been to the loft since he moved out, and he really didn't want to go out--he did that too often as it was. "If you don't mind, we could head to the loft. We can collaborate on a meal, talk about the case, and watch some TV. Just like old times."

Jim smiled gently and wrapped an arm around Blair's shoulders. "Just like old times. Sounds good."

Blair followed Jim home in his Volvo and parked in the spot that used to be his. It felt odd to be here again--odd, but almost like he'd never been gone. When Jim unlocked the door and ushered him into the apartment, the starkness of it struck him like a physical blow. It looked like it did when he had moved in four years ago. Taking all of his possessions with him, the younger man had just figured Jim would replace some of the items with his own things.

However, the familiar furniture and smells and spotless kitchen warmed him like nothing had in a long time. It felt like he'd come home. Except this was Jim's home now, not his.

"Do you remember how to hang up your coat?" Jim teased. "Or am I going to have to retrain you?"

Blair started, then flushed, realizing he'd been standing there for a while. "Uh, sure. It's just--" he swallowed hard. "It's nice to be back. For a visit, I mean," he added quickly.

"Your room will always be here for you, Chief."

Blair's eyes stung. "Thanks, Jim. That means a lot."

"Yeah, well, c'mon, Chief. Quit dawdling."

"Dawdling? Did you really say 'dawdling'?"

Jim strolled into the kitchen, lifted his floral apron from its customary nail on the post and donned the endearingly ugly thing. "Dawdling is a perfectly good word. Aunt Agatha used it all the time."

Blair hung his jacket on the hook that used to be his and joined his friend. "I didn't know you had an Aunt Agatha."

"Well, she wasn't exactly an aunt. She was the neighborhood gossip-- always used to yell at me and my friends. 'Quite your dawdling, young fellows. You have work to do at home.'" Jim chuckled. "I think she was stuck in the '40's." Jim opened the fridge and piled food on the counter. "Start chopping, Chief, and I'll make you my Ellison special spaghetti sauce."

Blair's mouth watered. "Cool. I haven't had that in ages. Do you have French Bread?"

"No, but I have a Parmesan loaf in the freezer. We can use that."

For the next half hour, the two men worked together, moving as if they had been choreographed. Or had lived together for a long time. Once the sauce was simmering and water was put on to boil for the pasta, Jim and Blair grabbed beers and plopped on the sofa in front of the TV. Blair kicked off his shoes, letting them fall on the floor between the sofa and coffee table.

"Oh, shit, sorry, Jim," Blair suddenly said, reaching for the discarded shoes. "I forgot--"

"Relax, Chief. It's kind of nice to have you still forgetting the rules."

"Ah, shucks, Jim, you say the nicest things." He glanced up at his partner whose face was only inches from his own. For one terrifying--and exhilarating--moment, he thought Jim was going to kiss him. Then Jim was surfing through the channels, acting so normal, Blair knew it had been his imagination.

"Water's boiling," Jim announced five minutes later as they watched the Jags take the ball down court.

"Cool." Blair's eyes were fixed on the ballgame.

"Water's boiling, Chief."

"Yep."

The two men remained glued to their seats, watching Orvelle Wallace go in for a lay-up. Jim and Blair high-fived one another.

"Uh, water's boiling over, Jim."

"Shit." Jim jumped to his feet, added pasta to the boiling water, and cleaned up the mess on the stove. He opened a bottle of wine, and set it and two wineglasses on the table by the place settings. Crossing his arms, he looked from the table to his best friend who was sitting cross- legged on the couch, his attention focused on the basketball game. This felt so normal, so right.

Not like last night, which, looking back, seemed surreal. He had enjoyed the sex--it was hot and mind numbing and left him sated like nothing else. And it wasn't like Travis hadn't used handcuffs and a cock ring on him before, but Jim's brain had been so scrambled last night, so messed up that he had let the man go too far with the other toys. Travis had taken advantage of him.

A hand on his arm startled him back to awareness and he was surprised to see Blair standing beside him. "What?" Jim asked.

"What were you thinking about?"

"Nothing important." He crossed to the stove and turned off the burner beneath the pasta. "Could you get the bread out of the oven?" Jim asked.

"Sure." Blair used the oven mitts to draw the bread out, then retrieved the two salads he'd made earlier from the fridge.

As Blair dished up pasta and sauce, Jim poured the wine. The two men ate in companionable silence.

"This was a really good idea, Jim," Blair said twenty minutes later. He pushed his empty plate away and divided the remaining wine between their two glasses. "I've missed this."

"Yeah, me, too."

"To friendship," Blair said.

"To friendship," Jim echoed.

The two men clinked their glasses and leaned back to sip the wine.

"Are you happy, Blair?" Jim suddenly asked as if it was the most important question in the world.

"Yes," Blair replied unhesitantly. "At this moment, I'm perfectly happy." He smiled wryly. "That's not to say I'll be happy tomorrow or three days from now or two weeks down the road, but right now I am."

Jim rolled the wine glass stem between his fingers as he stared into the burgundy liquid. "I never thanked you for protecting me."

Blair glanced down, embarrassed. "When I realized I'd never be able to hide your identity, I had to change subjects. No big deal. I had more than enough data for the closed societies diss." He huffed a short laugh. "If I had done it on sentinels, I doubt I would've been hired on as a consultant, so it all worked out."

"Except you didn't do your dissertation on your dream--you didn't prove to all those bastards that you did find a sentinel."

"That's because I found more than a sentinel." Blair cleared his throat, realizing he was skirting too close to the truth. "What do you say we put the dishes in the sink to soak, then watch the rest of the game?"

Jim appeared torn between continuing the conversation and giving in to the temptation of enjoying a ballgame with his best friend. Finally, he nodded. "Sounds like a plan."

It was nearly eleven o'clock when the game ended with a Jags win. Besides the wine, both men had drunk four bottles of beer each throughout the evening, leaving Blair unable to drive safely.

"I'd better call a cab," Blair said with a sheepish grin.

"Why not stay in your old room?" Jim suggested. "You can sleep in."

"Are you going in to work on our Camel suspect?"

Jim nodded. "The trail's not getting any warmer."

"I'll go in with you."

"You don't have to."

"Duh, I know I don't have to, but I want to, okay?"

Jim cuffed the back of Blair's head playfully. "Okay. Your futon has fresh linens. If you get cold, you know where everything is."

The two men moved about their nightly rituals as if they hadn't lived apart for the last two months. Jim checked the windows and doors, then climbed the stairs to his bedroom. He stripped to his underwear and slid into bed, not bothering to hide his grimace of pain now that he was alone. If Travis thought some roses were going to make Jim change his mind, he was deluding himself.

Jim turned up his hearing and listened unabashedly as Blair removed his clothing and climbed into his old bed. His guide sighed a long, gentle sigh, then whispered, "Good-night, Jim."

Warmth and satisfaction surrounded Jim as he whispered back, "Good- night, Chief." As if Blair had heard his quiet words, the younger man settled into a deep sleep almost immediately.

Jim merely lay there, soaking up the thump-thump of his partner's heartbeat--God, he'd missed that rhythmic lullaby. Before Blair had moved out, Jim had spent a few nights alone in the loft while his friend had slept with a woman friend at her place, but Jim had known it was only temporary.

The first night after Blair moved out, Jim had been unable to escape the silence--the damned emptiness of the loft. He'd tried to sleep, even using his white noise generators, but it hadn't worked. He couldn't fool his heart. For many nights afterward, Jim had tossed and turned, the restlessness growing until his second weekend alone. The agitation had driven him to a nightclub he hadn't been to in years. It was there he met Travis. He'd gone home with him that first night and Travis had given him what he needed, which resulted in the first undisturbed sleep he'd had since Blair left.

Jim rolled onto his side, pillowing his head with a crooked arm. He had no illusions about himself--without his guide near him ninety percent of the time, he was a basketcase. Getting nailed to the mattress by another man--almost a stranger--was the only way to get a few hours of restful sleep.

The phone shrilled, startling Jim and he nabbed the receiver before the second ring ended. "Ellison."

"Did you get the roses?"

Travis.

"I threw them away," Jim stated flatly. "It's over."

"Give me another chance. I won't disappoint you."

In spite of everything, Jim couldn't stop the arousal which Travis' sensual voice sparked. "I'm sorry, but it won't work. I don't love you."

"That could change."

"No, it won't. Look, you were there when I needed you and I appreciate that, but there's no future together."

"We were good together, Jimmy. You know we were." His voice sank even lower, oozing with sexual promise.

"It's over. Good-bye." Jim ended the call before he weakened and agreed to see him again. But he knew his strength came from the man sleeping in the bedroom below. If Blair hadn't been here, he might have given in.

No. Jim wasn't certain what Travis was capable of in bed and if last night had been a preview of things to come, then it was definitely time to end the relationship. Besides, it would be unfair to Travis if Jim continued seeing him, knowing how the other man felt.

He rolled over and concentrated on Blair's breathing and heartbeat. In less than five minutes, he was sound asleep.

***

A steady rain awakened Blair and he lay without opening his eyes, cursing Cascade and its rainforest-like climate. The downpour ended abruptly and Blair frowned in confusion. Then the odd but familiar feel of the bed below him reminded him where he was. The rain had been Jim showering.

Smiling, Blair threw back the bedclothes and planted his feet on the floor. His gaze traveled around the small room, remembering what it had looked like before he had moved out--textbooks piled in corners, a chipped urn on the dresser, two fetishes hanging from leather laces on the wall, and notebooks and clothes scattered everywhere. Although his apartment was ten times this size, he missed this tiny bedroom. Don't lie to yourself--you miss living with Jim.

A soft knock on his door told him Jim was out of the bathroom. "I'm up," Blair called out, then dropped his gaze to his crotch. In more ways than one. He could always blame his condition on the morning. Jim didn't have to know it was from the mental picture Blair conjured of him with water running down his smooth muscled body and hard--

Don't go there.

Blair stood and tugged his T-shirt down. He wrinkled his nose, wishing he had some clean underwear to change into.

"You've got a couple clean pairs of boxers and T-shirts in the dresser- -I found them in the laundry after you left," Jim said from the other side of the French doors. "There's a pair of jeans and two shirts, too."

Blair grinned. Sometimes their connection was uncanny. "Thanks, Jim." He found the items where Jim had said and slipped across the hallway into the bathroom.

Fifteen minutes later, he breezed into the kitchen to find his partner by the stove stirring scrambled eggs. The older man smiled a greeting and motioned to a steaming cup by the coffeepot. "Drink up. I remember what a morning Sandburg is like."

Blair grinned and reached for the cup. "That was the old Sandburg. This is the new and improved version."

"Does that mean you picked up your towels in the bathroom?"

Blair lowered his coffee cup after taking a long sip. "And wiped down the tiles and mirror."

Jim paused and narrowed his eyes at the younger man. "What'd you do with the real Blair Sandburg?"

Blair leaned against the sink, facing Jim. "He grew up."

Jim appeared startled, then looked back at the eggs. "I hope not too much. I kinda liked the kid."

The air seemed heavy but not intrusive, as if waiting... The toaster popped up two slices of bread, bursting the balloon of expectancy. Blair automatically buttered the toast and placed them on the plate with the other four slices.

"Eggs are ready," Jim announced.

When the meal was finished, the two men continued to move together fluidly, placing the dishes in the sink and readying to leave for the station.

"Do you want to leave your car here and go in together?" Jim asked.

"Sounds good," Blair replied with a grin. "Conserves gas."

They walked out of the building together, Jim's hand at the small of Blair's back, guiding him across the street to the truck. Suddenly Jim tensed and he swiveled his head, searching.

"What is it?" Blair asked, his own muscles taut.

"Nothing." Jim's jaw muscle leaped into his cheek. "Just jumpy this morning."

Blair watched Jim closely as they got into the truck and drove to the police department. Although the older man tried to hide it, Blair sensed his uneasiness and saw the furtive glances in the rearview and side mirrors as if expecting to see something. Or someone. Blair laid a hand on Jim's thigh. "You are nervous."

Jim grew even more tense, but tried to hide it. "I must've gotten up on the wrong side of the bed."

"You were fine until we walked outside."

"I thought I saw someone, but I was wrong."

Frustrated, Blair drew his hand away from Jim's leg. The remainder of the ride was spent in silence.

***

Jim plopped his elbows on the table and rubbed his face. They had nothing new to go on with the Camel suspect. Nothing had come back from their search yet, and the blow-up of the pin on the jacket wasn't completed. The only good thing about the last two hours was Jim's mind had been too busy to dwell on the person he'd seen that morning. Travis had staked out his apartment, acting like a damned stalker. And he had seen him and Blair together.

He hadn't expected the man to be so persistent, but then he suspected Travis wasn't used to being dumped. Hopefully, Travis would see the stupidity of his actions and stop acting like a damned idiot. If not...

Jim didn't even want to contemplate that problem.

He stood, and Blair glanced at him questioningly.

"Too much coffee," Jim said.

Blair, his glasses perched on his nose, nodded and returned to perusing the reports. Jim's footsteps echoed in the quiet bullpen and down the hallway to the bathroom. He paused by a window overlooking the street in front of the station and telescoped his sight, searching for Travis. There was no sign of him and Jim breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe seeing Blair with him this morning had dissuaded Travis.

When Jim came out of the restroom, he spotted Blair striding toward him.

"Karen from the lab called--she's got that pin blown up for us," Blair announced.

"Finally."

The two men rode the elevator down to the forensics lab. Karen, who worked Serena's job on the weekends, greeted them, but her eyes remained on Jim.

"Sandburg says you're done with the pin?" Jim asked.

Karen tucked a strand of chestnut hair behind her ear and reached for a folder, which she handed to Jim with a more-than-friendly smile. "Here it is. I did a pretty good job of clearing up the detail so you should be able to run it."

"That's great," Blair enthused, his gaze moving from Jim to Karen and back.

"Yeah, thanks," Jim said distractedly as he opened the file. Karen had done a good job--he could see it was a Marine Corps unit insignia. He gave the lab worker one of his charming Ellison smiles, and couldn't help but notice her increased heartbeat. It was nice to know he still had it, even if he didn't plan on doing anything about it. "C'mon, Chief. Let's go figure out where this came from."

"So, since it's over with Terry, why don't you ask her out?" Blair asked as they rode the elevator back to the seventh floor.

"Who?"

"Karen. Man, she didn't even know I was there."

Jim grinned. "Jealous?"

Blair snorted. "In your dreams, Ellison. Besides, I can barely keep up with one woman. What the hell would I do with two? You should go out with her. If nothing else, you'll make her happy."

Jim shrugged as he gazed at the pin. "Nah. Wouldn't be fair to her. You know, the rebound thing and all."

"Were you and Terry that serious?"

Jim should've kept his mouth shut. "No, not really, but it still takes a little time to get past it."

"'Get past it'? Who are you and what did you do with the real Jim Ellison?"

"Hey, you're not the only one who can change, you know."

"But you can't teach an old dog new tricks." Blair's eyes twinkled.

"Who're you calling old, Professor?" Jim lunged for his guide and caught him in a headlock as he mussed his hair.

"Not the hair, man. Not the hair!" Blair pleaded for mercy in between breathless laughter.

Smiling and keeping his arm draped over Blair's shoulders, Jim headed back to the bullpen to do some computer research.

***

"Woohoo, we have a match," Blair exclaimed.

Jim rose from behind his desk to join Blair who was working at Conner's computer. He leaned over Blair's shoulder, getting a generous whiff of his guide's hair and sweat. Hot blood raced through his veins and he stifled the urge to bury his nose in the soft curls. "What do you have?"

"It's the 42nd unit, which is headquartered in Rhode Island."

"So this guy's a former Marine out of Rhode Island?" Jim asked, all too aware of the heat emanating from Blair's body.

"I can go one better than that. I ran a check on Marines who'd been stationed with the 42nd and were now separated, retired, or dishonorably discharged. I have seven possibles from Cascade, but only two of them would've arrived within the last two weeks."

Jim grasped Blair's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "Good going, Chief. Did you--"

The printer started up.

"I'm running them now," Blair said.

"Smartass," Jim growled.

"Yep," Blair agreed with a snarky grin.

By the time Jim retrieved their coats, the printer had completed its task. "Let's go pay some former Marines a visit."

"Should we have a squad car meet us at the first one?" Blair asked.

Jim thought a moment, then shook his head. "Let's go and reconnoiter first."

"All right"

As Jim drove across town to the first address, Blair went back to the subject of Karen. "Really, man, I think you should ask her out. We could do the double date thing. I'm pretty sure I could talk Heather into going if I promise her a reward."

Jim held up his hand. "Too much information, Chief."

"I didn't even give any details."

"You didn't need to. Your body was doing that all on its own."

Blair's face reddened. "Sorry."

Jim managed a small smile. "Not your fault, Sandburg. Just natural physical reactions."

Blair turned slightly in his seat so he could study Jim. "That must suck--knowing when people are sexually aroused and having to restrain your instinctive reaction."

Jim nearly stumbled on his tongue. "It's not like I can't control myself, Sandburg. Jesus, I'm not an adolescent high on hormones."

"That doubly sucks. Always having to be in control and not let your guard down for a minute."

But I do.

"I thought you were done with your diss, Sandburg," Jim said.

"This doesn't have anything to do with that."

"Then why are you worried about my sex life?"

Blair huffed a sigh of exasperation. "I'm not worried about your sex life--you're obviously doing fine without my help. I'm worried about you having to be in such strict control all the time. You have to just let all that iron restraint go once in a while, big guy."

Jim shifted uncomfortably. This topic was getting way out of hand. "What's that address again?"

"489 Christoff Street, and I know what you're doing."

"What's that?"

"Changing the subject. But that's okay. We'll talk later."

Not if I can help it.

"Here we are," Jim announced as he pulled into a trailer park and stopped across the street from a dilapidated gray and white mobile home. He glanced at the sheet in Blair's hand. "Paul Jensen. Dishonorably discharged two weeks ago."

"Can you hear anything from inside?" Blair asked, his focus now on guiding his sentinel.

Jim canted his head, extending his hearing. A television was blaring out a college football game. He filtered out the sportscasters' voices and heard only one heartbeat. "Jensen's alone."

"Piggyback your sense of smell to your hearing. See if he's smoking." Blair's hand crept to his arm and Jim allowed a selfish moment to revel in his touch.

Odors filtered into his nose--days old garbage, stale beer, staler sweat, and cigarette smoke. Jim struggled to control the potency of the scents, but his eyes burned and began to tear. "He's smoking."

"Pull back, Jim. C'mon, buddy, don't overload. Turn that dial back down where it belongs," Blair crooned.

Jim followed his commands without thought, just as he had countless times in the past four years. The instinct to let his guide control him had at first frightened Jim and he'd fought it. But the more he fought, the worse things became. Finally, he'd learned to accept Blair's guidance, and life had become much easier to deal with. Besides, he grew to honestly like the younger man, care for him, and love him, though he still continued to fight that aspect.

Suddenly the trailer's door opened, and their suspect exited, wearing a navy-colored pea coat. He headed for his car.

"It looks like we hit paydirt with the first name," Blair said.

"Damn." Jim laid his cell phone on the seat between them. "We'll call when he gets to his destination." He started the truck and followed Jensen's old Chevy, keeping at least three cars between them

"If he's going to rob the place, back-up won't arrive in time." Blair caught his lower lip between his teeth. He had a bad feeling about this. "Can't you call in like a 10-37 to give a heads up? I mean, it is a suspicious vehicle."

Jim thought for a moment and nodded. "Go ahead, Chief. Do it."

Blair punched in the phone number as Jim gave his attention to keeping their suspect in view. If they could catch Jensen in the act, they'd have him cold. But they'd be taking a big chance, too. The man had killed one person--if things didn't go down smoothly, the suspect wouldn't hesitate to take more lives.

The Chevy turned into a corner convenience store.

"Chief," Jim warned.

Blair glanced up then spoke quickly into the phone. "Suspect just turned into convenience store on the corner of Maple and 23rd. We need back- up immediately."

Jensen got out of his car and right before entering the nearly deserted store, donned a ski mask.

"This is it." Jim jumped out of the truck. "Wait for back-up, Chief."

He drew his gun and, keeping low, ran across the tarmac pavement, avoiding the scattered potholes. When he arrived at the door, he ducked down and carefully peered through the dirty glass. Jensen had his gun trained on a clerk and a middle-aged man who appeared to be buying a six-pack of beer.

Tilting his head, he opened his hearing.

"C'mon, all of it. And I need two cartons of Camels, too," the suspect was saying, his voice hoarse.

"C-camels?" the clerk stammered out.

"Cigarettes. Move it." The impatience was all too clear in Jensen's tone.

There was the crinkling of a plastic bag as Jim watched the trembling clerk stuff two cigarette cartons into the bag, along with the money.

"Nobody moves. Nobody tries to be a hero," the perp stated as he began to back toward the door.

Jim couldn't endanger the two innocent men in the store, so his only chance was to catch Jensen as he came out the door. He shifted, preparing himself for the ambush, and a muscle twinge made him jerk and his elbow bumped the glass door.

The armed robber swung around and Jim saw him pull the trigger as if in slow motion. A deafening crash followed by flying glass shrapnel stunned Jim. Adrenaline sent Jim diving into the store as Jensen dodged into an aisle. The clerk and the beer man dropped to the floor, covering their heads with their arms. Jim raised himself up, absently noting the blood on his hands and upper leg but not feeling any pain. He shot at the suspect, heard the bullet plunk into a wall. He dipped down as an answering shot whizzed over his head.

Jim heard sirens, but they were still five minutes away. He scurried along the floor, noticing a sudden sharp pain in his upper right leg. Glancing down, he noted the blood trail behind him. Son of a bitch! The perp hadn't missed. He also became more aware of stinging in his hands, face, and torso and realized what had happened. Numerous glass fragments from the shattered door had pierced his clothing and skin. His stomach churned as the blood loss became more apparent.

He had to get Jensen now, or he wouldn't get him at all. He was already getting lightheaded and his senses were zooming in and out. Craning to look around a corner, a gunshot exploded and his ears rang. New agony struck and he blinked as blood flowed down his face, and into his eyes. Darkness grew and he scrabbled to hold onto consciousness, but failed and sank into black nothingness.

***

Blair's mouth gaped open when the first gunshot destroyed the glass door. He was shocked to see Jim still moving as he scrambled into the store and more shots erupted. Reacting instinctively, Blair jumped out of the truck and ran around to the back of the building. He jerked the delivery door handle and it miraculously opened.

He rushed inside, hearing two more gunshots. Ducking low, he exited the storage room into the back of the small store. An aisle shielded him from Jensen's view. The sound of cold laughter chilled Blair. He spotted the perp standing with his gun aimed at something--or someone--on the floor. Blair didn't stop to think. He grabbed a can of Dinty Moore stew and heaved it at Jensen. It struck the man's head with a dull thwump, dropping him to the floor in a soundless heap.

His heart thundering in his chest, Blair dashed toward Jensen, saw him start moving and grabbed the perp's gun. Only when he had the man's weapon did he turn to look at Jim.

Blood. Everywhere.

Blair fell to his knees beside his friend, his fingers shaking so hard he couldn't find the pulse point on Jim's blood-slick neck.

Jensen groaned and Blair forced himself to grab Jim's handcuffs and use them on the robber. He snapped them closed on the man's wrists like he'd seen Jim do a hundred times over the years. With the suspect shackled, Blair gave Jim his full attention, but his gaze riveted to twin streams of blood meandering lazily away from Jim's head and leg.

Blair's heart tripped in his chest and his breathing grew ragged. How could anybody live after losing so much blood? The suffocating odor of blood brought Blair out of a mini-zone. He leaned over Jim, his hands skimming over the detective's body; afraid to settle for fear he would hurt him. He stared at Jim's chest but couldn't see any movement. Fingers moved to his neck again, desperately searching for a pulse, but his own heart was beating so hard he couldn't feel or hear Jim's.

Or maybe there was none to find?

No! Blair pressed his palms against the leg wound where blood continued to escape, and time lost all meaning as he stemmed the flow.

Sometime later there were voices and hands and someone was trying to pull him away from Jim. Blair fought them, kicking and snarling. Arms wrapped around him from behind, tugging him away from his fallen sentinel.

"Damnit, Sandburg, stop it! Blair, it's Simon. C'mon, son, snap out of it."

The voice and the strength of his captor finally broke through Blair's frenzy. His frantic motions slowed, then stopped altogether. He sagged in Simon's arms as all his energy fled.

"He's still alive, Sandburg," Simon was saying. "Do you hear me? Jim is still alive."

Hope surged through the younger man and he looked up at Banks. "He's alive?"

"Yes. That's what I've been trying to tell you." Exasperation was clear in Simon's voice.

Blair tugged out of Simon's grasp and moved toward the EMT's who were working on his partner. His living partner. He could only see bits and pieces of Jim's bloody clothing, which the paramedics had cut away so they could treat him.

A large hand clasped his arm. "Let them do their job," Simon said almost gently. "We'll follow them to the hospital."

"I'll ride with him."

"I don't think--"

"I'm riding with him."

Simon shook his head in defeat. "All right. But stay out of their way."

"I will," Blair promised. He would've promised the moon if it meant he could stay with his sentinel. He leaned closer, watching the EMT's feed an IV into Jim's arm and apply a pressure bandage to his leg. Another dressing was wrapped around his head. "How bad?" Blair asked them.

Without looking up, the female EMT replied, "Two gunshot wounds. The minor injuries appear to be from glass fragments. He's lost a lot of blood. We have to transport fast so they can get some units of blood into him."

Blair swallowed hard and stepped back when they lifted Jim's limp body onto the stretcher. He followed them to the ambulance and didn't even ask permission, but climbed in behind them.

"Are you related?" the ambulance driver asked.

Blair didn't even hesitate. "Yes."

Although the man appeared skeptical, he closed the doors behind them. Blair sat on one side of the gurney while an EMT perched on the other side, monitoring Jim's vitals, especially his blood pressure, which was falling steadily. The white dressings were turning scarlet. Blair carefully held Jim's right hand between both of his.

"Why couldn't you wait?" Blair asked the sentinel softly. "They were on their way."

There was no reaction--nothing that indicated Jim might have heard him.

Blair remained silent the rest of the journey, his gaze focused on Jim's bloody face, holding the older man's cold hand, and praying to all the gods and goddesses he could think of to spare his friend's life. The ambulance was backed up to the emergency entrance and the doors flung open.

"We have to hurry," the EMT shouted. "His BP's falling fast."

The stretcher was hauled out so quickly, Blair was almost pulled out with it. The blood left Blair's face and dizziness assailed him. With something akin to tunnel vision, he followed the contingent of medical personnel who were running as they pushed Jim into one of the rooms. Blair followed, unnoticed as they concentrated on saving Jim's life. He wrapped his arms around his waist, clutching himself tightly.

"Type and cross match immediately," the doctor ordered. "We can't treat him until he's stabilized."

"Excuse me, but you can't stay in here."

Blair focused on the kindly nurse who rested a hand on his shoulder. "I--he's my partner."

"Life?"

"Uh, no. Police."

"We're going to do everything we can for him. Why don't you go clean up?" She guided him out of the room with a gentle hand. "The restroom is just down the hall on your left."

Blair nodded. "Okay."

He plodded down the hall, then washed mechanically. It was the reddish water swirling down the drain that snapped him out of his numbness. He took a deep shaky breath and wiped his hands dry. Stepping out of the restroom, he spotted Simon pacing in the small waiting area.

"What's going on?" Simon demanded when he saw Blair.

"He--" Blair's voice broke and he cleared his throat. "His blood pressure dropped pretty low. As soon as they replace some of the blood he's lost and get him stabilized, they can take care of his wounds." He stared at the exam door, which separated him from his sentinel. "I should be in there, but they wouldn't let me stay."

"I'm sure they're taking good care of him."

"What if he reacts weird to something?"

Simon stepped closer and wrapped a reassuring arm around Blair's shoulders. "His file's documented and a lot of the people here know him. If something weird happens, they'll let us know."

"I hope so." Blair wasn't convinced. He lowered himself to a hard plastic chair and sat stiffly, wishing he had Jim's senses so he could monitor his friend's condition.

Simon sighed, but only sat down to share the vigil.

Three long hours later, a man dressed in a white tunic and blue scrubs walked toward them. As he drew closer, Blair could see smudges of blood on his uniform.

"Are you here for Detective Ellison?" the man asked.

Simon and Blair rose as one.

"I'm Captain Banks and this is his partner Blair Sandburg," Simon said.

"How is he?" Blair demanded.

"We've given him three units of blood." The doctor paused. "The bullet in his leg nicked the artery. That's why he lost so much blood so quickly. We repaired the artery wall. We also removed as many of the glass fragments we could find. He was fortunate none struck his eyes."

"Is he going to be all right?" Blair asked impatiently.

"At this point, he's critical because of the blood loss, but I think once his vitals settle down, he'll be downgraded to serious. The bullet, which struck his head, grazed his skull and we want to make sure he doesn't have any swelling in the brain. As it is, he has a serious concussion."

Relieved, Blair closed his eyes briefly. "When can I see him?"

"We're getting him moved up to a room right now, where you'll be able to visit him there."

The door to Jim's room opened and the bed with Jim on it was wheeled out.

"In fact, you can just follow them up. Once they get him settled, you can go in," the doctor said.

Blair was vaguely aware of Simon's "thank you" as he hurried to Jim. The older man's face was pasty white beneath the bandage around his head wound. Butterfly Band-Aids crisscrossed his cheeks and brow where glass had cut him. He couldn't tell how much damage had been done to his torso because they had wrapped a warm blanket around him, mummy-style. Blair remembered how cold he'd been when he'd been given a single unit of blood--the nurse had explained how the blood was above room temperature, but still below the 98.6 degrees of the human body. That was the reason a dozen blankets hadn't seemed to help, and it had been hours before the blood had warmed in Blair's body.

It was odd to see the detective so quiet, so still. It reminded Blair too much of the time he'd inhaled raw opium. Blair had been terrified then, too.

He kept a hand on the rail of Jim's bed as they rode the elevator up to the fourth floor. Only when they entered Jim's room did Blair finally let go and lean against the hallway wall, tipping his head back.

Simon joined him. "I'm going to call the office and let them know how Jim's doing. Are you going to be all right?"

Blair smiled weakly. "I'm okay. Go and call. I'm sure everybody's worried about him."

The captain studied him with astute brown eyes then nodded. "Do you want some coffee?"

"Naw. I wouldn't be able to keep it down."

"Jim's going to be fine," Simon said firmly.

"I know, but when I saw all the blood, I thought -- " He couldn't voice it aloud.

Thankfully, Simon understood. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

Blair closed his eyes as Simon left. It wasn't long before a motherly nurse told him he could go in. He entered the bright room and immediately closed the blinds, muting the sunlight. Blair crossed the floor to Jim's bedside and leaned over his friend. He knew each angle and curve of his sentinel's face better than his own, and recognized the etched pain lines in his brow and at the corners of his mouth. Jim's muscular body shuddered every so often from the cold.

He tugged a chair up beside the bed and sat down, close enough that he could rest his hand on the mattress. Blair wished he could touch Jim, but the detective was wrapped up snugly. He settled for tracing Jim's face with his gaze, lingering on his mouth and the clean line of his jaw up to his ear. More than anything, he wanted to press a light kiss to Jim's lips, and whisper the words he'd hidden for so long.

Light leapt into the room from the hallway as Simon entered, carrying two steaming cups. The scent of coffee made Blair's stomach gurgle.

"I know you said you didn't want any, but I thought I'd bring a cup in case you changed your mind," Simon said quietly.

"Thanks." Blair rose and set the proffered cup on the stand beside the bed.

The two men remained silent, each watching the rise and fall of Jim's chest as he breathed in long, slow motions.

"You'll have to make a statement," Simon broke the stillness.

"After Jim wakes up."

"We don't know--"

"I'm not leaving until he wakes up. I don't know how messed up his senses will be."

"Do you figure they'll be a problem?"

"Yeah, I do. His body's gone through some major trauma. His senses will probably react to it, and they might be out of control until Jim can get a handle on them."

After a moment, Simon nodded. "All right. With two eyewitnesses saying you saved the day, I should be able to hold off IA for as long as it takes."

"There were two?"

"The clerk and a customer. Didn't you see them?"

Blair shook his head, his eyes never leaving Jim's face. "No. I was pretty much focused on Jim." The younger man rubbed his eyes. "God, Simon, I almost lost him."

"It seems to me you were already starting to pull away from him. I mean, as soon as you got your doctorate, you couldn't wait to move out."

Blair spun around to face the police captain. "That's so not fair, Simon. All I did was give Jim back his privacy. It's not like I don't see him almost every day."

Simon removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry, ki--Sandburg. You're right."

A "but" hung in the air between them.

"What?" Blair demanded.

"He's a damned good cop, Sandburg." Simon switched his attention from Jim to the younger man. "Together, the two of you are my best team. But ever since you moved out, there's been something off with Jim. When you're not with him, he's--hell, I don't know--distracted or something. He gets tense, can't concentrate. The minute you show up, he's James Ellison, supercop again."

Blair's body tightened like a bowstring. "What do you mean?"

Simon shrugged, obviously embarrassed. "For the last couple months, he's been edgier, his temper on a shorter fuse."

"I didn't notice anything." Blair refused to believe he had that much influence over the sentinel.

"That's because as soon as you show up, he's fine," Simon said impatiently. "You're the only one who hasn't noticed."

Stunned, Blair turned Simon's words over and over in his mind. What changed when he moved out, besides the obvious? If Jim had been having trouble with his senses, wouldn't he have told his guide? Or did he think since Blair wasn't with him 24/7, he was only a part-time guide? Of course, isn't that what he'd become? He had thrown himself into his new position as a professor on the Rainier staff. Had Jim gotten lost in the shuffle in spite of Blair coming to the station four days a week? Blair grimaced--those were the only times he saw Jim now. His spare time, what there was of it, was spent with Heather.

Worse than being a part-time guide, he'd become a part-time friend, too. Blair's face burned with self-recrimination.

"Once he's released from the hospital, I'll have him stay at my place," Simon was saying. "He won't be able to be left alone."

"No. I'll stay at the loft until he's back on his feet."

"But what about your position at Rainier?"

"What about your job?" Blair shot back.

"I can take a week off--it's been a long time since I've actually used any vacation time. And since the chief is pretty happy you caught the guy, he'll give me the time off with his blessing."

It would be easy to let Simon take care of Jim, but Blair had already messed up enough with their friendship. Besides, as much as he liked and admired Simon, he didn't trust anyone else taking care of Jim. "He'll like it better at his own place. But maybe you could watch Jim while I'm at school and I'll stay with him the rest of the time."

Simon eyed him shrewdly. "If you're serious about staying at the loft with him, everyone from Major Crime who'd like can take turns staying with him while you're gone. That way I can save my vacation time until we can all go fishing again."

Blair smiled, the memories of their previous fishing trips warming him. That was one more thing which had gotten lost over the past months. "Sounds like a plan."

"I should get back to the station. Is there anything you need before I go?"

"My backpack from Jim's truck."

"One of the uniforms drove his truck back to the station. I'll call Joel and have him bring it over."

"Thanks. Jim'll kick my ass if I don't get my homework done." Blair's grin faded. "He really wants me to do good at Rainier."

Simon patted his back. "He couldn't be prouder of you if you were his brother."

Brotherly love wasn't exactly what Blair preferred, but it was love and for that, Blair was grateful.

***

Words were starting to blur within the blue books as Blair struggled to finish grading the remaining three tests. Joel had come by hours earlier and dropped off Blair's backpack. Since then, evening had fallen but Jim remained unconscious. Every hour a nurse came in to take his vital signs, and every time the nurse had given Blair an encouraging smile.

"You should go home. We'll call you when your friend regains consciousness," Renee, the current nurse, said.

Blair smiled as he watched her check Jim's IV's. "I want to be here when he wakes up."

"That may be some time yet."

"This is where I want to be," Blair said firmly, his gaze drifting to his partner's pale face.

"You're a good friend, Professor Sandburg."

"Jim would do the same for me." And has.

"Have you eaten anything?" Renee asked.

Blair shook his head. "I'm not hungry."

"I'll see what I can find," Renee said. "If you make yourself sick, you won't be able to help your friend when he needs you."

Blair could see the logic in her words and nodded. "Thanks."

She exited, leaving him alone with Jim once more. Simon had called twice since he'd gone and said he'd stop by on his way home, but hadn't yet been able to escape the office.

The door opened a few minutes later.

"That was fast," Blair said, expecting to see Renee with a tray. Instead a tall, muscular sandy-haired man entered. "Can I help you?" Blair asked warily.

"I'm a friend of Jim's. I just wanted to see how he was doing." The man's low timbre held a subtle prurience which made Blair uncomfortable. "I'm Travis Danner."

Blair rose. "Blair Sandburg. I'm Jim's partner." He extended his hand and Danner grasped it firmly.

"Partner?"

"At the department." Blair felt increasingly uneasy around Danner. "How did you hear about Jim?"

"The news. It was on the local stations." Danner walked around to the side of Jim's bed, and Blair had to fight the urge to stand between him and his sentinel. "The news reports said he was critical."

"That's right. He lost a lot of blood."

Danner's gaze pierced him. "Where were you when he got hurt?"

Blair flinched as guilt flared anew. "Calling for back-up. I'm not actually a cop. I'm a consultant."

"Then why are you his partner?"

The guilt swelled, pressing against Blair's gut and lungs. "I've never heard Jim mention you before. Who are you?"

Danner smiled, but the expression held no warmth. "I'm his boyfriend."

The man was crazy. Jim didn't go for guys. "I don't believe you."

"I don't care if you do or not. We had an argument Thursday night, but we were supposed to go out tonight."

T. Not Terry, but Travis. Blair's heart skipped erratically as he struggled to breathe. "The roses." Travis nodded as he brushed Jim's cheek with his large hand--a proprietary gesture, which twisted the blade in Blair's belly. "He told me it was over."

"I thought he didn't tell you--"

"He didn't say who, but the roses you sent...he threw them out. He said it was over." Blair watched a crack form in Danner's smug expression.

"Jim was worried about what his colleagues would think if he came out of the closet. I told him we wouldn't have to tell anyone. He was reconsidering." Danner gazed down at Jim. "I love him."

For a moment, Blair thought he'd be sick. Jim had lied to him. Not once had Jim mentioned he was interested in men, yet here was Travis. He was the one Jim had gone to for consolation after Thursday's horrific events.

His gaze fell on Jim's placid features. No matter how angry he wanted to be with his sentinel, Blair couldn't muster an ounce of fury. He knew Jim well enough to understand his tendency toward repression and denial, with fear at the root of it. Had he been afraid Blair would be disgusted? Or was there some other reason?

Blair took a deep breath. It didn't matter. Jim was still his best friend and the younger man had nearly lost him today. There was no way in hell he wouldn't take care of Jim until he was well enough to take care of himself.

"How long will he be in the hospital?" Danner asked.

"They don't know yet."

"You can go home. I'll stay with him."

Blair's protective instincts made him stiffen. "I'm staying."

"Why? He's only your cop partner." The man glared at him.

"He's my best friend."

Danner's lips twisted into a smile's caricature. "If you're such good friends, why didn't he tell you about me?"

Because you're an asshole. Blair bit his tongue to keep the words from spewing forth. Even though Blair didn't like the guy, Jim had obviously seen something in him. "I'm sure Jim had his reasons."

Danner glared at him, probably hoping to intimidate Blair. The younger man merely stared him down--he'd had a lot of experience with Jim's glares.

"Suit yourself," Danner said with a shrug. "I'm staying, too."

"Fine." Blair sat back down, drawing his chair flush with Jim's bed. If Danner thought because he and Jim had been lovers--Blair shied away from that thought--he had more right to be here than him, Danner was going to learn differently.

The strained silence stretched into minutes, and was broken by the phone's ringing. Blair answered it. "Hello."

The familiar voice at the other end of the line surprised him. "I knew you'd be there."

"Heather. How'd you--"

"Same as the rest of Cascade--the news. When I heard who the officer was, I knew why you stood me up."

Blair closed his eyes. "Shit, I'm sorry. It's just that I couldn't leave him."

There was a long moment of silence. "I know, and I understand, but I'm not a saint either. I-I think we should call it quits. It's just not working out."

Instead of being upset, Blair felt only relief. "I'm sorry. You're right. You deserve somebody who can give you more than I can."

"Yeah, I'm sorry, too. I hope your partner is all right."

"He will be," Blair reassured.

"He's lucky, you know," Heather said softly. "Does he know?"

Blair rubbed his brow, not bothering to deny it. "No."

"Tell him. Good-bye, Blair."

As Blair hung up the phone, his gaze clashed with Danner's.

"Trouble with your girlfriend?" Danner asked, almost patronizing.

"That's none of your business," Blair replied. He glanced at Danner's hand, which rested on Jim's shoulder. Possessiveness raged through him, shocking him with its intensity. "Go home. I'll call you when he wakes up."

"He's not your lover."

Blair trembled and his stomach felt like he'd swallowed broken glass. His fingers wrapped around the bed's metal rails and his knuckles turned white. "I was his roommate for almost four years and he's my best friend, besides being my partner."

Danner stared at him like he was a fungus--part curiosity and part distaste--and reiterated, "But not lover."

Not for lack of interest.

"No, but then I've been with him longer than any of his lovers." Blair narrowed his eyes and fired his next salvo. "And I can guarantee he's not going to be happy if you're here when he wakes up."

Danner rose and his nostrils flared. "What the hell do you know, Sandburg?" A cold smile settled on the man's face. "I'll bet you didn't know that Jim likes taking it up the ass hard and fast."

Blind fury consumed Blair. "You son of a bitch!"

Simon charged through the door, his gun drawn and his eyes wide just as Blair's fist connected with Danner's jaw. The sandy-haired man's head snapped back.

"What the hell's going on?" Simon demanded, aiming his weapon at Danner.

Blair panted, his chest heaving up and down as he struggled to control his rage. He ached to hit Danner again and again, until he was a bloody heap on the floor. "Get him out of here, sir, before I kill him."

Shock filled Simon's features. "Who is he?"

"Nobody," Blair spat. "Please, Simon, get him away from Jim."

Danner pierced Blair with a sharp glare. "I'll leave, but I'll be back, Sandburg. Jim is mine, not yours."

The large man stalked out of the room, leaving a bewildered Simon and a still fuming Blair. Simon re-holstered his revolver and the silence in the room was broken only by the steady hum of the monitors hooked up to Jim.

Blair dropped into his chair as his legs suddenly gave out. He covered his face with his hands as Danner's ugly words echoed over and over in his head.

"Who was he, Sandburg?" Simon asked in a low voice.

Blair's arms fell to his thighs. "He claimed to be Jim's boyfriend."

Instead of outrage, Simon only said, "Oh."

Blair sat up straight. "You mean you knew?"

"If you're asking if I knew Jim was bi, the answer is yes. He told me when he first joined Major Crime."

Blair stood and paced, nervous energy fueling his long strides. "So this Danner probably was his boyfriend."

"If he was, Jim never mentioned him," Simon assured. "But, then, he didn't talk a lot about his, uh, boyfriends." The captain sat in Blair's abandoned chair and removed his glasses to rub his eyes. "Before you moved out, I thought you and him--"

Blair froze. "Jesus, I can't believe I was so fucking clueless. Jim never told me and he only dated women."

"Is that why you were so angry at this guy, because he's Jim's boyfriend?"

"No. I'm not exactly totally into women myself, but Danner said something..." Blair took a deep breath and dragged a shaking hand across his brow. "Jim had told me he'd broken it off with someone Thursday night- -he let me believe it was a woman. Instead, it was Danner. But I don't think Danner took the break-up very well."

"Do you think he'll cause trouble for Jim?"

Blair's breathing was returning to normal, as was his heartbeat. "I don't know." He brushed a hand over Jim's soft hair, his eyes gentling as his gaze caressed his partner.

Simon sighed. "So, how long have you loved him?"

Blair snapped his head up to meet Simon's gaze. His mouth opened and closed, then he shrugged, surrendering to the inevitable. "When haven't I loved him?"

"If this is some weird incarnation crap, I don't want to hear it."

Blair huffed a laugh. "No, but I might be able to come up with a theory along those lines relating to sentinels, guides, predestination and primal imperatives."

The police captain raised a hand, palm outward. "Enough, Sandburg." He glanced at the still man on the bed. "How's he doing?"

"Pretty much the same, although the nurse said his vitals are leveling out."

"That's good." Simon heaved a sigh. "I don't suppose I can talk you into going home to get some sleep." A crooked grin was his answer. "All right, but I want you to call me if anything--and I mean anything--happens."

"I will."

Simon glanced around, his brow furrowed. "Is Danner dangerous enough to put a guard at the door?"

Blair shook his head. "I doubt he'll be back." His gaze met Simon's. "Besides, what justification would you use?"

"I'd figure out something." Simon's eyes twinkled. "Or I'd let you do it since you're better at bullshitting than I am."

"There's a reason my initials are BS," Blair countered, glad for the normalcy of the banter.

Renee, the nurse, entered carrying a tray and set it on Jim's bedside table. "I'm sorry it took so long."

"That's all right," Blair reassured with a smile. "I appreciate this."

"No problem. I'll be back in about half an hour to check your friend's vitals again."

"All right."

Renee breezed out.

Simon motioned to the tray. "So you've already charmed all the nurses?"

"Hey, it's a gift, man."

Simon merely grunted in reply. "I'll stop by in the morning."

Blair nodded. "Thanks, Simon."

Then Blair was alone with his sentinel once more.

***

Consciousness came not with a bang, but a whimper, and for that Jim Ellison was grateful. Sounds seeped in first, followed by the too-familiar scents of disinfectant, and finally the feeling of a rough blanket against his bare skin. He kept his eyes closed, unsure he wanted to return fully or not. If his body's aches and pains were any indication, something really bad had happened.

Blair!

His eyes flew open and he blinked, then opened them with a deep squint. "Blair?" Was that pitiful croak his voice?

A whiff of air moved across his face and the scent of his partner filled him. The whisper of a familiar touch on his brow augmented the relief of knowing Blair was here and safe, and when the younger man moved into his field of view, Jim relaxed completely.

"Are you thirsty?" Blair asked softly.

Even if Jim wasn't, he would've agreed to anything asked in that voice. Blair held a straw to his lips with one hand and held his head up with the other. Jim drank greedily, both of the water and his guide's proximity. Once the water was gone, Blair's touch and the straw were withdrawn, nearly bringing a disappointed groan from Jim.

"You can have more in a few minutes. Let's just make sure this settles all right," Blair said. "How're you feeling?"

Jim licked his dry lips. "Like ... shit."

Blair leaned over him to settle a hand on his head. "I hate to say this, big guy, but you look like shit, too."

"Bedside manner needs work, Chief," Jim managed to say. He catalogued his pain, trying to recall how he'd been hurt. "What 'appened?"

Surprise then a hint of fear darkened Blair's eyes. "You don't remember?"

Jim started to shake his head, but froze when the minute motion sent a stab of pain ricocheting through his skull. He groaned.

"Take it easy, Jim. Don't try to move," Blair soothed, one hand stroking Jim's brow. "You were shot twice by our Camel killer at the Quickie Mart."

The words didn't make any sense. "Camel killer?" he asked, his eyes filled with confusion.

"We were working on a robbery case--perp robbed Quickie Marts, and always stole two cartons of Camel cigarettes along with the money."

"Don't remember," Jim said, his voice hoarse.

Concern filled Blair's features. "What's the last thing you do remember?"

"A c-call...shooting at an office. Multiple victims."

"That was Thursday morning. Today's Sunday."

Panic flared in Jim's mind. "Three d-days ago?"

Blair's fingers feathered across Jim's jaw. "Shhhh, it's all right. One of the bullets took a chunk out of your head. It could be causing some amnesia."

Frightened and exhausted by the short conversation, his eyes drifted closed. The last thing he remembered was Blair's touch and calming voice, more effective than any painkiller.

***

"Damnit, Jim, wait for the wheelchair." Blair grabbed Jim's arm to sit him back down on his bed.

"I'm not a damned cripple, Chief," Jim said irritably.

Blair rolled his eyes, wondering if it was only four days ago that Jim had been wounded. It felt like forever, with all his bitching and complaining. Maybe he should've let Simon give him a lift home instead of him taking time off from Rainier to do it. Blair tried to keep the impatience from his voice. "No, but you could tear the stitches in your leg and you'll be right back in here."

"The hell I will."

Blair threw his hands in the air, surrendering to his frustration. "Fine. Do whatever you want."

Strained silence filled the hospital room for a long moment.

"I'm sorry, Blair," Jim said quietly. He rubbed his palms on his sweatpants. "I just hate this."

"You and me both, but it doesn't change anything. You need to take it easy." Blair perched on the bed beside Jim and met his friend's gaze. "Four days ago you almost died, Jim." He shuddered with the cold memory.

Jim sighed and wrapped an arm around Blair's shoulders. "God, Chief, I'm sorry you had to go through that."

Blair carefully leaned into Jim's one-armed embrace. He hadn't told Jim about the other things he'd gone through--Travis Danner's appearance and ugly words; his break-up with Heather. He wasn't sure why he kept those things to himself.

Don't lie to yourself, Sandburg. You didn't tell him because you're afraid.

There was also the problem of Jim's memory. The doctors weren't sure if those lost three days would ever return. Which meant Jim didn't remember he'd broken up with Danner on Thursday night. Would Jim go back to him? And what gave Blair the right to tell him about the break-up? He wasn't even supposed to know about Travis.

The nurse arrived with the requisite wheelchair, and she and Blair helped Jim into it. Blair picked up Jim's bag and crutches, and followed after them. Blair had parked the Volvo in a No Parking zone and had hung Jim's police tag from the truck on the rearview mirror. With an overzealous amount of grumbling on Jim's part, Blair and the nurse settled him in the front passenger seat.

Blair came around to the driver's side and climbed in, then started the car.

"You could've used my truck to pick me up," Jim said.

"No way. Too high with your leg."

Jim was quiet as Blair drove, and the younger man kept shooting concerned looks his way. The healing cuts on Jim's face were dark slashes on his too-pale skin, and the bullet wound on the side of his head had been left unbandaged, revealing a vicious-colored bruise with a large scab in the center. He looked like he'd been in a bar brawl.

"I'm okay, Chief," Jim said with a tired smile.

Blair's cheeks warmed, embarrassed at being caught. "I know." He kept his eyes on the road, but his thoughts scampered like fallen leaves in an autumn breeze. "It's a guide's prerogative to worry about his sentinel."

"Just like it's a sentinel's duty to take care of his guide."

Blair flashed him a fleeting smile. "Must be some kind of instinctual thing."

"You'll figure it out, Chief. You always do." Jim leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Jim's eyes flashed open. "Just what I said. Jeez, Sandburg, what's got you wound up so tight?"

You do. Blair bit the inside of his cheek. "Sorry, man."

Jim merely cast him an odd look, then closed his eyes again.

The trip from the street up to the loft took fifteen minutes filled with sweat and curses. In the apartment, Jim collapsed on the sofa and Blair got him a glass of water and a painkiller.

"Here." Blair handed him the water and pill. "You've had this one before. It'll work for two or three hours."

"And make me dopey," Jim complained.

"You're already dopey. C'mon, Jim. You'll feel better," Blair cajoled.

The older man reluctantly reached for the items. "I thought you were the one who didn't like putting foreign chemicals in your body."

"This is about you, not me. Besides, as you very well know, I take prescriptions."

Jim grumbled, but swallowed the pill and downed the entire glass of water.

"Now that wasn't so hard, was it?" Blair crooned, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Up yours, Sandburg."

Blair only laughed as he found the TV remote and handed it to Jim, then dragged the afghan off the back of the sofa and started to drape it over Jim's legs and lap.

"Would you quit fussing? I'm not a little kid," Jim grumbled.

Blair's gaze strayed to Jim's crotch, where the sweatpants followed the curve of Jim's assets. "I can see that."

Jim's head jerked up, but Blair didn't dare meet his eyes. He hadn't meant to say his thoughts aloud, but Danner's words kept chafing at him, like fleas on a dog.

"Would you like something to eat?" Blair asked as he wandered back into the kitchen.

"Okay."

With something to do, Blair was able to slide back into routine.

After Jim had eaten the sandwich Blair made, the detective surrendered to sleep. He canted sideways on the couch, and Blair eased him down to a prone position, then spread the afghan over him.

Blair dropped into the loveseat across from the couch and observed Jim, giving himself permission to drink in the masculine beauty of his partner. Bold angles, strong curves, firm lips, obstinate chin, and square-cut jaw. No doubt about it--James Ellison was gorgeous. Not that Blair hadn't noticed before, but his admiration then had been wishful thinking. He hadn't seen any evidence to suggest Jim went for guys. Until Danner.

So now what? If he didn't tell Jim about Danner's visit at the hospital, how should he approach him about his feelings? Did Blair even dare consider it? Besides, since Jim had no memory of breaking up with Danner, why would he not go back to him? But if Terry and Travis were one and the same-- and Blair believed they were--then Jim had said it was over and there must've been a good reason for the break-up. Still, was it Blair's place to tell him?

Then another thought depressed Blair even further. Even if Jim didn't get back with his former lover, Blair knew he wasn't Jim's type. Look at Danner--even bigger than Jim with blonde hair. Hell, he couldn't have gotten any more opposite than Blair Sandburg if he tried.

Maybe Jim simply didn't go for short, brainy types with long hair.

The younger man tipped his head back and dropped his hands in his lap. He had long ago given up his pipe dreams about Jim, but his body remembered. Those middle-of-the-night fantasies as he lay in his bed below the stairs, imagining Jim beneath him, accepting him into his body....

Blair groaned and shifted his erection away from his unforgiving zipper. How was he going to stay here with Jim, knowing what he knew now about his best friend?

***

During the day it wasn't so bad. Simon or Joel or Megan would stay with him while Blair was at Rainier. Even when Blair was home during the daylight hours, he would spend his time by the table on his laptop, working on a class lecture or an article for some dry Anthropology journal.

No, it was the evenings after supper, which were the toughest. Jim would've thought he would be more relaxed with his guide around him so much, but something had changed since he was wounded. Jim didn't know what, but it was there, subtle but electric, like the low hum of a transformer. They would be sitting on the couch watching TV like they used to, when the resonance would shiver through him. It started with his senses, automatically dialing up and centering on Blair. He tried to dial down, but it was as if his senses were determined to play voyeur. From the most minute muscle movement to the tiniest rustle of air molecules, Jim was attuned to his guide. Heat and musk radiated from Blair, stealing through Jim's defenses. And despite his healing body, arousal would be swift and intense.

That he wanted Blair came as no surprise--he'd known about his attraction to Blair ever since he met the younger man. No, what shocked him was the strength of the desire. He wanted Blair inside him, so close to him they could almost be one entity.

And every night, Jim fought the craving. He had Travis to take care of his body. Blair took care of the rest of him.

A week after he'd come home from the hospital, Jim convinced everyone he was feeling well enough to stay by himself while Blair was at the university. As Jim healed and regained his strength, Blair's presence became both a blessing and a curse. Having the younger man back in the loft felt right and the Blair-sounds, which Jim had missed, were a welcome gift. But the rising tide of attraction ate at Jim's control, and with each passing day, the frustration grew.

Finally, two weeks after Jim returned home, he decided to call Travis while Blair was at the college. He was surprised Travis hadn't called him, but maybe he knew Jim would contact him when he was feeling better. He punched in Travis' work phone number.

"TechnoComp, Travis Danner speaking."

Jim leaned his head against the sofa as Travis' deep voice washed over him. He needed some time with Travis--away from Blair--to rid himself of the sexual ache being around his guide stirred. "Hey, Travis. I just wanted to apologize for standing you up."

"Jim?"

The detective frowned at the disbelief in Travis' voice. "Is this a bad time?"

"No, not at all. You just surprised me. You rarely call me at work."

Jim ran a hand across his brow, his sensitive fingers measuring the scar left from the bullet. "I, well, I was kind of surprised you didn't call me. Did you hear what happened?"

"Actually, yes, I did." Travis' voice lowered. "In fact, I came to see you at the hospital the night after you were injured, but you were still out of it. Didn't your friend tell you?"

Jim's breath caught in his throat. "No, he didn't. Did you tell him-- "

"I told him I was a friend."

Jim closed his eyes in relief. "Thanks, Travis. He doesn't know about us."

"I figured." Travis paused. "How're you feeling?"

"Not bad. I still need to use a cane, but my headaches are gone." Jim grimaced. "I just haven't been able to remember the few days before I was hurt."

"What do you mean?"

"Total blank. Like everything from Thursday morning until waking up Sunday in the hospital is gone."

"So you don't remember coming over Thursday night?" Travis asked.

"I was there Thursday?"

"You had a rough day and came over so I could make you feel better." Travis chuckled. "And you felt much better when you left the next morning."

Jim shifted on the couch. "Shit, I don't remember."

Travis chuckled. "That's too bad. We had a great time, Jim. In fact, right before you left, you agreed to move in with me."

Jim's heart skipped a beat. "Did I?"

"You planned to move in this past weekend."

Jim struggled to breathe. Why couldn't he remember something as important as that?

"Jim? Are you still there?" Travis' voice brought him out of his shock.

"Uh, yeah, I'm here." Why would he want to move in with Travis? He liked his own place and it wasn't like the two of them were going to be together forever. "Look, I'm sorry I don't remember agreeing to that. The past couple weeks I've, uh, pretty much been out of it. Healing and everything. I haven't been able to go anywhere."

"That's all right. I understand you having to postpone moving in here." There was a pause. "Is anybody staying with you?"

"A friend of mine--he was probably the one you talked to in the hospital. He's a professor at Rainier."

"Is he there now?"

"No. But he'll be home in a couple hours."

"Home? He lives with you?"

"No. I mean, we used to be roommates, but he moved out. We're good friends. That's all." Jim paused to take a deep breath, wondering why the hell he was getting so defensive.

"Will you be alone tomorrow?"

Jim recalled Blair's schedule. "Yes. He's got classes in the morning and meetings in the afternoon."

"Would you like me to come over tomorrow?" Travis' voice lowered. "Even though you're still healing, I can take care of you, Jimmy."

Ribbons of lust spread through Jim's veins. "All right." He cleared his throat. "How about around noon? You can bring lunch."

"Then we'll have all afternoon for dessert. I'll see you tomorrow." Travis ended the call.

Jim uncurled his stiff fingers from the phone. It would be the first time Travis came to the loft. Before, they'd always gone to his place. But Jim couldn't very well go to Travis, and he needed some relief from the tension making him irritable and antsy around Blair.

He set the phone on the end table and leaned his head back against the sofa. He covered his face with his hands and images of himself laid out on Travis' large bed played across his mind's eye. Fingers plucking and pinching at his nipples, lips and teeth playing across his chest and down his belly. Jim lowered one hand to his erection, covered by the thin material of his sweatpants and boxers, and skimmed his fingertips across the hardness. He imagined the first touch of slick fingers inside him and the welcome intrusion of a hard cock into his body.

Only when he gazed into the face above him, it was Blair not Travis invading him, owning him, controlling him. One the verge of coming, Jim jerked his hand away from his groin.

Jim turned on the TV and managed to divert his erotic thoughts with cable reruns of some seventies action shows. By the time Blair arrived home at four o'clock, Jim had himself back under tight control.

Blair surprised Jim by bringing home two thick steaks from Stan's Meat Market. Two baked potatoes and salads rounded off their supper. Even though Blair seemed relaxed as they ate, Jim could sense tension in his guide.

"Did everything go all right today?" Jim asked as he cut another piece off his medium rare steak. Blair was the only one who knew exactly how Jim liked his steak.

Blair shrugged with affected nonchalance. "Yeah."

Jim frowned at the uncharacteristic short answer. "Did you see Heather today?"

The professor started. "Why do you ask?"

"You haven't talked about her in all the time you've been staying with me." Jim laid his fork down and clasped his hands. "You don't have to babysit me anymore, Chief. You should take an evening off and take Heather out."

Blair kept his head down. "We're not seeing each other anymore."

"What happened?"

"It didn't work out. You know, just one of those things."

Jim narrowed his eyes. "This doesn't happen to have anything to do with you spending so much time with me, does it?"

Blair finally looked up. "Whether it does or doesn't isn't your problem, Jim. Believe me, Heather and I weren't going anywhere anyhow."

"I thought you two were getting serious. She was the reason you moved out."

"The reason I moved out was so you could have your privacy back. Walking in on you and--" Blair broke off and dragged a hand across his hair. "Well, I felt like I was cramping your style."

Jim blushed, remembering how Blair had caught him and Veronica on the couch one evening. But he was glad it hadn't been another man. He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Chief. This is your home, too. I'm sorry I made you feel uncomfortable."

Blair studied him, and Jim forced himself to remain still under his scrutiny. But, unaccustomed to a quiet Blair, unease skittered through him. Jim had no clue what was going through his head.

The younger man stood and gathered their plates. "Thanks, Jim. That means a lot to me."

Jim grabbed Blair's wrist before he could carry the dishes to the sink. "You mean a lot to me, Chief. You're my guide and my best friend."

Blair's smile didn't touch his eyes, and Jim wished for the hundredth time he could read his mind. Then Blair glanced down at Jim's hand on his wrist, and Jim released him, but not before he catalogued the marked increase in his guide's heartbeat.

Unfamiliar silence filled the loft that evening as Blair worked at the dining room table and Jim tried to stem his boredom first with TV, then a book. Neither worked, and Jim found his attention straying to his friend, trying to fit the pieces of a puzzle with no picture to go by.

Unable to stomach the unnatural calm any longer, Jim reached for his cane and pushed himself upright. He hobbled over to the table and sat down next to his friend.

"Do you need something?" Blair asked, barely giving Jim a glance.

Jim shook his head as he idly watched Blair's slender fingers dip and dance across the keyboard. "If you want to go back to your place, you can. I'll be fine by myself now."

Blair's fingers froze over the keys. "Do you want me to leave?"

"I didn't say that. It's just that you seem, I don't know, upset."

"I'm pretty busy." Blair's fingers flew across the keyboard again.

Jim hated it when Blair shut him out, even though he knew he often did the same to him. But that was merely his personality, to shut down and repress. Blair wasn't normally that way. Jim closed his hands into fists. He searched Blair's face, but the younger man was too adept at hiding his feelings, and Jim was too unskilled in ferreting out emotions.

"Damn it," Jim muttered. He stood carefully, grabbed his cane, and headed toward the bathroom.

"Jim."

Blair's quiet voice startled him to halt. He looked over his shoulder at the younger man who was still staring at his monitor.

"I am upset, but it's nothing you've done. It's something I have to figure out myself." Blair's words were so low, Jim doubted he would've heard them without his sentinel hearing.

Jim's throat constricted. "If there's anything I can do..."

"Thanks." Blair continued typing.

Blair stayed up long into the night, and Jim found himself unable to sleep as he listened to every whisper of motion, every murmured word, every heartbeat of his guide.

And only when Blair finally slipped into slumber in the early morning hours, did Jim also find sleep.

***

The next morning both Blair and Jim overslept. For the first time since he was shot, Jim made breakfast while Blair showered. When the professor darted out of his room, dressed and ready for work, Jim forced him into a chair to eat the toast and scrambled eggs he'd thrown together.

"Sorry, Jim. I got to bed pretty late last night," Blair mumbled in between mouthfuls of coffee and eggs.

"I know."

"Aw, shit. I kept you awake."

Jim gave Blair's shoulder a squeeze. "It's okay. It's not like I do enough during the day to need eight hours of sleep anyhow. Besides, I can take a nap; you can't."

"Yeah, and you should, too. You may be feeling a lot better, but your body's still healing."

"Yes, Mother." Jim's grin faded. "Did you figure out anything?"

Blair set his fork on his empty plate. "I'm not sure," he replied. "I-I think we need to talk. There're some things I have to tell you."

Jim's fingers trembled as he reached for his cup. "Oh?"

Blair peered at Jim from beneath his curly mop, his blue eyes intense and...electric. He reached out and laid a hand on Jim's arm. The sentinel could feel stress radiating from his friend, but there was something else, too--an energy which sparked and flared between them. Blair attempted a smile and failed. "It's nothing bad. At least I don't think it is. It's just something..." He glanced at the clock on the microwave. "We don't have time now. I'll bring Chinese for supper, and we can talk this evening. Okay?"

Although Jim was filled with curiosity, he merely nodded. "Sounds good. So you'll be home around five?"

Blair grimaced. "Hopefully. I can't believe the dean called a meeting on a Friday afternoon."

"Un-American."

"Damned right."

Blair drew away from Jim. "Leave the dishes. I'll take care of them tonight."

"I can handle them."

Blair sent him a feigned glare. "Don't overdo it and remember to take your meds. I'll see you later."

"Have a good one, Chief."

Then the whirlwind and his backpack were out the door. Jim followed his footsteps all the way down to his car and listened as Blair got into the Volvo and drove away.

Jim had always admired his friend for his confidence, even when he knew Blair was scared to death. So what made him so nervous, so unsure of himself this morning? A cold ball of ice settled in his gut. Maybe Blair had figured out Jim's attraction toward him, and was disgusted by another man's attention. But still, it wasn't like Jim had ever made a move on him. Jim wouldn't...couldn't. Blair already owned the most important part of James Ellison.

Apprehensive, Jim carefully cleared the table and washed the dishes. By the time he was done, his leg was hurting and his head pounding. Maybe he should call Travis and cancel their "date". It suddenly didn't seem right for him to come to the loft, the home he shared--used to share--with Blair.

He lowered himself to the sofa with a groan and called Travis' work number. He got his voice mail, which said he wouldn't be in to work on Friday. Frowning, Jim called his home number but there was no answer there either. Where was he? He left a message at Travis' place, telling him to call.

With a tired sigh, Jim leaned his head back against the cushion and promptly fell asleep.

Three hours later he awakened to find it after eleven. Muscles stiff, Jim hobbled into the bathroom to wash up as best as he could without a shower. He still needed Blair to help him with that. He shaved and brushed his teeth, then limped upstairs to put on a clean pair of sweats.

By the time he was finished, Jim was feeling the ache in his wounded leg. Instead of a painkiller, he took some aspirin. Since Travis hadn't called, he must not have gotten his message, which meant he'd be arriving soon. Jim would apologize and tell him he didn't feel well enough for what Travis obviously had planned--what Jim had wanted yesterday, but no longer. Blair's cryptic behavior this morning had unsettled him.

Jim's sentinel hearing picked up the sound of the elevator and when the doors opened on the third floor, his nose twitched with the scent of Italian food and Travis' cologne. Using the cane, he limped to the door and opened it immediately after Travis knocked.

Travis wore khaki trousers with a pale yellow polo shirt that stretched taut against his broad chest and shoulders. Jim had expected a rush of heat through his blood at the sight of the tall, well-built man framed in the doorway, but there was nothing.

"Hello, Travis," Jim greeted neutrally.

Travis stepped toward Jim and wrapped his free arm around him. "I'm so glad you're all right."

Uncomfortable with the display of affection in the open doorway, Jim remained stiff in the one-armed embrace. "Let's not give the neighbors a show," he said in a low voice, easing away from the larger man.

Travis released him and stepped into the apartment. Jim closed the door behind them, feeling awkward and a little irritated with both himself and Travis.

"I'm sorry," Travis said. "I was just so glad to see you again." He held up a large white bag. "Lunch, as promised."

"Smells good." Jim tried to inject a note of enthusiasm. "Did you get my message this morning?"

"I got it, but I figured whatever you had to say, you could tell me when I got here."

Swallowing his annoyance, Jim kept his voice civil. "Why don't we warm up the food and get the table set?"

"Do you have wine?"

"It's a little early, isn't it?"

"What's Italian without vino?"

"I'll have water."

Travis' smile lost a few degrees of warmth. "Water's fine." He followed Jim into the kitchen. "Nice place."

"It's home."

"For now."

Jim's muscles tightened. "I'm having second thoughts about moving in with you. I like my own place."

"But you said--"

"I don't remember."

"I do." Travis set the food down on the island and wrapped his arms around Jim's waist from behind. He nuzzled the detective's neck. "I remember everything, Jimmy. We're good together. You remember that, don't you?"

Travis' erection pressed into Jim's backside and the detective's body responded instinctually. Nights of hot sex and complete exhaustion were something not easily forgotten, but he was determined to keep his mind clear this time. "I remember."

"Then why don't you want to move in?"

"There's more to living together than sex." Jim pulled away from Travis and dug out the containers from the bag. He popped them in the microwave and set the timer for two minutes. He felt Travis' eyes on him as he set the table for two.

"It's him, isn't it?" Travis suddenly asked.

Jim's heart missed a beat. He'd always been careful, never mentioning Blair. "Who?"

"Sandburg. But he has a girlfriend, so I know he's not screwing you."

Jim's mouth dropped open in shock, then clamped shut in anger. "What's between my friend and me is none of your damned business," he said coldly.

Travis strolled around the loft, examining the bits and pieces of Blair, which had begun to insinuate their way into the apartment again. "You're right, it's not. Unless he's the one you're saving yourself for, even though we both know it's a bit late for that."

"Shut up!"

The microwave dinged, and Jim, clenching his teeth, took the food out and set the containers on the counter. He heard Travis approach and felt his breath against his neck a moment before corded arms went around his chest. "Let me go."

Travis' hands strayed downward, then slipped under Jim's sweatshirt. His palms skimmed up Jim's bare sides and fingers teased and pinched Jim's nipples. In spite of himself, arousal spread through Jim's blood.

"Your mouth is saying one thing, but your body is telling me something else. Which one is right?" Travis left one hand to play with Jim's chest while the other moved down to cup his groin. "You always were easy, Jimmy. So ready for me." He squeezed Jim's erection roughly and Jim couldn't contain his lust-filled groan. "Oh, yeah, you like it, don't you, Jimmy?"

Jim jerked away, even though his heart raced and his blood flowed like molten lava. "Damn it, Travis. I said stop!"

"It's going to be so good, Jimmy, just like last time. I loved the way you moaned and the way your body shivered and trembled as I played with it."

His words brought to mind a dizzying carousel of pain and pleasure; feathers and whips; cuffs and blindfolds. Memories? Limping and clenching his teeth, Jim backed away from Travis' deliberate approach until a counter halted his backward movement. "Leave, Travis. It's over."

Travis' feral smile chilled the detective. "Is this a new game, Jimmy? I like it. Predator and prey."

Jim whirled away from his stalker, his leg nearly buckling under the pressure. Agony shot to his brain and brought nausea swirling in his gut. He reached out, using the island, a chair, table, the post, the back of a couch to keep himself upright.

Travis laughed and followed him with deliberate casualness, like a cat toying with a mouse. Jim's frantic gaze darted to the door, but before he could take two uneven steps toward it, Travis was in front of him. The larger man gripped his biceps and shoved him against the wall. Jim's head thumped against brick, but before he could protest, Travis' mouth covered his in a vulgar caricature of a kiss.

Jim struggled against him, but his injured leg couldn't take any weight, forcing Jim to balance on one leg. He fought for air, felt the loss of oxygen as colors danced in his vision and the room swirled around him. Suddenly, Travis ended the kiss and pulled him away from the wall. Jim would've fallen if the other man hadn't gripped his arms so tight Jim knew he'd leave bruises. Travis dragged him across the living room and threw him down on the sofa, where he landed painfully with his injured leg awkwardly sprawled out.

Gasping for air, Jim lay there as sweat beaded his brow and tremors skated beneath his skin. His arousal had disappeared completely. How had he ever believed Travis knew what he wanted? And what were those images which flashed across his mind? A forgotten memory? Something was most definitely wrong here.

"I-I never said...I'd move in, did I?" Jim managed to ask between pants and bouts of nausea.

Travis' fingers grazed Jim's cheek. "You would've. I would've persuaded you sooner or later."

"You wouldn't have, Danner. He'd already broken it off with you."

Shocked, Jim's gaze shot to the open doorway where Blair stood, his face red and his eyes burning with rage.

Travis turned halfway so he could look at Blair without losing contact with Jim. "This isn't any of your business, Sandburg. This is between Jim and I."

Blair stepped inside and closed the door behind him. He lowered his backpack to the floor and slowly walked toward them. "Jim told me he'd ended it with you. He even threw the roses you sent him into the garbage."

Blair knew. The blood left Jim's face, leaving him even dizzier with shame and regrets.

"You're taking advantage of his memory loss," Travis attacked.

Blair shook his head. "You're the one taking advantage of him." Blair shifted his gaze to Jim and his dark blue eyes softened with concern. "Did he tell you he came to the hospital to see you the first night?"

Jim nodded.

Blair took another step toward them. "Did he tell you he said he was your boyfriend?"

Bewildered, Jim shook his head. "He--" His voice broke. "He said he only told you we were friends."

"He lied, Jim. How else would I know that Travis had been the one who sent you the flowers? You told me it was someone named Terry."

The memories were starting to come back in uneven hops and skips. "Yellow roses. You signed the note 'T'."

"We had an argument," Travis said. "Just an argument. You weren't ending it."

"Yes, I was," Jim stated, the amnesia lifting its foggy curtain. "Thursday night, you--" He couldn't say it aloud, not in front of Blair.

"I cuffed you wrists to ankles and blindfolded you," Travis filled in smugly. "I played with your body until you were begging me to fuck you and let you come."

White-hot rage coupled with humiliation brought Jim surging off the sofa to throw himself at Travis. The two men landed on the coffee table, smashing it to pieces. From someplace far away, Jim heard Blair yelling at him to stop, but the voice of fury was too strident, too demanding.

Blair watched the two men roll across the pieces of the coffee table, his heart in his throat. Jim was going to break open his leg wound and he really would bleed to death this time. He waded into the melee and got his hands, then arms between the two men. Travis broke out of Jim's hold and skittered away, like a crab searching for a rock. His nose was bleeding and his left eye was already swelling.

Travis' nostrils flared as he breathed heavily. "I thought you were different, Ellison. I thought you were the one."

Blair sat on the floor; his arms around Jim's shoulders, half supporting and half holding the sentinel back from his target.

"Get the hell out of here," Jim growled. "You ever bother Blair or me and it'll be the last thing you do."

Travis' eyes widened, as if seeing Jim for the first time. He stumbled to the door, then paused as if one last piece of bravado had re-asserted itself. "Don't come running back to me when your little friend can't take care of you, Ellison." Then Travis was gone.

Jim's chin sagged to his chest and Blair could feel the pounding of his heart where his forearm rested against the sentinel's left breast. Shocked by what he'd witnessed, Blair remained on the floor, merely holding Jim and trying to figure out how he should be feeling.

"Help me up, Sandburg," Jim said.

His voice startled Blair out of his reverie. "Let me check your leg first, Jim. If the stitches pulled free, we'll have to get you to the hospital."

Jim's muscles stiffened, but he didn't say anything as Blair helped him to lie on the floor. Blair tugged a couple pillows off the couch and put them under Jim's head. The sentinel hadn't looked at him since before he attacked Travis.

"I have to lower your sweatpants, Jim. Is that okay?" Blair asked gently.

Jim merely nodded as his jaw muscle knotted.

Working with infinite care, Blair tugged the soft gray sweatpants down past Jim's boxers, then eased the underwear down on the left side where the bullet wound was. Keeping his gaze averted from Jim's half-exposed groin, Blair examined the puckered mark. There was a small amount of blood seepage, but miraculously, nothing any worse. Blair cleaned it up, then pulled up Jim's boxers and sweatpants.

"Amazingly enough, it looks like you didn't do too much damage to it," Blair announced, keeping his voice light. "What do you say I get you up on the couch?"

Jim shook his head vehemently. "Upstairs. I want to go upstairs."

"All right, Jim. We can do that, but you'll have to go slow, all right?"

"Fine." The single word was spat out.

Without further discussion, Blair aided Jim upstairs and into his bed. Jim immediately closed his eyes, but Blair wasn't fooled. The younger man went back downstairs and returned a few minutes later with a warm damp cloth and the first aid kit.

"I'm going to clean up your face, Jim. Looks like Danner got a couple lucky punches in." Blair smiled, but it was lost on the sentinel whose eyes remained closed.

Blair carefully wiped away the blood from Jim's face, then placed antibiotic cream on the cut above his left eye and the one on his right cheekbone. When he was done, he gave in to temptation to rest his palm on Jim's warm forehead. "I'm going to bring you up some lunch."

"I'm not hungry."

"I can whip up--"

"I'm not hungry, Sandburg," Jim stated, keeping his eyes closed.

Blair remained seated on the edge of the bed, his hand still on Jim's brow, though now it moved soothingly from brow to crown. "Danner told me about you and him the first night in the hospital. When you couldn't remember anything from the previous three days, I didn't figure it would matter if I told you he'd stopped by."

"I don't want to talk about it, Sandburg." Jim finally opened his eyes, but they only settled fleetingly on Blair then focused on the ceiling. "I'm tired."

A lump lodged in Blair's throat and he could only nod. Picking up the cloth and the first aid kit, he left the bedroom. Keeping his mind blank, Blair cleaned up the kitchen, throwing out the Italian food Danner must've brought over. Once that was done, he moved into the living room to pick up the pieces of the broken coffee table. Three trips down to the garbage took care of that mess. Back in the apartment, Blair dropped into a dining room chair and looked into the living room, which seemed more spacious without the table between the couch and loveseat. He wondered if Jim would replace it.

Propping his elbows on the table, Blair buried his face in his hands. Professor Middleton had canceled the faculty meeting and Blair thought he'd surprise Jim by coming home early. They'd both been surprised. Blair hadn't figured Travis would be back to see Jim, but maybe it had been Jim's idea. Blair would've had to be blind not to notice Jim's restiveness-- his own equaled it.

He hated that Jim wouldn't talk to him about what happened; yet he understood with crystal clarity. Jim had hidden that side of himself so completely that even Blair, who'd lived with him for four years, hadn't even known about it. Then to have it exposed in such a degrading manner would've seriously wounded the proud, private man.

Jim had said he'd started seeing Terry, aka Travis, a couple weeks after Blair moved out. Blair also recalled Simon's words at the hospital, how Jim was acting strange at work, but as soon as Blair showed up, the sentinel was fine. Was there a correlation? With such flimsy evidence, it was hard to say, but Blair's intuition was telling him there was.

Based on that far-flung assumption, what should he do? The answer was obvious. And hadn't Jim said this would always be Blair's home, too?

Blair grabbed the phone and called Simon. Five minutes later, Blair made himself a cup of tea and a sandwich, and sat down to wait.

***

Jim shifted restlessly on the mattress. After spending the last twenty-four hours in bed, his own body odor was driving him crazy. Blair had come up a few times to try to coax him out of bed to eat something and force him to drink some water. The water he'd accepted, but just the thought of going downstairs to eat only made Jim sick to his stomach.

His face burned as he remembered Travis telling Blair about his perversions. What does Blair think of me now? His stomach churned and gurgled with acid's burn.

He listened, trying to discover where Blair was, but only silence greeted him. Silence? Even during the quietest times Jim could hear something. He glanced at his nightstand and noticed the white noise generator had been switched on. Frowning, he turned it off and the early Saturday afternoon noises assaulted him. He quickly tuned down his hearing and found a heartbeat. Only it wasn't Blair's. The faint cigar scent told him who was downstairs.

Footsteps on the stairs announced Simon's approach and when his dark head came into view, Jim eyed him warily. "What're you doing here?"

"Blair asked me to come over and stay with you." Simon lowered himself to the chair beside the bed. "How're you feeling?"

"Okay." Jim felt like a schoolboy brought into the principal's office.

"Sandburg told me Danner was here yesterday and you two had a miscommunication problem," Simon answered the unspoken question. He sighed. "I should've known he'd be a problem."

"What?"

"I came into your hospital room that first night to find Sandburg slugging your friend Danner." Simon chuckled. "Damn, that kid has a helluva right hook."

"What?"

Simon narrowed his eyes. "Is that the only word you're capable of, Ellison?"

Jim shook his head, trying to clear it. "I heard that Travis came to see me and told Blair about us. But I didn't know anything about Blair hitting him."

"You should've seen it, Jim. Sweet science. I wonder if his boxer friend used to give him lessons."

Jim raked a hand through his short hair. "I feel like I've stepped into the damned Twilight Zone."

Simon sobered. "You should've told the kid, Jim. He shouldn't have had to find out that way."

Jim leaned back against his pillow. "I couldn't, Simon. Hell, he knows everything else about me. I wanted to keep one part of myself from him."

"Why?"

Jim shot him a look. "What do you mean?"

"Why was it so important he didn't know? Were you afraid he'd be nervous living with you?"

"No. Blair is the most open-minded person I know. He wouldn't have cared if I was a shape-shifting panther."

"Whoa! Is there something you're not telling me?"

Jim couldn't stop a slight smile. "No, I'm not that much of a freak."

Simon leaned forward, his dark eyes lasers. "Damn it, Jim, you're not a freak at all. So you have some weird senses. Big deal. Everybody has their own little 'abnormalities.'"

Jim held up a hand. "All right, all right. I get it." He frowned. "Where's Blair?"

Simon glanced away and his heartbeat increased. "He had some errands to run."

"He went back to his place, didn't he?" Jim asked in a low voice.

"He asked me not to say anything." Simon forced a smile. "How about a shower? I don't have sentinel senses, but I can tell you could use one."

Although Jim suspected this would happen, it still hurt. He had hoped Blair would be more...what? Tolerant? Receptive? Or maybe their friendship wasn't as deep as Jim thought?

"Sure, sounds good, Simon." He tried to inject a note of enthusiasm, but knew he failed at the sympathetic look from his boss and friend.

Simon helped him into the bathroom and Jim noticed the doors to Blair's room were closed. Get over it, Ellison. He moved out once and you survived.

Barely.

While he was showering he heard the front door open and Blair's familiar voice. Relief at his return made Jim sag against the tiled wall. Blair and Simon talked for only a minute or two, then the police captain left. Jim turned off the water. A moment later, Blair entered the bathroom and the shower curtain was drawn back.

"Hey, man, I'll give you a hand stepping out of there," Blair said, his voice normal, with no hint of strain. Maybe Blair wasn't disgusted with what he'd learned about him. Or maybe he'd had enough time to hide his feelings. Either way, Jim didn't want to upset the familiar casual intimacy between them.

"Thanks, Chief. I'm still a little shaky," Jim said.

Jim allowed Blair to dry him as he ignored the younger man's soft curls which brushed his bare chest and arms, and his strong, square hands drawing the towel across his back and legs. Blair tugged on Jim's shorts and sweatpants, his touch impersonal, but gentle.

"Do you need help with the shirt or shaving?" Blair asked. His mouth dry, Jim could only shake his head. Blair smiled and gave his bare arm a gentle slap. "I'll go make you something to eat."

"What about you?"

Blair shrugged. "I ate a couple hours ago." His stomach growled and he grinned sheepishly. "Maybe it was longer ago than that. I'll make us both something."

Keeping his mind focused on the routine tasks, Jim finished up and shrugged into a Major Crime softball team T-shirt. Wary and nervous, Jim opened the bathroom door to find his cane leaning against the wall. A smile coaxed his lips upward and he hobbled into the kitchen.

Blair looked up from the stove where grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup were being made. "You're looking almost human again," the professor teased his friend.

"Coming from flannel boy, I'm not sure that's a compliment," Jim retorted, finding refuge in their characteristic banter.

Blair laughed and waved a pancake flipper at him. "Watch it, Ellison. I have spices and I know how to use them."

Jim felt his tension leaching away as he chuckled with his guide. "Smells good, Chief. I'm hungrier than I thought I was."

"You should be. You haven't eaten anything since yesterday morning. That is so not good for your body, man. I mean, hypoglycemia is a definite problem for you muscle-bound types. You let your blood sugar get too low and you're going to find yourself faint dead away, just like one of those romance heroines."

"I think that's called swooning, Sandburg."

"Yeah, well, whatever. You don't eat, you're going to faint, swoon, pass out, whatever you want to call it."

Blair's rambling told Jim he wasn't quite as relaxed as he wanted Jim to think. "Better check the grilled cheese sandwiches, Chief. I smell burning cheese."

Blair yelped and quickly flipped the sandwiches over in the frying pan. One corner of a sandwich was slightly dark.

"Anything I can do?" Jim asked.

"Nah. Just sit down."

Blair filled their bowls with soup, plopped sandwiches on plates, and set the tin containing crackers in the center of the table. Big glasses of water stood in front of each setting. Jim ate the comfort food gratefully, listening to Blair talk about his best student in his Intro class. Jim drank in his guide's enthusiastic voice and animated expression.

Jim caught a waving hand before it knocked over a glass of water. "Easy there, Darwin."

Blair's face flushed, making his blue eyes even more striking. "Sorry about that."

The younger man tried to withdraw his hand, but Jim held his wrist, enjoying the warmth and flow of his guide's lifeblood beneath his fingers. Blair's pulse kicked up a notch and his scent edged toward nervousness and into something more musky...and enticing.

"Going to let go any time soon, big guy?" Blair asked with a shaky grin and even shakier voice.

Jim released him immediately and concentrated on eating the late lunch. Now awkward silence sprang up between them and Jim cursed himself for spoiling the relaxed mood.

"Just stay sitting while I clean up," Blair said.

Not bothering to argue, Jim turned slightly to stare at the empty place in the living room where the coffee table had been. "I'll have to buy a new one," he said.

"Why replace it?" Blair asked, grabbing another pile of dirty dishes. "I kind of like the open look."

But it would be a reminder of Travis and all the unpleasantness associated with him. But, then, so would a new coffee table. Damned if he did and damned if he didn't. Pretty much the story of his life lately.

Blair piled the dishes in soapy water and finished cleaning up the kitchen.

"You don't have to stay, Blair. I'll be fine," Jim said, his throat feeling raw. He might as well get used to being alone again.

Blair came around to stand in front of him and Jim had to lift his gaze or stare at temptation in the form of Blair's snug-fitting black jeans.

"Where would I go?" Blair asked, a crooked smile dancing across his sensuous lips.

"Back to your apartment, I guess." Jim pushed himself upright, and Blair took hold of his bicep, helping him stand. Jim gripped his cane with a white-knuckled hand and made his way into the living room, only to remain standing in the center of the floor where the coffee table had been.

"Can't do that, man," Blair said, joining him.

Jim frowned. "Look, I appreciate your staying with me these past couple of weeks, but I don't need your help anymore."

Blair came around to stand in front of him, and his midnight blue eyes were too wise, too understanding "Don't you?" he asked softly.

Every instinct in James Ellison told him to run, but there was no place to go where Blair wouldn't follow him. Hadn't he learned that much about his guide in the past four years together? But this time there was something more in Blair's tone. "All right, so maybe I still need your help with these damned senses, but you don't have to stay with me to do that."

"Don't I?"

Blair's quiet, brief questions were more powerful than the longest entreaty he'd ever given, and Jim had no clue how to respond.

"What do you want, Sandburg, a signed confession that I need you for my senses? That I can't live without you? That I'm going to go fucking crazy if you move out again?" Jim's heart nearly stopped at his unplanned confession. He spun recklessly and his cane tangled with his legs. Warm, beloved hands caught and steadied him, never ceasing to amaze Jim by the strength in his guide's compact body.

"Yes, Jim, that's exactly what I want," Blair replied, his voice husky and laden with emotion.

Jim's breath caught in his lungs and his heart skipped a beat, then hammered against his ribs. Sound and sight expanded, contracted, and expanded again, leaving his control shattered.

"C'mon, Jim, don't do this, man. Jim, listen to my voice." Blair's words sounded distant and tinny, nothing like the soothing tones which Jim was so accustomed.

Jim strained to listen past the panic-stricken tone and find the one thing which could cut through the battering sensory influx. There, faint but steady, he found Blair's heartbeat and grasped onto it like a drowning man seizing flotsam. He focused on it, blocking out everything else, closing his eyes and envisioning the organ beating with its unique Blair rhythm.

Awareness trickled back as he forced his senses to expand away from their sanctuary. He was no longer standing, but was lying on the floor, his legs outstretched and his upper body pillowed by his refuge. Warm moistness caressed his neck and the side of his face, and the scent of Blair's breath--grilled cheese sandwiches, tomato soup, and his natural mintiness--wafted through him.

"Hey, Jim, you back with me, buddy?" Blair whispered. More warmth stirred across his neck and cheek.

Jim blinked open his eyes, re-working the controls as he focused on the loft's walls, then Blair's worried face inches from his own. "I-I think so."

Relief eased the etchings in Blair's brow and his muscles relaxed. "You scared the shit out of me, Jim. You haven't gone into a zone like that since the first year."

"How long?"

"Almost twenty minutes." Blair laid his palm against Jim's face. "Don't you ever do that to me again."

Tremors invaded the younger man's body and Jim's instinct to protect and care for his guide pushed aside his own weakness. He managed to wrap an arm around Blair's waist as they sat on the floor. "I'm sorry, Chief."

The guide's support of the sentinel turned into an embrace between the two men. Jim savored the sturdy, muscular body in his arms and the sensation of silky curls in his face. Once again, Jim had lost control, while Blair accepted it and returned it to its rightful owner. Blair had never once abused the power he held over him. And Jim knew deep in his heart, Blair never would. Everything his guide did for him had been done in the name of friendship and...love. Jim recognized that now.

"I didn't mean to scare you into a zone," Blair was saying against Jim's ear. A weak, watery chuckle. "But I can't keep this inside anymore, Jim. I love you, and I want you."

Hot blood rushed through Jim's veins at the thought of being able to give himself to Blair without the overwhelming fear of losing his own self. Hadn't Blair proved he would always give Jim what he needed?

Jim drew back and cupped the back of his guide's head in his hands. "I love you, too, Blair. I have for a long time." The younger man's eyes widened with surprise, then darkened with desire. Jim groaned and slanted his lips across Blair's, tasting his best friend without death between them, as it had been at the fountain all those months ago. He tasted sweet and sour and fresh and familiar.

They separated slowly as Jim touched his lips to Blair's brow. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I was afraid to tell you, afraid of what I might see in your eyes."

Blair framed Jim's face within his square palms. "What were you afraid to tell me? That you loved me?"

Jim tried to lower his gaze, but Blair wouldn't allow his retreat. The sentinel stared into Blair's dark blue eyes, seeing flecks of black and lighter blue within their depths. He could get lost in them, adrift within the love so apparent. He jerked himself from the edge of a zone and lifted a hand to the back of Blair's neck, where his fingers threaded through silky curls. "Yes, but more afraid of what I wanted. What I needed. Afraid you would think less of me."

"Never," Blair said unhesitantly. His heartbeat didn't waver as he stroked Jim's cheeks with his thumbs. "You're everything I dreamed a sentinel could be--courageous, compassionate, loyal, a protector in the truest sense. But you're so much more to me--my best friend, my strongest supporter, the one who worries about me when I don't come home on time, and the one who takes me to the hospital when I'm sick or hurt. You give and give and give, yet you take so little."

Jim's eyes filled with moisture. "How can you say that, Chief? I took your life!"

Blair's hands tightened on Jim. "No. You gave me back my life. Damn it, Jim. You're the reason I'm here now and the reason I have my doctorate."

"I wish I could believe that."

"Believe it." Blair's expression eased into a crooked smile. "I'm your guide. You have to listen to me."

Jim wished it were that simple, yet he knew it would be years before he could forgive himself for throwing Blair into Alex Barnes' evil and deadly talons.

Blair leaned forward so his forehead touched Jim's. "I love you and whatever you want or need, I'll give you. Gladly." He grinned and his eyes twinkled. "And I'm even going to enjoy it."

Jim snorted a laugh even as his insides felt like a bulldozer had passed through. There were no more secrets he held from this beautiful man, and yet Blair remained beside him. Still loving him.

"When you moved out, I couldn't stand being here. It was like I was this junkie--a Blair Sandburg junkie. I needed you in ways I can't even begin to explain. I laid awake at night, searching for a heartbeat I couldn't hear anymore. The restlessness just grew and grew until I thought I was going to explode." He paused, closing his eyes. "That's when I found Travis. He gave me what I thought I needed and I was able to sleep three or four hours at a time. But it always came back."

"And you kept going back to him," Blair interjected.

Jim opened his eyes, and saw concern and tenderness in his guide's face. He nodded woodenly. "Yes, until he went too far. I remember now what happened Thursday night." His face heated and he drew back, but Blair's arms around him kept him from withdrawing too far. "I had trouble with my senses for the first time with him." He left a multitude of words unspoken, praying Blair would accept without explanation.

The younger man studied him silently, and nodded. "He can't hurt you anymore, Jim. I won't let him."

Jim took a deep, tremulous breath. "I know. I was just so--"

"I know. But you don't have to worry about him anymore. You're mine now."

His possessive words sent a shiver of longing through Jim. "If you want an old worn-out soldier and cop."

Blair's eyes sparkled with mischief. "Oh, yeah, Ellison, you're real decrepit, old man." He skimmed one hand across the front of Jim's sweatpants.

"Oooh," Jim groaned, letting his head fall back as all his blood headed south.

"What do you say we take this upstairs?" Blair's voice was a throaty whisper.

Jim managed to rally the few remaining brain cells still working. "No. I want to make love here. On the floor."

"Your leg--"

"Will be okay if we take it easy."

Blair appeared skeptical. He eased away from Jim and stood. "Don't go away. I'll be right back."

Jim frowned, wondering if he had already chased him away. He listened to the younger man race into his room, then stop in the bathroom where the linen closet was opened. When Blair returned, his arms were overflowing with blankets and pillows. He tossed them down on the floor beside Jim, and ran upstairs to come back down a few moments later with the thick comforter and two pillows from Jim's bed.

"Scoot back to the couch, Jim," Blair said.

Smiling, Jim did so and watched Blair create a soft nest of blankets and pillows where the coffee table had sat. Blair was going to ensure his sentinel was comfortable. So different than... The past didn't matter anymore. Only the present and future.

"The honeymoon suite awaits you," Blair announced with a dramatic wave of his arm.

Jim's heart hammered in his chest as Blair helped him onto the fluffy pile. He barely noticed his healing leg as they lay down side by side, almost rolling into one another. They stared at each another for a long moment, as if each were afraid to make the first move, the move that would change their relationship forever. Doubts assailed Jim and he wasn't certain he could do this. This wasn't some man he picked up in a bar, but Blair, his best friend, his guide, and his love.

Blair reached for Jim, and brushed the older man's cheek with the back of his fingers. Jim had to close his eyes at the feathery sensation, which sent heat spiraling to his belly. Then Blair's mouth was against Jim's ear, hot and moist and oh-so-soft. "Let me take care of you, love."

Jim struggled to find the words. "You always do, Blair."

Smiling tenderly, Blair straddled Jim, a knee on either side of the sentinel's hips, and took control of the seduction. He slipped his hands beneath Jim's T-shirt, sliding them upward until he found the peaked nipples. Fingers played and teased them to pebble-like hardness. "You're so responsive, Jim. Just like I knew you would be. I want to see you. All of you, amante." Then he jerked Jim's shirt up and off, nearly ripping it in the process. Blair's palms splayed across Jim's smooth chest. "So beautiful," Blair whispered. He leaned down and nipped at Jim's jaw and neck. "And you're mine." He laved a small circle on the side of Jim's neck, then bit lightly and suckled the skin.

Jim whimpered. Yes, this was what he wanted, craved, and yearned for, although he'd been too cowardly to ask for it. But he should have known. With Blair, he wouldn't have to ask. Blair would simply know, just as he knew Jim like no one else did in the sentinel's forty years.

He turned up his sense of touch, unafraid of a zone, knowing Blair would bring him back. He rocked his hips up against Blair's groin and was rewarded with a loud hiss. His own hard cock bumped against Blair's denim-encased erection. Jim lifted his hands, wanting to bury them in the cavalcade of curls framing the beautiful face of his lover.

Blair growled, the low primal sound of a wolf taking its mate. He caught Jim's wrists in his hands and pressed them down on the pillows beside Jim's head. "No."

The one word command sent a shiver down Jim's spine and settled in the hot center of his passion. He could've fought Blair's handhold, but that was the last thing he wanted to do. To be this man's captive was something Jim hadn't even dared to think about, much less wish for. But, now, oh God, it was so very, very good. As close to perfection as Jim had ever been.

The play of Blair's thighs against his was both maddening and exhilarating. Jim groaned and the discomfort of his leg was forgotten as his cock's discomfort became paramount. He lifted his hips again, pumping upward to try to gain relief against Blair's groin.

"Don't move, amante." Command rang in Blair's voice and Jim willingly obeyed it. "You are going to lie there and let me do everything. Do you understand?"

Jim's belly tightened, sharpening his arousal to a higher pitch. "Yes." For a moment, Jim didn't know if he'd said it aloud or merely thought it.

But then Blair smiled and everything was contained in that smile-- adoration, power, lust, and the most important, overwhelming love.

Blair removed Jim's sweatpants and boxers carefully, heedful of his injured leg. As Blair stripped off his own clothes, he kept his gaze locked with Jim's. The sentinel turned up his sight, and drank in the vision of Blair's magnificent nakedness, from the thick chest hair, which tapered down to a surfeit of curls at the base of a jutting thick cock.

Blair pressed his body against Jim's and insinuated himself in Jim just as he did in the loft during those early days. Piece by piece, kiss by kiss, reaching deeper and deeper into James Ellison's life, heart, and soul.

Blood roared in Jim's ears as the passion rose higher and higher. Pleasure almost became pain as arousal became too sharp, too powerful to deny any longer. For one split second, Jim was afraid Blair would continue the ascent to pain, but Blair wasn't like anyone else he'd been with.

Because Blair was his lover, and not just a sex partner. And Blair knew Jim and loved him.

"Roll onto your stomach, amante. Carefully," Blair whispered, his voice raspy with desire.

With Blair's help, Jim settled onto his belly with two soft pillows beneath his hips. He groaned, shifting so his erection wasn't crushed against a cushion. There was a slight twinge in his wounded leg, but it was easily ignored with other parts of his body demanding immediate attention.

With strong, gentle fingers, Blair prepared him for what he knew Jim wanted and needed. The sensation of his guide's sturdy fingers inside him nearly made him climax.

"Turn it down, Jim," Blair said sentinel-soft. "I want us to come together."

The thought of what Blair was finally going to do to him filled Jim with excitement and apprehension. He'd wanted this for so long and he was so afraid he wouldn't make it good for his younger lover. Yet he couldn't stop the ache, the emptiness which yearned to be filled with Blair's acceptance and strength.

The smell of latex and more KY filled Jim's nostrils. Tremors glided along his nerves as he waited anxiously for the first blunt touch of Blair's cock at the entrance to his body.

"Are you sure, Jim? Is this what you want?" Blair whispered, his curly hair falling across Jim's neck and shoulders.

For the first time since Blair's command, Jim raised his hand and awkwardly touched Blair's cheek with his fingertips. The younger man leaned into the hand, then turned his head and kissed the center of Jim's palm.

"I love you, Jim. Whatever you want, I'll give you." Blair's husky voice radiated passion and desire. "Anything and everything."

And because Jim knew Blair and loved him, he gave his body and heart's consent. "I want you. Forever."

Blair smiled and Jim could smell the saltiness of withheld tears, but he didn't know if they were his or Blair's.

"You have me. Always and forever," Blair vowed.

Then Jim was being filled with that which he never thought he would possess, even as he was possessed by that which he never thought he would find. As Blair slid into him, Jim marveled at the perfect fit and something inside Jim clicked and broke free. There was no holding back, no need to withhold that which Blair had owned since the beginning. Blair was finally home where he belonged--with Jim and inside Jim.

Blair moved slowly at first, allowing Jim's body to grow accustomed to him, open fully to him. He was careful not to put too much weight on him, not wanting to do damage to his healing leg, and Jim loved him even more for his concern. Jim could feel each and every ridge of Blair's hard length deep within him, massaging his prostate with every thrust. Arrows of lava raced through Jim's veins as his belly coiled with his nearing orgasm. Blair kissed his neck, then nipped his shoulders. And the realization that it was his guide and best friend inside him, controlling him, loving him, sent Jim flying over the precipice first, followed moments later by Blair filling him and giving back to Jim what he had given so freely to him.

Blair eased out of Jim and collapsed to his side, remembering even in his semi-stupor to be careful of Jim's injured leg. Jim lay panting, but his senses were sharp and clear, enjoying the aftershocks of the incredible lovemaking. He heard Blair remove the condom and wrap it in a tissue.

"Roll over, amante," Blair whispered.

Jim shifted to lie on his back, and using a handful of tissues, Blair tenderly cleaned him.

The younger man laid back down, close to Jim's side and pulled a blanket over their cooling bodies. Jim wrapped his arms around the smaller man, who rested his head above Jim's heart and wound one arm around his waist. Jim kissed Blair's silky crown. "I should have told you a long time ago." He took a shaky breath. "After you moved out, everything felt wrong."

Blair shifted so he could meet Jim's gaze. "You were scared you were going to lose control of your senses and since I wasn't here to help, it was a real and valid fear."

"But we've spent time apart before."

"But you always knew I'd return. When I moved out, you didn't have that assurance anymore."

Jim frowned. "So why did I go looking for"--his cheeks flushed--"for a man?"

Blair's brow furrowed in thought and Jim couldn't help but trace one of those wrinkles with a light fingertip. The freedom to touch his guide so intimately was heaven for the sentinel.

"I'm not sure. Maybe you were looking for a substitute for me."

Jim froze as ice filled his veins. "Never, Chief. You're the only guide I ever want."

"Thanks, Jim. You don't know how much that means to me." Blair rose up to give him a quick kiss. "You've given me everything, Jim--control over your senses and your body." He paused. "And your heart."

"Because I love you and I trust you." Jim had never said truer words in his life.

Blair's eyes glimmered with moisture. "I can live with that."

Jim chuckled and wrapped both arms around Blair once more, then rolled them over so Blair lay on the floor looking up at Jim. "You're going to move back here," Jim ordered.

Blair's lips twitched. "No can do, Jim."

"Why not?"

"Because I already moved back."

Jim's mouth dropped open. "When?"

"This morning."

"Why didn't I hear--" The answer was obvious. "The white noise generators."

"I didn't want you to know. I figured it would be harder for you to kick me out if all my stuff was back."

"The only place I'm going to kick you out of is your old room. You're moving upstairs with me," Jim growled.

"Yes, Jim," Blair said meekly, but his eyes twinkled with mischief as he rubbed his awakening cock against Jim's.

"I don't think I'll replace the coffee table," Jim said with an uneven voice.

"Why's that?"

"Every time I look at this place now, I'll think of our first time." He lowered his head and kissed the corner of Blair's full lips.

Blair smiled and waggled his eyebrows. "And our second, third, and fourth times, too."

Jim threw back his head and laughed, leaving his neck exposed to his lover, who wasted little time turning his words into promises.

~finis~

[ Feedback to Romslinger ] | [Back to Story List]

Acknowledgments: To Patt for inviting me to join the wild and crazy and wonderful MME group; to my beta Elaine, for her timely and efficient work; and to Elegy, for the beautiful pictures to add depth and texture to the story. And a special thank you to Corinne for the last piece of art in the story.