Archive of Our Own

Just Remember I Love You by Candy Apple

Disclaimer: All original characters belong to the author. All TS characters belong to Pet Fly. Wonder if they'd be willing to trade?

Notes: Thanks to my beta, Virginia Call. Song lyrics, in order of appearance, are from Firefall's "Just Remember I Love You" and The Carpenters' "I Won't Last A Day Without You".

Summary: Jim and Blair deal with a difficult case, the repercussions of Blair's past and ghostly disturbances.

Warnings: m/m (is that a warning or a promise? ), angst, references to past physical/sexual abuse, some sexual assault content, violence, language, and some supernatural stuff.

Just Remember I Love You - Part one
by Candy Apple

//When the blues come callin' at the break of dawn
The rain keeps fallin' but the rainbow's gone
When you feel like cryin' but the tears won't come
When your dreams are dyin', when you're on the run
Just remember I love you and it'll be all right
Just remember I love you more than I can say
Maybe then your blues will fade away//

Blair sat back on his heels and surveyed his work. These were the times he cursed himself--fluently, and in a couple of dead languages--for deciding there should be a garden behind the house. When Jim had agreed that would be a splendid idea, he hadn't volunteered to be on the work crew. And, as fate would have it, with the University ending the semester and leaving him with a light summer teaching load, he had very little excuse not to follow through, and even less excuse to complain at Jim for not doing more. As soon as the weather started warming up, people seemed to like killing each other even more, and Jim's caseload generally grew.

Grumbling as he straightened up with a little groan, he smiled at the thought of the massage he could wheedle out of Jim later. A few pained groans and a little trouble getting up from the dinner table would do the trick.

Wiping his forehead on the back of his gloved hand, he squinted at the early May sun, wondering why it had to get so blasted hot this early in the year on the one year when he was single-handedly landscaping a garden. A little breeze ruffled the curls that had broken loose from the pony tail, unusual in its coolness for the heat of the day. The windchimes on the back porch sang beautifully, and Blair smiled. He had no proof moments like these were any more than the wind, but he had the uncanny feeling that Michael's spirit still lingered, and on occasion, made himself known.

"Morning, Michael. Wanna do some digging?" Blair joked, liking the feeling of companionship that came with the presence of their resident ghost. While making contact with Brian had left Michael at peace with himself, it hadn't necessarily prompted him to relinquish his hold on the mortal plane. He seemed more than happy to reside in the house with Jim and Blair, whether he was invited or not.

In response to Blair's humorous question, the pace of the breeze picked up, and the windchimes rattled noisily. The temperature of the air seemed to plummet until Blair shivered slightly, and then, as suddenly as it had begun, the little tempest ended. Puzzled, and more than a little unnerved, Blair pulled off his gloves and moved toward the now-silent windchimes.

"Michael?" Blair touched one of the lower chimes, and snatched his hand back. The little metal tube was ice cold to the touch, and wet with condensation. "Come on, Michael, if this is you, it's not funny, man." Blair rolled his eyes a bit at scolding a ghost, but he still felt a real line of communication open between himself and the deceased musician, and if Michael had just caused this phenomenon, Blair wanted to know why.

Satisfied he wasn't about to get an answer, Blair reluctantly went back to the strip of tilled mud where he was planting a row of rosebushes. Trying to shake off the unease of what had just happened, he picked up the hand-written instructions Elaine Halstead had mailed him. He sighed, sad that her knee replacement surgery had come up when it had, making it impossible for her to participate in the project that they had planned together. Elaine had a marvelous eye for designing a garden, and an even better touch with roses.

He resumed his planting tasks, determined to at least get the rosebushes in that day. He and Jim had put up the gazebo the previous weekend, and the roses were to line the path from the gazebo to the house, which had just been completed with a pale, sandy-colored brick. Elaine had offered a host of suggestions for other flowering plants and shrubs, including lilac bushes, which were sitting in their pots, lined up along the back of the garage. That was a project for two, since the bushes were reasonably large, and Blair could think of better ways to throw out his back than dragging trees around.

He was interrupted by the ringing of the cell phone, which he'd left in the shade of a large oak tree, in a lawn chair.

"Hello?" he answered, grabbing it by the fourth ring.

"How's the gardening going?" Jim asked cheerfully.

"Shut up," Blair snapped back with mock irritation, a smile in his voice.

"It's a hot one out there. Good thing the air conditioning's working here at HQ."

"Jim, I swear to God, you're a dead man."

"Feel free to put me through several 'little deaths' when I get home."

"You are alone, right?" Blair responded, laughing and sitting in the lawn chair.

"Actually, I'm in the middle of a meeting with the Chief. Of course I'm alone, dummy. Just wondered if you wanted me to bring something home for dinner."

"Jim, it's eleven in the morning."

"Well, I'm hungry, so I got thinking about it."

"It's your turn to cook."

"Like I said, what do you want me to bring home for dinner?" Jim was smiling now. Blair could hear it in his voice.

"How about that new chicken place?"

"Okay. Chicken, rice, salad, rolls--sound good?"

"Great."

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah, fine. I'm just tired. I've been at this since you left."

"Take a break, Chief. It's hot out there--all joking aside."

"That's what I'm doing while I talk to you. I'm in the shade of that big oak tree, lying in the grass, naked in the shade."

"You're sitting in a lawn chair, stinking like a pohlcat, talking on the phone."

"Geez, Jim, work with me here. Talk about the death of romance in a relationship."

"Happens when you take out the mortgage together."

"Ah." Blair nodded.

"Something's wrong."

"Well, not exactly. Something weird just happened. There was this cool breeze, in the middle of all this heat, and then the windchimes went sort of crazy...but the weird part was that it got cold. There was condensation on the chimes."

"That is weird." Jim was quiet a minute. "You do something to get Michael pissed off at you?"

"I thought it was Michael, at first, but the cold--it just wasn't like him."

"You don't think...?" Jim didn't want to say Gavin's name, but the thought that the evil presence might be back sprang to Blair's mind at the same time.

"No. I don't." Blair's voice was firmer than his conviction.

"Well, if anything else like that happens, give me a call, just in case, huh?"

"Yeah, I will. Hey."

"What?"

"I love you." Blair smiled as he said it, imagining Jim's answering smile.

"I love you too, sweetheart. Get that garden in fast, huh? This working alone stuff sucks."

"Amen to that, my brother," Blair replied, laughing a little. "Okay. Talk to you later, lover."

"Let me know if anything else happens."

"I will."

After the conversation ended, Blair let out a long sigh and stared at the partially completed project. Hauling himself out of the chair, he went back to work.

The shower was a more than welcome end to a long, miserable day of yard work. Blair was, however, fairly pleased with himself for sticking with it until all the rosebushes were planted. Though they were all just leafy and a bit scrawny at the moment, he hoped that in another month or two, the garden would boast at least a few flowers here and there.

Flushing off the sweat and grime of the afternoon, he closed his eyes and moved directly under the spray. He lurched back with a yelp as the water turned ice cold, turning the feeling of refreshment into an unwelcome chill to warm skin.

"Dammit!" He quickly turned off the water and got out of the shower, grabbing a towel to dispel a bit of the chill. "Stupid son-of-a-bitchin' old pipes!" he groused at the plumbing, which had, up until now, behaved itself admirably for a house of that age. Of course, the plumbing was considerably newer than the house, but Blair was ranting, and he wasn't about to let a little thing like logic deter him.

When he'd pulled on his robe, he turned on the taps again and waited for the water flow. The water turned warm as he increased the hot water ratio, just as it should.

"What the...?" Feeling more than a bit uneasy now, he turned off the water and swung open the door of the bathroom and let out what came dangerously close to a scream. He felt his heart thundering in his chest when he saw it was Jim, standing there in boxers, holding a towel.

"You okay, Chief? Didn't mean to scare you--I was planning on joining you. I just got home and I heard the water..." Jim wound his arms around his robe-clad partner and kissed his neck. "What's wrong?"

"Oh, man," Blair said through a gasp. "This has been one seriously weird day around here." He slid his arms around Jim's middle and enjoyed the embrace. "First the crap with the windchimes, and now the water goes berserk."

"What happened with the water?"

"It just went ice cold all of a sudden, while I was showering. Then when I tried it again, it was all right."

"Maybe you used up all the hot water and it needed time to refill--"

"No, because I wasn't using much hot water. I was warm from being outside, so I was keeping it cooler, to refresh me a little."

"About all we can do is check out the hot water heater."

"I don't think it's that." Blair pulled back. "I think something's going on. With the house."

"Something more than Michael and the incredible moving videotapes?" Jim said with a smile, referring to the mysterious re-ordering of a shelf of videos, which had been attributed to their friendly resident ghost.

"Michael's never tried to scare me before, Jim. Even when things were at their worst--it was like we were allies, even then. But now...if this is him, he's turning on me for some reason."

"You're really spooked about this, aren't you, sweetheart?" Jim took Blair by both shoulders and kissed his forehead.

"Earlier, outside...it was really unnerving, you know? But this-- this was like...being attacked."

"Let's look at it this way--you weren't hurt either time--just annoyed, right?"

"Yeah, that's true."

"Listen, I'm going to grab a quick shower before we eat, okay?"

"Yeah, fine. I'll go set the table and stuff." Blair started down the hall.

"Hey, Chief?"

"What?" He paused at the head of the stairs, hand on the railing.

"I'm not blowing this off. We'll look into it somehow."

"Okay," Blair responded, smiling as Jim retreated into the bathroom. Somehow, he always knew what Blair needed to hear.

Blair set the table and stuck the chicken dinners in the oven to keep them warm. While he re-tossed the take out salad in its container and added a little more dressing, the phone rang.

"Hello?"

"I'm coming to get you," a low, guttural voice declared.

"Yeah, sure, have a nice day," Blair responded, hanging up the phone and shaking his head. He'd gotten a few prank calls from having his home phone number printed on his course outlines, but overall he preferred the openness with his students. Some were hang-ups, but most of them were something equally inventive as this most recent caller.

"What was that all about?" Jim asked as he entered the kitchen. Not sure if Jim overheard it or not, Blair shrugged.

"Crank call. Probably some kid who didn't like his grade. They're about due in the mail today or tomorrow."

"I wish you'd let me follow up on those."

"They're a waste of time, man. If someone wanted to truly have a confrontation, they'd come to see me face to face. These are cowards who hide behind the phone company. Besides, I've gotten like a grand total of ten in my whole teaching career. Not really worth worrying about."

"Did it come in on your line?"

"Uh huh," Blair responded, pulling the dinners back out of the oven. "You know, this isn't a substitute for cooking. You're not off the hook."

"What do I have to do to make it up to you?" Jim asked, sitting down at the table and opening his box of chicken pieces.

"I'll think of something."

"Got anything on under that robe?"

"What d'you think?" Blair retorted, flexing his eyebrows. Jim, who was dressed in shorts and a tank shirt, smiled a bit wickedly.

"I think we ought to eat fast." Jim reached over and squeezed Blair's knee as the other man sat down close to him at the table.

"Anything new with the Evans case?" Blair asked, digging into his food.

"Nothing. Actually, it's not even a case. I mean, the guy hasn't done anything. He's just stalking her."

"Guys like that often murder their ex's. I just hate that we have to wait 'til that happens to help her."

"Me too. But she didn't follow through on pressing those assault charges, so when the victim won't cooperate, there isn't much we can do." Jim noted the silence that followed and looked up. Blair was staring into his dinner, his appetite seeming to grind to a halt. "Blair, I didn't mean--"

"I know. It's just that I know how she feels."

"I know you do, sweetheart." Jim leaned over and kissed Blair's cheek. "I wasn't judging you--or her--when I said that."

"I'm sorry. Guess I didn't realize that nerve was still as raw as it is." Blair smiled a little, then looked into Jim's troubled face. "It's okay. You can still have my wing," Blair said, smiling more broadly now, holding out the coveted chicken piece that Jim always eye-balled when they had these dinners.

"After dinner," Jim said, taking the offered food, "I want the rest of you."

"I don't know. I'm pretty wiped out from all that yard work," Blair said, feigning seriousness. He fought a smile as Jim leaned in so close that his breath ruffled Blair's curls that were still damp from the shower.

"I'm thinking nice, slow, long, full body massage, a nice rubdown with that vanilla massage oil," a flick of the tongue around the shell of Blair's ear, then, "a tongue bath," Jim smiled as Blair dropped his fork, "an all over, no spots missed, tongue bath," he continued, then nipped at the earlobe. "And then..." Jim withdrew and went back to his dinner. "But if you're too tired--"

"Shut up and eat your dinner, Ellison. You'll need your strength for later," Blair retorted after clearing his throat.

"Not to belabor the subject, but I'm still calling in a few favors with some uniforms I know to keep an eye on Evans during their patrols. It's all unofficial, but maybe it'll help."

"I'm glad," Blair responded, smiling.

"Simon and Daryl are coming over this weekend to help with planting the big shrubs. Of course, I had to promise them a cookout."

"Which means Rafe, Henri, Joel, Megan, Rhonda, Sam, Serena, Dan and his wife and their kids, right?"

"Well, the word does sort of spread."

"We shouldn't have done such a damn good job on that pig roast last summer."

"Oh well, if they come to eat, they come to work, so maybe we'll get that garden in faster than we thought."

"I wish Elaine could have worked on it more." Blair shook his head. "She laid out the whole thing with the roses. I just wish she could be involved."

"How's she feeling?"

"I talked to her yesterday. She's getting around pretty well, so I hope she can come out and see how it's coming. I told her I'd go get her and drive her out here when she feels up to it. I think maybe the cookout would be fun for her--she could sort of sprawl out in a lounge chair and supervise."

"Sounds like a good idea," Jim agreed, dipping his fork into Blair's potatoes, which he knew wouldn't be completely eaten by their owner. "I'm going to try to get off work part of tomorrow afternoon so I can give you a hand."

"Or whatever," Blair added, flexing his eyebrows.

Blair sighed luxuriously, sprawled on his stomach on the big beach towel Jim had spread on the bed. Every inch of his body felt the soothing effects of a sentinel-touch massage, and it was only his arousal at the thought of what was coming that kept him awake at all. He smelled the vanilla just before Jim warmed it in his hands and then started to gently rub it into the skin of Blair's shoulders and back.

"Feels good," Blair said softly.

"He speaks," Jim quipped, a smile in his voice. "I was beginning to think you were dead."

"If I am, this is heaven, and you're the sexiest angel I ever saw." Blair grinned as Jim laughed at that. Clad only in a pair of blue silk boxers, Jim was a vision that would have put any angel Blair had ever seen to sorry shame.

"Feeling better, baby?"

"Feel like I have no bones. It's great."

"You want to go to sleep?" Jim asked, doing very well at schooling the desire out of his voice for anyone but his lover, who knew him only too well.

"Eventually, I'd like to pass out from sexual exhaustion." Jim laughed at that comment from Blair, leaning down and kissing the middle of the younger man's back.

"I think we can arrange that one, Chief."

"I just wanna lie here and enjoy it, man." Blair spread his legs a bit, wriggling his rear invitingly.

"You're a sexy little shit, you know that, don't you?" Jim worked the oil into Blair's back, moving down his spine languidly.

"I do my best," Blair retorted.

Strong hands rubbed his lower back gently, then, with a new coating of oil, made their way down to his buttocks, kneading and massaging the firm globes until Blair was humping the mattress in time with the movements.

"Patience, baby. I still wanna have my dessert," Jim whispered into Blair's ear, then straightened again, removing his hands. Blair closed his eyes and tried to settle down his own excitement. Jim's dessert remark hadn't helped matters.

He heard movement, and when he made the mistake of looking behind him, he saw that Jim had discarded the flimsy boxers. The larger man then climbed on the bed on all fours, placing his hands and knees on either side of Blair. A hot tongue drew a long, slow path down the middle of Blair's back.

"Mmmm...vanilla Blair," Jim said huskily, before dipping down for another lick.

"You like it better than raspberry Blair?" Blair teased, referring to the last flavored body oil they'd tried.

"This is more subtle. I taste more of you and less of the oil."

"That's a good thing?"

"Oh yeah," Jim said, laughing a little as he concentrated his efforts on Blair's shoulders. By moving up and not down, Blair was convinced Jim was just being contrary. "Love you, sweetheart," Jim whispered against the skin of Blair's spine as he moved down toward its base. "So good, baby..." Jim moved to the right buttock and began painting it with broad strokes of his tongue.

"Jim...oh, man...I'm close."

"Breathe, baby. Wanna taste all of you first," he responded, moving to the left buttock to prove his point. Without being asked, Blair drew his knees up under himself and spread his legs, exposing all his most sensitive parts to Jim's searching tongue.

Moving away for a moment, Jim found the massage oil and proceeded to run a couple of well-lubed fingers up from just behind Blair's balls, over his perineum and past the now-twitching pucker. He repeated the motion several times, grinning at the broken moans of pleasure it was dragging out of his languid lover.

"Please...more..." Blair groaned, trying to thrust against Jim's elusive fingers.

"Tell me what you want, baby," Jim said softly, keeping up the maddening stroking. "Ask for it, baby," he added, smiling and kissing Blair's back.

"No." The word was small, broken and completely tore Jim out of his passion-fogged haze. He looked up to see Blair's hands covering his ears. "Not like that," he added, tears straining his voice.

"Blair? What's the matter?" Thoughts of sex games fast disappearing, Jim's only concern was the thundering of Blair's heart and the hands that were clamped over the younger man's ears as if to keep out all sound. "Baby, tell me what's wrong." He moved up to gently pull at Blair's right wrist, but there was firm resistance. Jim knew whatever he had done, it had upset Blair terribly, but what that thing was, he had no idea. He'd been gentle, playful...they'd gone at it much faster and harder than this most of the time.

"Don't say things like that," Blair managed.

"Like what, honey? Tell me?"

"Don't make me ask for it!" Blair blurted out, tears coming with the shout.

"You mean...oh, man." Jim sat back on his heels on the bed. "Shit." He looked at Blair, who only moved enough to straighten out his legs and lie flat on his stomach. The oil-sheened back started shaking with tears. "Forgive me, sweetheart?" Jim asked softly, stroking Blair's hair. "I didn't know."

"I know," Blair responded. "Not your fault."

"Come here." Jim stretched out on the bed and encouraged Blair into his arms. "That was a stupid thing to do. I just never thought about it. I guess because there's nothing I wouldn't give you."

"It's...not...you," Blair managed through the hitches in his breathing.

"I know. It's Wa--"

"Don't say his name."

"I won't, baby. I won't." Jim held his shaking lover close, rocking them slightly. "Shhh. It's okay. I'm right here."

"It's not...your fault. I'm just...the night...the last time...he said that... It was really bad."

"Brought all those memories back in a rush, huh?" Jim felt a nod against his chest. "I won't ever say anything like that to you again, baby. I promise. I was just kidding around."

"I don't...want you...to have to...follow a script...when we...make love," Blair choked out. "It's not fair."

"You being hurt wasn't fair, angel. Whatever we have to do to make it good for both of us--well, that's just what we have to do. Blair, you're never going to know how much I love you because I know I can't say it well enough so you really get it. But these little things you need to be comfortable...they're not anything at all compared to how it feels to make love to you. You give me all the scripts you want. You're worth learning some lines for."

"It's been almost two years. I should be okay."

"You are okay. You've just got some bad memories." Jim rubbed Blair's back slowly, relieved to feel the muscles relaxing, and the tears quieting.

"I love you so much," Blair whispered, almost inaudibly.

"I know you do, baby. I love you too."

"What about...you were on the edge and I just...freaked out and now--"

"I'm okay. Let's go grab a shower and see what develops, huh?" Jim smiled as he kissed Blair's cheek, waiting for Blair to move back enough to aim at his lips. When he did manage to capture Blair's mouth, it was with infinite gentleness.

"I want to make love with you, I really do." Blair leaned his forehead against Jim's chest and let out a long sigh. "Everything was so perfect, man. And then I screwed it all up."

"We didn't screw it up, baby. Either one of us. We just ran into a bad memory. I wish I could take all those out of your head, but I can't. So we just have to handle them together, best we can."

"I can handle anything as long as I'm with you."

"Ditto, Chief," Jim responded, smiling widely and hugging Blair tight against him briefly. "Let's hit the showers. This vanilla's getting on my nerves."

"Too much of a good thing, huh?"

"I think I'd prefer undistilled Blair," Jim retorted, patting Blair's butt before sitting up and sliding to the edge of the bed. When he was standing, he reached a hand back to Blair and pulled him to his feet.

"Jim--listen."

"Yeah, I know, those fucking windchimes again."

"They were a present from my mom," Blair retorted, a bit punitively.

"Your mom doesn't know what kind of ears I've got, Chief. I hear those blasted things every time I turn around."

"You really hate them that much?" Blair asked. Looking down into those big blue eyes, Jim felt like a complete ass for venting his displeasure with the windchimes at this particular moment.

"No. I guess I'm just a little wired from...you know..." Jim shrugged it off.

"Listen to them, though--man, this is weird. Look outside." Blair called Jim's attention to the window at the end of the hall. The large oak tree near it wasn't moving a single leaf.

"No wind."

"Not that much, anyway. Jim, something's going on here."

"Come on. Grab your robe." Jim headed into the bedroom and pulled on his robe, while Blair did the same.

"Do you feel anything?" Blair asked as Jim picked up his gun and headed for the hallway.

"Like what?" Jim continued into the shadowy hall, which was almost darkened as the last feeble rays of sunshine succumbed to dusk. He started down the stairs with Blair close on his heels.

"You know...uh...cold spots or anything."

Jim stopped dead in his tracks and turned to look up at his lover, two steps behind him.

"Nothing like that."

"Good," Blair replied, letting out a long sigh.

"I don't hear anything either--I don't really think anyone's in the house." Jim walked back toward the kitchen until they stood by the back door, watching the windchimes jangling wildly on what was an almost completely still evening. He opened the door and stepped out on the porch, and the chimes stopped. He reached up toward them hesitantly, and drew back his hand quickly.

"What is it?" Blair asked, knowing too well what Jim had felt.

"Ice cold. They're so damned cold, there's condensation on them."

"Just like earlier."

"Yeah, I guess. Is that what happened?"

"Mmhm," Blair nodded. "What're we gonna do?"

"I wish I knew."

"I wish I knew why Michael's freaking out all of a sudden."

"You're convinced it's Michael?"

"I've never felt like he completely left. I feel like he's at peace with things, but he's still here. As if he likes it here. I don't always feel him around, but sometimes, it's like I suddenly don't feel alone in a room or I get this really nice feeling--like the way you feel when a friend comes up to greet you. And we both have noticed stuff out of place."

"Mae seemed to think you could--what did she call it--'walk easily among the dead'?"

"That's nice and creepy, isn't it?"

"Part of the Shaman package, Chief."

"Yeah, I know. But I've never felt any threat from Michael. This is really making me uneasy, man."

"I'm with you on that one," Jim responded honestly. "Guess we might as well go in and grab that shower, huh?"

"Sounds good. Look, Jim, about before, I'm really sorry. It wasn't your fault."

"It wasn't yours either, sweetheart." Jim paused. "You want to talk about it?"

"There isn't much to say that you don't already know." Blair let out a long breath and leaned his butt against the porch railing, crossing his arms over his chest. "The very worst incident with Vince came about because of...well, I guess you'd call it a battle of wills. He was trying to make me say things I wouldn't say, and he was doing things I thought were totally unacceptable, and I just snapped. I refused to say what he told me to say--I wouldn't obey him, in other words. It was the night he smashed the laptop. I just got royally pissed at him for that--and some other shit he was pulling...and so he started manhandling me and yanking me around by my hair, and trying to make me 'ask for it'."

"Every time you tell me something about that bastard, I think it's the worst thing you could possibly tell me. And every time, it seems to get worse."

"That wasn't terribly unique in and of itself--him making me say things or do things I didn't want to. Me resisting it for more than a time or so was the unique element, and that's what pushed him over the edge into what happened."

"The time he hurt you the worst."

"Yeah--well, I guess the second worst, because the worst time, I would have died if you hadn't shown up when you did. But he was so damned...sadistic with me when I wouldn't cooperate. Maybe part of me wanted him to kill me. I don't know. I had to be nuts to fight him like that." Blair looked into Jim's troubled face. "This isn't solving anything, man. I'm okay, Vince is dead, and it's over. Well, mostly."

"I want you talk about it when you feel like you need to."

"I know. I do." Blair smiled, then became serious again. "But the big thing is, I don't want us to be a prisoner to the...sick shit that happened between Vince and me. That's not what we're about, and I know that. I don't want you to stop teasing me or playing with me in bed--I don't want you to be afraid to be spontaneous or to do something you think'll be fun or different or sexy because I might get upset. In my head, I know you aren't going to hurt me. In my heart I know it too. If I get blind sided with a flashback or a painful memory, we can deal with that."

"Hey, let's go grab that shower and relax for a while, huh?"

"What about...?" Blair let the question trail off, and Jim took a gentle hold of his shoulders. Blair couldn't help but make the mental comparison of how gentle Jim's hands were compared to others he'd had on his arms that had left finger-sized bruises in their wake. The hands rubbed a little now, jarring him back to reality.

"You know what I'd really like to do?"

"What?"

"Take that shower and get all this vanilla slime off us, crawl into bed and watch the rest of the baseball game on the tube."

"If you get the beer and popcorn, I'll straighten up the bed."

"Deal. Just don't miss your mouth with those big handfuls you take. I don't want lost popcorn kernels going up my butt for the next several nights." Jim kissed his lover and then took his hand, steering them back into the house.

The windchimes hung stock still, motionless despite the breeze that tried to stir them. Neither man noticed the conspicuous silence.

Jim opened his eyes and took in the room, raising up slightly to verify his keen hearing's determination that all was well. All except for Blair, who was still wide awake at three in the morning. Spooned up behind the smaller man, Jim moved his hand up gently to Blair's forehead and kissed the back of his head at the same time.

"Turn off the brain, Darwin. Get some sleep," he said gently.

"It's windy outside."

"So?"

"Don't you notice anything unusual?"

"No."

"No windchimes."

"You're right." Jim raised up a little in the bed. "You really like those silly things, don't you?" Jim smiled as he spoke, and it came through in his voice.

"Sometimes when I can't sleep, they're like a lullaby. Naomi always had windchimes when I was little. When I'd be lying awake and feel scared or lonely or have a bad dream or something--they were like...like someone singing to me."

"I could sing to you, Chief," Jim quipped. "That ought to be enough to put anything to sleep."

"Hey--I like it when you sing to me."

"Yeah, well, don't let it get around. It'll ruin my image as a macho cop."

"No more than buying a house with your boyfriend did."

"Yeah, there's that," Jim admitted, laughing softly. "I'll go see what's up with the windchimes."

"I'm coming too."

"Stay here and try to relax, sweetheart. God, you're tighter than a bowstring."

"Something's wrong, Jim. Something in the house...and I think I'm just picking up on it. I feel...scared. And I don't understand why. Look, I'd rather come with you if you're going downstairs."

"Sure. Whatever you want, Chief." Jim got out of bed and Blair followed him, making yet another trek down the long staircase to investigate the activity of the windchimes.

Midway down the stairs, the chimes began to rattle, jangle and ring loudly, as if a gale force wind was battering them. Blair shot a quick gaze out the window to see that the branches on the trees were not moving at all.

"God, Jim, make 'em stop!" He covered both ears and dropped against the wall, sliding down until his butt landed on a step. "MAKE THEM STOP!!!"

"Stay here, baby." Jim bounded down the rest of the steps and through the kitchen. Once on the porch, he yanked the rattling chimes from their hook and strode angrily across the lawn toward the woods. With an angry flick of his wrist, he hurled the offending decoration as far into the woods as they would go. Satisfied he had silenced them, he hurried back inside to find Blair still huddled on the stairs.

"They're gone, sweetheart. It's okay." He sat on the step next to Blair and pulled his lover into his arms, rubbing Blair's back in long strokes. "It's okay."

"No, Jim, it's not. God, I'm scared."

"Of the damn chimes? They're history."

"No, of what they're saying. Of why they were ringing."

"Tomorrow, first thing, we'll call Kelli and see if we can get Mae back out here."

"Really?" Blair pulled back, looking up at Jim with a mixture of shock and relief.

"Really. For tonight, things seem to be quieted down, so let's turn in, huh? Come on." Jim stood and guided Blair to do the same, leading him back to their room. He closed and locked the door behind them, more for Blair's peace of mind than his own.

When they were snuggled back under the covers, spooned together again, Jim moved his hand soothingly over Blair's chest and belly.

"Come on, Chief, settle down. Go to sleep."

"What do you think's happening?"

"I don't know. But I don't feel any cold spots, and I don't hear any of the stuff I heard before, when he had so much trouble. Don't be afraid of this. Maybe it's just Michael flexing his muscles a little."

"I hope so. But I feel like it's more."

"It hasn't hurt us. It hasn't even really tried."

"I know. You're right. I love you, you know."

"Yeah. I kinda figured. I love you too."

"I kinda figured that too."

"Good. Say goodnight, Blair."

"Goodnight, Blair."

While Jim was getting dressed upstairs, Blair dialed Kelli and Brian's phone number. Since Brian's band had finally gotten their record deal, Brian, Kelli and the rest of the musicians had moved their base of operations to New York City. Glad that it was three hours later on the East Coast, Blair waited as the number to the Manhattan apartment began to ring.

"Hello?"

"Kelli?"

"Yes?"

"Hi, it's Blair Sandburg."

"Blair? Oh my God, it's been, what, almost a year? How are you?"

"Fine. How's life in the Big Apple?"

"Well, it's a switch from Cascade, that's for sure," she responded with a little laugh in her voice. "I think I'm finally getting the knack of the traffic. "Brian is going to be so sorry he missed your call. He's at the studio with the guys--he just left about a half hour ago."

"Actually, I called to talk to you."

"Me?"

"Yeah. About your grandmother--Mae. I think we might need her help again."

"Geez, Blair, I don't know." There was a long pause. "Grandma isn't doing so well. The doctors claim it isn't Alzheimer's or anything like that, but her...well, her mind is slipping. She's in an assisted living facility there. My mom wanted her to be somewhere nice, but somewhere she wouldn't wander off or hurt herself."

"I'm really sorry to hear that. Mae was such a bright lady." Blair slumped into a chair at the table. "Is her health still good?"

"According to her doctor, she's healthy as a horse. She's still a sweet little lady. I just don't see her being able to...use her gift the way she used to. What's going on?"

"A few odd things have been happening. Windchimes ringing when they shouldn't, water going ice cold--nothing really awful...at least not yet. Given the house's history...we're getting concerned about it."

"Yeah, I can see why. You know, Grandma was convinced you had the gift too, Blair."

"She told me I could communicate with the dead. And if Michael's spirit is any indication, I believe that. I can still sense him around sometimes."

"Have you...tried anything on your own? You know, trying to communicate with him?"

"No. I've always heard that it was better not to dabble in those things when you didn't know what you're doing. You open the barrier between the planes, and you can't always control what crosses over."

"No, that's true. Grandma used to cringe every time she heard someone talk about playing with a Ouija Board or holding a seance 'for fun'. She felt it was playing with fire. But if you know that Michael is there, and he's a friendly presence, maybe you could make contact."

"I suppose. I don't like the idea. I don't really know what I'm doing. Did your grandmother have any friends who...shared her gift?"

"I'm sure she did, but most of them are dead now."

"Do you think it would upset her if I visited her?"

"Not at all. She loves to have company, chatters your ear off. Don't be surprised if she doesn't remember you though."

"I won't. Should I call and get your mom's okay first? She's probably Mae's contact person on the outside, isn't she?"

"Good grief, Blair, she's not in prison. You can visit her without clearance from Mom. Listen, she's at Pine Woods Park Retirement Village, in the assisted living unit. It's on Heath Road, probably about five miles outside the city limits."

"I've seen it. I'll drop in and see her."

"Brian and I are planning to visit Cascade sometime this fall. I hope you and Jim would be available to get together?"

"We'd love to. You already have plans for where you're staying?"

"Yeah. With my folks, but thanks for asking. Hey, I've gotta run. Can I have Brian call you back later?"

"Sure. I'd love to talk with him again." Blair paused. "On second thought...do you think it's a good idea to bring up the Michael issue with him?"

"Truthfully?" She sighed. "I'd rather not. I'll be honest with you, Blair. Brian's a great husband, and we have a good life and everything...but I know that I'm playing second fiddle to a ghost."

"He told you."

"He didn't have to. But eventually, he did. I guess that's why I haven't wanted to keep in touch more. I know he thinks you have this link to Michael that you're not telling him about--that you're going to lapse into speaking in Michael's voice or something mid-sentence."

"As far as I'm concerned, we can keep this between us for now. Besides, I don't really have any proof that Michael has anything at all to do with this."

"Thanks, Blair. I don't mean any of this as anything personal against you or Jim. It's just...hard enough getting Michael out of our lives, you know?"

"I understand." Blair smiled at Jim as the larger man entered the kitchen and took the last few swallows of juice out of the glass he'd left on the cupboard. "Thanks for the info on Mae. I'll go visit her real soon."

"Great. Give her my love, huh?"

"Sure thing. Take care, Kelli."

"You too. Tell Jim I said 'hi'."

"I will. Thanks." Blair hung up the phone and Jim joined him at the table, sitting on the edge of a chair.

"What's up?"

"Mae's out at Pine Woods--the retirement home? Kelli says she's a little..." Blair made a circular gesture near his head.

"Oh great." Jim shook his head. "Damn. She was a sweet little lady. I liked her."

"Me too. But I'm still going to visit her. Kelli doesn't think it'll upset her or anything--said she likes company."

"Listen," Jim reached into his pocket and pulled out a couple of twenties, handing them to Blair. "Get her some really nice flowers from us, huh?"

"Man, that's a really beautiful idea, Jim," Blair said, grinning and accepting the money.

"I gotta go, Chief. I'm still planning on you being at that meeting with Simon this afternoon with Mrs. Evans."

"I'll be there."

"We're going to get her to press those charges."

"I hope so, Jim. I really hope so."

"Later." Jim leaned down and caught Blair's lips for a quick kiss.

"Yeah, later."

Blair drove into the business district and stopped at the florist shop. After picking out two dozen yellow roses for Mae, he headed out toward the retirement home. It was a bright, sunny day, and the lush grounds of Pine Woods seemed like a cool, shady haven from the impending heat of what promised to be a humid summer. He followed the curving drive to where it branched into two drives, with a sign directing visitors to the "Assisted Living Complex" or the "Apartments". Heading toward the Assisted Living option, Blair followed the route through some large pine trees to a large, one-floor brick building with numerous windows. On a large deck on the side sat several elderly people, a couple of them in wheelchairs, others around a table sipping what looked like iced tea. //All in all, not a bad spot if you have to be in one of these places.//

A little chill ran up and down Blair's spine as he parked and got out of the car, retrieving the long white box with the roses. What would happen to him when he was this age? Worse than that, where would Jim be? Would it be absurd to hope that Jim could live long enough that they could spend their golden years together? Or would their age difference condemn Blair to sitting under one of these trees, like the solitary old man he saw, occupying a lawn chair and staring vacantly into space.

//Old age. We all wanna live long enough to get there and then this is the reward.// Blair made a mental note to stop and pass a few words with the forlorn-looking old man before he left.

Mae Devon's room was at the end of a long hall. This was nicer than most assisted living facilities Blair had seen. The halls were carpeted with a hard-finish blue, still easily navigated by wheelchairs but giving the place a warmer feel than linoleum. The walls were a creamy beige, bordered with a blue, rose and beige blended design up near the ceiling. The door frames and doors were a polished oak finish.

The receptionist at the front desk had directed him to Room 24 West, and now he stood before the innocent-looking door, a bit hesitant to knock. Mae had a very real gift, and for just a moment, he felt a little tingle of fear at the thought that she might just know what was going on--and he might not like what he heard. As he raised his hand to knock, the door opened. The small, white-haired woman smiled at him.

"I thought someone was out here."

"It's good to see you again, Mae. Blair Sandburg?" he asked, smiling.

"How could I forget that face?" she asked, returning the smile and taking a hold of Blair's chin. "The young one with the wise old eyes," she added.

"I brought you these," Blair said, a bit nervous about her last comment. "They're from Jim and me."

"First time in my life I get flowers from two handsome young men and they're married to each other. Life can be cruel sometimes. Come in, dear," she invited as Blair laughed. So far, he hadn't seen much to indicate that Mae had lost any of her usual sharpness.

The large, square room was cheerily decorated in soft shades of peach and white, and contained two easy chairs, a television, a small table and chairs and a set of bookshelves. There was an alcove in one corner that partially obscured a bed and dresser.

"Should I get someone to put those in water for you?"

"I have a vase right here." She took a cut glass vase down from the bookshelves and set it at her table, sitting down with the roses and inviting Blair to join her at the table. "That was very sweet of you two to get flowers for me."

"We really appreciated all the help you gave us on the house."

"What good is a gift if you don't share it with others? Your Jim knows about that. He shares his gift."

"Mae, things are happening again."

"I figured as much." The arthritic fingers seemed strangely nimble as they plucked the roses from the box and arranged them in the vase. "Do you feel menaced by the presence?"

"I don't know. Not exactly. I'm afraid of it. Afraid of what it's saying."

"Listen to yourself, dear. You have all the answers within you. You always have."

"I think it's Michael, and yet, Michael never tried to scare me before."

"Didn't he?" She raised an eyebrow, then rose and carried her flowers into the bathroom, filling the vase. Returning to the room, she set them, with obvious pride, on the table where they sat. "I do love roses. By the end of the summer, you'll have roses like these in your garden."

"How did you know--?" Blair cut himself off and smiled sheepishly. "I guess you just do."

"Michael scared you before, dear. Before you learned how to listen to him. Why aren't you listening to him now?"

"I don't understand what he's trying to say. Or even if it's Michael."

"If it were Gavin, you would know that for sure. And Jim would know." A frown crossed her lined face. "Jim..."

"Mae, what is it? What about Jim?"

"Go to him, Blair. Go now."

"What? What's wrong?"

"If you love him, go to him now," she repeated, staring intently into Blair's eyes.

Blair got up, stumbling slightly, and raced out of the room and down the hall, the rooms and the residents a blur as he rushed to his car.

The crashing of the large book on the hardwood floor brought Blair awake with a jolt. Disoriented, he looked around at the familiar surroundings of the study.

"If you love him, go to him now."

Mae's words rang in his head as he rushed out to the garage and jumped in the Volvo, speeding out of the driveway and heading for the Cascade PD. His mind was a jumble of confusion, still trying to reconcile how he'd visited Mae, and been on his way to find Jim when he found himself back in his study.

Careening into the police parking garage, he slammed on the brakes in the spot next to Jim's truck. Ignoring a few shouted comments about his arrival from cops going to their cars, he ran into the building and tore up all six flights of stairs, staggering into the bullpen, barely able to catch his breath. Jim was nowhere in sight.

He ran to Simon's office and burst in the door without a thought. Simon was on the phone, and looked up, annoyed, until he saw the state Blair was in.

"Where's Jim?" Blair demanded, ignoring any rule of etiquette that might have silenced him.

"We have a situation here, Joan. I'll call you back." Simon hung up the phone. "Sandburg, what the hell--?"

"I have to find him. Where. Is. Jim?" he repeated.

"He went with Brown to question a co-worker of Brad Evans. Why?"

"Where?"

"I don't know." Simon looked through the myriad of papers on his desk. "It's over on Fifth and Chandler--Home Builders Warehouse."

"Thanks, Simon." Blair started for the door.

"You want to tell me what the hell's going on here?" Simon was out of his chair and grabbing his sport coat, prepared to accompany Blair on his mission.

"You wouldn't believe me if I did. But I have to get to him NOW."

"I'll drive." Simon joined Blair in his rush to the parking garage, and started up the lights and siren as soon as they were on the street. "I'm going to cut these when we get there. No use going in there with guns blazing. When this is over, you're going to tell me why in the hell this was such an emergency."

"It was a message from a psychic that I should go to Jim." Blair caught Simon's incredulous expression as they pulled into the lot of the Home Builders Warehouse. "See, I told you you wouldn't believe me." Blair was out of the car like a shot, just in time to see Jim walking out the front door with Brown, laughing and talking about something.

Blair rushed toward his lover, and after a moment of pure surprise and confusion, Jim opened his arms and accepted the frantic embrace--just as he heard the cocking of a rifle in the distance. Throwing Blair to the ground and covering his lover's body with his own, Jim heard the bullet buzz above them, shattering the glass of the store's front doors.

Simon and Brown raced inside the store to determine if anyone had been hurt, while Jim hustled Blair behind the cover of the truck.

"You wait here. Don't move."

"You can't go out there. What if the guy's still waiting to get a good shot off?"

"Blair, that's the point. If he's still there, maybe there's a chance of catching the bastard."

"Not without your vest," Blair insisted, grabbing onto Jim's arm. "Shit. All right. Fine." Jim retrieved the kevlar vest from the truck and hastened into it before taking off in the general direction of the shot.

Blair directed the back up in Jim's direction, and was reinforced by Simon as he came out of the store.

"Thank God no one was hurt inside."

"There are a couple of bathroom vanities that'll never be the same, but no injuries," Brown quipped, tossing in a little humor to ease the tension. What could have been a hideous tragedy had ended fairly well.

"Jim went to look for the shooter." Blair leaned against the truck. "Man, that was close."

"You want to fill me in on this psychic?" Simon asked.

"Mae Devon--remember the elderly lady who did the seance for us last year?"

"Vaguely."

"Well, some really weird stuff has been happening at the house the last few days, and so I went to see her, to get some advice. All of a sudden, she told me that if I loved Jim, I should go to him. And that was it. She hasn't steered us wrong before, so I went."

"Oh, man. I can just see putting that in the report." Simon rolled his eyes.

"Psychics have helped the cops before, Simon. It's not as far-fetched as you're making it sound."

"Here comes Jim," Henri spoke up, not sure what to add to the psychic conversation.

"Nothing," Jim reported glumly. "Well, nothing we can be sure belongs to the shooter. I found these in the shrubs over there where the ground's bermed up between the parking lot and that subdivision." Jim held up a plastic bag containing a book of matches from "Sonny's Grill". "Would you excuse us a minute, Simon?" Jim hustled Blair out of earshot of the other two men. "How did you know?" Jim demanded, taking a firm hold of Blair's shoulders.

"Mae told me," Blair gasped, still shaken and a bit breathless from their brush with death. "She said if I loved you, I should go to you. Here I am."

"Thank God." Jim pulled Blair into a tight hug. "If that bullet had hit you instead--"

"I would have saved your life."

"You might have been killed."

"Better me than you."

"Never." Jim pulled back and took a hold of Blair's face with both hands. "You know I wouldn't last without you, Chief."

"Neither would I, lover. So I guess we're even." Blair paused. "Jim? There's something I haven't told Simon or anyone else about this. I thought I had driven out to see Mae...but something really weird happened."

"Like what?"

"Well, we had this fairly long conversation, and then she told me that I should go to you, and the last thing I remember was running for my car, and then...then I woke up back in the study at home."

"So the whole encounter with Mae was a dream?"

"I don't know. I'm totally confused here, man. I have no idea what happened and what was a dream or a vision."

"I don't think Simon's ready to hear that just yet." Jim rubbed a hand over his chin, reverting to the more physical elements of the case to deflect the odd chill he felt at Blair's story. "Whoever did this was careful enough to pick up his shell casing--at least I couldn't find anything there."

"Sonny's Grill isn't too far from here, is it?"

"No. Probably a mile or so. I want to get this back to the lab to see if we can lift a print off it."

"I should go thank Mae. Let her know she was right."

"But you said it was a dream."

"See, that's just it--I don't understand it. I remember doing things like going in and buying the flowers and then I was just...back home, in the study."

"Look, I'll give this to Brown to take back to the lab. Why don't we drive out to this retirement place together and see if we can figure this out?"

"That'd be great. Man, I feel like I'm losin' it here."

"You aren't. We just have to figure out what's going on."

After leaving the matchbook with Brown, Jim drove them out to the Pine Woods Retirement complex. As they made their way to the assisted living unit, they were passed by an ambulance, minus lights and sirens, going out of the facility.

"That always gives me chills. You know somebody must've died if they're going that slowly," Blair opined. "Old age can be so fucking bleak."

"Very true, Chief," Jim agreed, pulling into a parking spot near the building. They walked in together, with Blair approaching the front desk cautiously, expecting the familiar blonde receptionist to recognize him.

"May I help you?" She showed no sign of recognition.

"Mae Devon. We'd like to see her."

"Are you family?" she asked.

"No..." Blair glanced at Jim, confused. It was obvious the girl had no recollection of his earlier visit. "Friends."

"I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but Mrs. Devon passed away earlier this afternoon."

"Do you know about what time?"

"What was your relationship to Mrs. Devon?" the woman asked.

"Police business." Jim flashed his ID. Blair was a bit surprised at that, but since her prediction had just saved Jim's life at the hands of a sniper, it probably could be considered police business.

"The ambulance just left." As she searched through her paperwork, Jim and Blair exchanged glances. Seeing the sorrow in his lover's eyes, Jim rested a hand on Blair's shoulder while they waited for an answer. "The doctor said he thought she had been dead since ten this morning."

"Oh, my God," Blair covered his mouth briefly, backing away from the desk.

"I thought this was assisted living. How often do you check in on these people?" Jim asked.

"It is, Detective. But we assist them, we don't follow them around every minute. Most of these people are mobile and able to care for themselves except for needing a little help with a few things. We try not to be too intrusive into their schedules. Meals and recreational activities are provided, and there is nursing staff here to keep track of medications and to help with any personal functions such as bathing or restroom use. But Mrs. Devon's only problem was her forgetfulness. She was present at breakfast this morning, but not at lunch. We buzzed her room, and when she didn't answer, one of our nurse's aides went to look in on her."

"How did she die?" Blair asked.

"Very quietly, from the looks of things. She was lying on her bed. It looked like she was just sleeping. The doctor said it was her heart. She was on heart medication."

"I'll need the doctor's name." Jim got out his notepad.

"May I ask why this is a police matter?" she asked, pinning Jim with a curious gaze.

"You were aware that Mrs. Devon was interested in the paranormal?"

"If you mean do I know she was psychic, yes. She predicted the sex of my first child last year, and more than one resident here claimed that she was able to contact their dead loved ones."

"She recently provided us with some valuable information, so I just wanted to be sure everything was in order about her death. And she was a friend as well."

"I see. Dr. Andrea Warren was the attending physician. She treats most of our patients. Here's one of her cards." The woman handed Jim a small ivory-colored business card.

"Thank you. I appreciate your help. Would it be possible for us to take a look at the room?"

"I don't see why not." She rose from her chair and led the way down the hall, sorting through the keys she carried on a large ring. She unlocked Mae's door and opened the room, stepping aside for them to enter.

"It's just like I saw it," Blair whispered, so low that only Jim could hear him. He moved over to the small table and chairs. Only Jim could hear the little indrawn breath. In the center of the table were two yellow rose petals.

Wendy Evans sat at the conference table with Jim and Blair and Simon, who had been about a half hour late in convening for their appointment with her, given the days events.

A woman in her early forties with shoulder-length dark hair and attractive features, she was dressed in a simple white blouse, gray slacks and black low-heeled pumps. She fidgeted nervously with the cup of coffee in front of her, rotating it on the table.

"Mrs. Evans, the reason we asked you to meet with us today was to discuss the charges against your husband in the incident of March 5th," Jim said, opening the case file. "I know you have refused to press charges up to this point, but we've reached the end of the line with this. Because he assaulted a cop responding to the domestic disturbance call, we've been able to justify various surveillance activities, but since his community service and counseling obligations for that charge have almost been fulfilled, our involvement with the case ends in about two weeks. We don't have any other justification to keep following this man around."

"What about the restraining order?"

"That's still in force. But it isn't up to the department to put every citizen who is under a restraining order, under surveillance," Simon spoke up. "I wish we could do that, but it's not possible or practical."

"My husband told me he would kill me if I ever testified against him." She shook her head, biting her lower lip slightly before speaking again. "I believe him."

"Um, Jim, Simon--could you give us a couple minutes to talk?" Blair asked.

"Sure. Is that agreeable to you, Mrs. Evans?" Simon asked.

"I suppose," she said, looking confused.

"We'll be back in a few," Jim added, following Simon out the door, closing it behind him.

Blair turned his attention to the woman across the table. He got up and took a seat on the same side of the table with her, turning his chair so they could face each other.

"Wendy--may I call you that?"

"Of course."

"Wendy, you know I'm not technically a cop, so I don't have any axe to grind about making a case here."

"I know that."

"The reason I've been so involved in this case is that I lived with someone like your husband for several months. I was in a relationship with a man, and he violently abused me for most of the time we were together."

"I didn't know," she said softly. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"What your husband did to you in March...it was rape and aggravated assault. Period."

"He's my husband."

"Yeah, and the turkey who beat and sexually abused me was my live-in 'boyfriend'." Blair made quote marks in the air with his fingers. "I had consensual sex with him before things turned abusive. That didn't give him the license to hurt me. And it didn't give your husband the license to ignore your refusal of his advances."

"Look, all this sounds good. But you can't promise to protect me if I press charges. He'll go to jail for a while, but he'll get out. And when he does, he'll kill me."

"What's going to happen to you now, the way things are going? You asked for a divorce and he said 'I'll see you dead first'."

"If I ride it out with him, at least I stay alive."

"Wendy, please believe me. Given his pattern of behavior, there are no guarantees of that either."

"No, I know that." She leaned back in her chair and exhaled. "I don't want to die, Mr. Sandburg. I want to do the right thing about this, but I don't want to die."

"Blair, please." Blair paused a moment, searching for the right words to say. He'd had Jim's protection from the word go, between him and Watson right from the start. "Is there anyone you can stay with, or who could stay with you?"

"My parents, but they're elderly people. I don't want him banging down their doors or hurting them."

"You know, if you press charges against this jerk, it'll get him off the streets and off your back for a few years, anyway."

"How long do you think?"

"I don't know that. But a rape charge is serious business, and you were smart enough to get the necessary medical documentation to make it stick."

"I just can't live like this anymore," she said, her voice breaking slightly. "Maybe I'm better off dead than living like this."

"I got to that point too. I let the situation go until it was almost too late. When I got away from the guy who was beating me, I barely made it to the hospital in time for emergency surgery to remove a ruptured spleen--and I guess there was a whole mixed bag of internal bleeding going on, not to mention the damage from the final rape. If I hadn't been rescued when I was, he would have killed me. It's not fair that you're in a catch-22--testify and fear death or stay with him and fear death. But that's the ugly reality. At least with prosecuting, he'll be hauled off to jail and you can have a few years of peace."

"I'll think about it."

"Don't think too long, please?"

"No, I'll get back to you tomorrow at the latest. I need to think on this, talk it over with my parents."

"Okay. Listen, Wendy, I can't promise to make this whole mess all better, but if you ever need anything, I hope you'll call me. You have Detective Ellison's card, right?"

"Yes."

"You can reach me at the same number."

"You two live together?"

"Yes. He's the one who got me away from my abuser. He saved my life--and then he made it worth living again. Wendy, you're a beautiful woman with a lot of wonderful years ahead of you. You deserve to get away from this creep and find someone who'll be good to you."

"I'm glad things worked out so well for you."

"They can for you too. Let us go after him for this." Blair picked up the folder and let it drop back on the table.

"All right."

"All right?"

"I'll file a complaint for the March incident. Just tell me what I need to sign."

"Congratulations, Wendy. You just took the first step to kicking his ass but good," Blair said, and the woman laughed then, the first he'd ever seen from her.

"Thinking about Wendy?" Jim said, joining Blair on the couch in the TV room where the younger man sat somewhat listlessly, his feet drawn up under him.

"No. I was thinking about Mae...and the rose petals."

"She could have had other flowers in there before, Chief." Jim ran his arm behind Blair on the couch. "It could be coincidence."

"Jim, I saw her room. It was like I was there...but she was dead at the time I thought I saw her. God, maybe I'm losing my mind."

"No, you're not. You saved my life by showing up when you did, and you did that because of what Mae told you--either via a dream or a visit we can't explain. But if you'd truly been there, wouldn't the girl at the desk remember you?"

"I would think so. I mean, it's not like they're flooded with that many visitors all day long." Blair shook his head.

"Can you remember coming into the study at all before starting out to see Mae?" Jim asked, sliding closer and pulling his perplexed lover into his arms, rubbing Blair's back in long strokes.

"Well, I guess I...I went in there to look for my keys."

"And then what?"

"I thought I found them on the table between the two wingbacks, and started out."

"Did you sit down at all?"

"Just for a second, to look through the newspapers we'd left on the floor there, to see if I could find the ad for that place that had the scanners on sale--remember I was going to look at one of those next time there was a good price on one?"

"Yeah." Jim nodded, then added, "Maybe you dozed off. We didn't get much sleep last night."

"I was so sure that I had been there."

"You were there, sweetheart. Just not physically. You were asleep, your mind receptive, and Mae contacted you. She was psychic, Chief. She probably knew you were thinking about her, and she had an important message for you too."

"That must be what the wind chimes were all about. She told me to listen to Michael. And she said we'd know it if it were Gavin."

"I agree with that." Jim sighed. "You think Michael was trying to warn us?"

"Makes sense, doesn't it? That maybe they can know things we can't?"

"Perfect sense. Although I wouldn't have bought any of this before I lived through it."

"Me either. I mean, I believed in the paranormal, but I wasn't sure about all the details."

"Well, everything's quiet now. You want to turn in early and get some sleep?"

"You think Wendy'll be all right?"

"As all right as she can be. There're no guarantees. I'll feel a lot better when Evans is behind bars. Hopefully we can get the bastard denied bail in deference to Wendy's safety."

"What if he gets out and kills her? God, Jim, I couldn't live with myself if I convinced her and then--"

"Chief, even if the worst case scenario happened, one thing you told her was absolutely true--she is in a catch 22, and nobody can change that, unfair though it may be. If he doesn't kill her for pressing charges, he'll probably get carried away and kill her in one of his rages." Jim rested the side of his head against the top of Blair's. "I wish I could change that. I know how hard it is to see someone in her situation and not be able to fix it after everything you went through with Watson. But we didn't have an easy road with that fight either. These abuse cases are never simple. You know that."

"I know. I called Kelli--just to express my sympathies. She and Brian are flying out here for the funeral. They'll be in town tomorrow."

"Maybe we can spend a little time with them while they're here."

"Yeah, I'd like that."

"You're not going to mention the whole Michael issue to Brian?"

"Think about it, Jim. Brian is trying to make a life with Kelli. To keep reviving the Michael thing isn't helping. Michael himself set Brian free to live his life. I don't think it would please him for me to blow his cover to Brian that he's still hanging around."

"Probably not." Jim was quiet a few minutes. "Wanna turn in early?" he asked, flexing his eyebrows a little.

"Yeah, I do," Blair said, his tone serious. "Make love to me?"

"You have to ask?" Jim responded, smiling and leaning down to kiss Blair's mouth thoroughly. "I'll check the doors if you get the lights."

"Deal."

With the doors secured and the lights dowsed for the night, the two men retreated upstairs for the night. After a relaxing shared shower, they moved to the bedroom, tossing damp towels aside and falling together on the bed, kissing deeply, hands roaming tenderly over each other's bodies.

"If you had been shot today--" Blair began, but was cut off by another deep kiss.

"I wasn't, baby. I'm fine."

"I couldn't have lived without you," Blair persisted, clinging tightly to Jim.

"I know the feeling." Jim returned the pressure of the embrace, not bothering to correct Blair. While their bodies might go on living in the absence of the other, both knew it would be a blow to the soul that would not be survived.

He rolled them in the bed so Blair was beneath him and began working his way down the expanse of Blair's chest, licking and kissing at the soft skin and silky dusting of hair there. He found a taut nipple lurking there and fastened his mouth to it, taking his time in drawing it to a tight, pebble-hard bud.

"Oh, yeah," Blair gasped above him, his chest beginning to roll beneath Jim's mouth with the increase in his respiration. Jim moved from the first bud to its mate, smiling around his mouthful of flesh, feeling Blair's shaft poking him in the stomach. //All in good time, Chief,// he thought, bringing another moan of pleasure out of Blair before moving down from the hardened nipple to trail a hot, wet, tongue along the path of hair from Blair's chest to his navel. He nipped and kissed at the flat stomach, teasing the little valley there with the tip of his tongue.

"Patience, baby," Jim admonished gently, restraining with both hands hips that tried to buck.

"Please..." Blair was spreading his legs wide now, trying to encourage Jim to either take him or suck him or do something to sate his desire completely.

"Love the way you smell, baby," Jim growled against the wiry hair of Blair's groin, slipping down farther on the bed to lick and nip at the tender skin on the insides of Blair's thighs. Just when the younger man was on the brink of complete frustration, Jim moved up and took the hardened shaft into his mouth, taking most of Blair's length in the first downward movement.

"Jim...God...love you," Blair gasped, dropping his feet flat on the bed, his legs spread wide. He strained to look down at the beloved head moving in rhythm with the blow job he was enjoying, feeling a surge of desire at the sight of Jim working so diligently to pleasure him. He managed to touch lightly the soft hair, panting out only one word, "Love," before throwing his head back and giving in to the mounting climax until he screamed out Jim's name, clutching the sheets and feeling the spasms rip through him, sending his seed down his lover's waiting throat.

Slowly releasing the flaccid organ, Jim moved up his lover's body and claimed Blair's mouth, lingering long enough to let Blair taste himself on Jim's tongue.

"Relax and enjoy the ride, baby," Jim whispered against Blair's ear, groping around the bed for the lube they'd tossed there earlier.

"That was...so good, lover."

"You ain't seen nothin' yet, Chief," Jim responded, flexing his eyebrows as one long, lubed finger slid inside Blair's body.

"Whoa," Blair groaned with a little surprise. "Sneak attack," he said, chortling a little as he drew his knees up to his chest, giving Jim total access.

Jim took his time, teasing Blair with a prolonged preparation, giving him enough time to recover that his spent cock was twitching a little with interest by the time Jim coated himself with the lube. He positioned himself at the slick opening and slid inside Blair's body with one long, smooth, slow stroke.

"Yeah, that's it, give it to me, man," Blair panted, moving to encourage Jim to start thrusting. He wrapped strong thighs around Jim's body as his lover moved up to devour Blair's mouth. Their tongues writhed and twisted with one another as Jim moved rapidly in and out of the slick channel. His first stroke to Blair's prostate dragged a guttural cry out of the younger man, Blair's long fingers holding onto Jim's shoulders with a bruising intensity.

Jim wrapped his arms around his lover and pulled him up, bringing a startled yelp out of Blair as he suddenly found himself upright, held tightly in Jim's arms, his legs wrapped around Jim's hips, essentially sitting in the larger man's lap. Jim's firm strokes were now hitting Blair's prostate almost constantly.

"Love you," Jim managed, fastening his mouth onto Blair's neck, working on a large passion mark. "Come on, come for me, angel. Want to watch you come, baby," Jim grunted, pulling back enough to watch the painfully intense pleasure play itself out on Blair's sweat-sheened face.

"Come on, man, hard!" Blair goaded, riding Jim as hard as Jim was thrusting. "JIIIIIIIIM!" Grabbing hard onto Jim's arms, he screamed out his lover's name as his completion spilled onto Jim's belly, his internal muscles clamping and spasming frantically around their prisoner.

"Yeah, baby, it's coming. All for you, baby," Jim panted, riding the tide of his own orgasm now, pumping up hard into Blair as the younger man became more lax and pliant, content to let Jim finish taking his pleasure. "Oh, man," Jim gasped, gathering Blair into a tight, sweaty embrace, the two men panting against each other while their hearts slowly found their way back to more normal rhythms.

"So good, lover," Blair whispered against Jim's ear, too tired to move from his impaled position on Jim's lap.

"Did I mention lately that you've got a great ass?" Jim started licking his way down the side of Blair's neck, soothing the bright mark there. "Wish I could last to do you all night."

"Wish I could last to get done all night," Blair responded, chortling a little sluggishly. "Man, I'd say the earth moved but I think it was just a little vertigo from when you decided to turn your body into an amusement park ride and flip me up straight."

"I thought you might get a kick out of that. I sure did." Jim pulled back long enough to look into Blair's eyes. "And I wanted to hold you this close."

"Yeah, I liked that pretty well too."

"Think we better move?"

"While it's still physically possible, yeah." Blair raised up and Jim pulled back a bit, Blair's body releasing him somewhat reluctantly.

"Okay?" Jim asked.

"I'm fine. Just remember that when you see me shifting around in my chair tomorrow, I'm thinking about you." Blair kissed his lover soundly, then grinned impishly.

"You're shameless, you know that, right?"

"Uh huh." Blair continued to straddle Jim's lap, settling his bare butt back on his lover's thighs. "You have a problem with that?" he teased, kissing Jim again.

"I'd have a problem if you weren't." Jim hugged his lover enthusiastically.

"Today was too damn close, Jim." Blair hung on tightly.

"I know. We survived. That's what matters."

"I love you."

"I love you too."

The ringing of the phone jarred Blair out of his deep sleep. Jim was already sitting up, phone in hand.

"Try to calm down, Wendy. You said the unit isn't out front?" Jim paused. "I'm on my way. I'll send a unit out to your place right now." Blair jumped out of bed and grabbed his own cell phone to make that call, since Jim seemed to be having trouble getting the apparently panicked woman to break the connection with him. "Blair's calling. Tell me what's happening." Jim was getting up now, phone between his head and shoulder, groping in the drawer for underwear. "Wendy? Wendy!" Jim tossed the phone on the bed and yanked on a pair of jeans and caught an old sweater Blair tossed at him while he was pulling his own clothes on.

"What happened?"

"You told them to get there ASAP, right?"

"Right." Blair shoved his bare feet into an old pair of athletic shoes and followed Jim on his dead run downstairs, the older man still hooking his holster to his belt as he fled down the steps.

"Evans showed up. He's been outside the house, yelling in the windows at her."

"Shit." Blair followed Jim to the truck and jumped in, and Jim sped out of the driveway in a squeal of tires, the siren blaring and the lights flashing. "He didn't get in, did he?"

"I don't know what happened. She left the phone and never answered me. I didn't have time to keep holding the line."

"I thought he was going to be arrested, man," Blair said, confused.

"You have to find the fucker before you can arrest him. Rafe and Brown were out looking for him, but he was keeping a low profile. It's almost like someone tipped him off we were looking for him. My money would be on the guy at the store we talked to earlier. He'd sell his mother for a twenty."

"How would he know about the warrant?"

"Brown went back there to arrest him, since he was due to start his shift at three o'clock this afternoon. But there was no sign of him."

"Jim, if something's happened...I pushed her to file that complaint."

"Let's just stay calm."

"I should have never done that. Things were different for her! She didn't have you living with her and protecting her. I did. I never had to face Vince alone after you intervened."

"I don't understand where the unit is that was watching her house."

"I'm surprised Simon authorized that. I mean, they don't usually do that for domestic violence situations, do they?"

"No. But we still suspect he may be involved in the shooting incident this afternoon--which makes him a suspect for attempted murder. And Simon knows how important this case is to you, and why."

"Nobody should have to live like she does...like I did. It's just...wrong."

"No arguments, sweetheart."

"What if--"

"Blair, just stay calm until we get there, okay?" Jim kept driving, taking the final corner before the Evans house with a squeal of rubber and a fishtail of the truck. "I'm worried about her too, Chief," he added to soften the sharpness of his admonition.

There was already a police unit there, and an ambulance was pulling up just as Jim stopped the truck in front of the house and got out of it, with Blair following him to the front door of the house.

"Wait here."

"Jim--"

"No arguments on this. Wait here until I see what's happening." Jim walked into the living room through the open front door to meet with one of the uniformed officers. Flashing his ID, he asked after Wendy.

"We were too late, sir. She's in the kitchen." The younger man looked truly saddened as he told Jim the news.

"Dammit. Paramedics are with her?"

"She's dead. No question about it. They're just packing up now."

"Thanks." Jim made his way into the kitchen and paused at the door while the paramedics made their way back out of the room. The attractive woman who had been at the precinct earlier that day lay there dead, the victim of a strangulation. Jim looked up to see Blair entering the kitchen, and moved to intercept his lover before he could see the dead woman.

"She's dead, isn't she?" he asked, not resisting the arms that guided him out of the room, back into the living room.

"Looks like a strangulation. I'm sorry, Chief. We did our best, and it wasn't good enough."

"This is my fault. If I hadn't pushed her--"

"Blair, listen to me. If this hadn't happened now, it would have happened later. Under different circumstances, maybe, but if this guy had it in him to kill her, he would have done it in a fight they had, or when she finally reached the decision to leave him...it was going to happen."

"But I pushed her into signing that complaint," Blair repeated, his eyes filling as he looked back toward the kitchen. "She'd be alive if it weren't for me."

"Look, I have to finish up in here. Wait for me in the truck, okay?"

"Yeah, okay," Blair responded softly. Jim took in the miserable expression, and pulled Blair into his arms for a quick, tight hug.

"Hang in there, sweetheart. I won't be long, okay?" He stepped back, and Blair nodded, heading defeatedly out to the truck.

Jim spent considerable time going over the crime scene, analyzing the suspected point of entry through the kitchen door, and searching the surrounding area in the yard for clues left behind by the assailant, the identity of whom he felt sure he already knew. An APB was issued for Evans, this time wanted for questioning in the murder of his soon-to-be ex-wife.

Returning to the truck without much to show beyond what Forensics found on their own, Jim climbed into the driver's seat and looked at his partner. Blair was sitting slumped in the seat, forehead resting on his hand, elbow on the truck door.

"We'll get him, Chief," Jim said softly, reaching over to squeeze Blair's shoulder.

"Yeah? Well it's kinda late now, isn't it?"

"Blair, we did everything we could. It just wasn't enough. That's not our fault."

"Not our fault?! No. It isn't our fault. It's my fault."

"First we have to hunt down the unit that was supposed to be here. There's no sign of them. Then we have to nail Evans. That's what we can do. We can't bring her back to life and we can't change what happened."

"I convinced her to file the complaint. She played it our way and it cost her her life." Blair let out a shaky breath and passed a hand over his eyes again, brushing at them.

"And if she hadn't filed one, this would have happened six months from now."

"Maybe not."

"Okay, so she could have let him move back in and pound the shit out of her every other day. What kind of life would that have been, huh? You lived it, Chief. You were there yourself. Even if she had survived, would it have been living?"

"I shouldn't have pushed her to file a complaint when I wasn't going to back it up with protecting her."

"What--move in with her? Or have her live with us? Blair, we can't take in or move in with every crime victim who is in danger. It's a chivalrous thought, but it's not realistic and you know it."

"A woman is dead, Jim. Dead because of the advice I gave her."

"No. She's dead because the son of a bitch killed her."

"Same difference." Blair shook his head. "I don't know how to even begin to process this, Jim. I don't know how I'm gonna live with it. With knowing what happened to her because of m---"

"That's enough." Jim turned in the seat so he faced Blair. "Did you strangle her?"

"I might as well have."

"Did you?"

"Jim, don't patronize me."

"She is dead because someone strangled her. Not because she signed a complaint, not because you talked to her, not because she had a half-assed lock on her kitchen door, not because the cop car left its post, not because she owned a green printed scarf just long enough for someone to use to choke her, not because today was Wednesday--not for any other reason than the fact that some son of a bitch made a conscious decision to murder her. It's his fault, and his alone. Any one of those other factors wouldn't have caused her death without the murderer doing his thing."

"I can't help how I feel." Blair's simple statement silenced any further protest from Jim, who started up the truck.

"Are you going to be okay? I have paperwork to do on this tonight," Jim said, his tone gentler than his words.

"I don't think I'll ever be okay about this. But let's go do what needs to be done with the paperwork."

"I hear you, sweetheart." Jim took a hold of Blair's hand and brought it up to his lips, kissing the back of it. "I'm sorry things ended this way for her, Chief."

"Yeah...she probably is too." Blair squeezed Jim's hand and held onto it, still staring out the passenger window at the corpse being transported to the coroner's wagon as they pulled away from the crime scene.

Jim's first stop was Simon's office. The captain had been called in because of his involvement with the case, as well as the question of the missing unit. While Jim had been driving back to the precinct the other unit had reported back to the dead woman's house, and then to Simon's office.

The elder of the two patrolmen took it upon himself to explain the situation.

"We got a call for a B&E in progress on the street behind, and the caller said there were children staying alone in the house. The dispatcher said it was a neighbor who reported seeing a man climbing in a basement window of the house next door. When we arrived, there was no sign of forced entry, and we spoke to the owners of the house--there are no children living there--it's an elderly couple. When we checked out the house next door--the call was traced there--there were signs of forced entry through a first floor window. There's another unit there as well as some folks from Forensics. By the time we got back to the Evans house..." the middle-aged man shrugged. "It was too late."

"Sounds like a hell of a set up to me," Simon said, drawing on his cigar.

"You were the only unit in the area who could respond?" Blair asked from his slouched seat at the conference table. The patrolman rolled his eyes, an expression which didn't escape Jim.

"I would suggest answering the question, Wilson. You're in enough trouble without giving us attitude," Jim retorted.

"I wasn't aware he was one of my superiors."

"Maybe not, but he's a consultant to two of your superiors and a part of the investigative team on this case, so you would do well to answer his questions without making an issue of it," Simon added.

"We had a call about some guy breaking into a house where we had reason to believe there were unsupervised children. Everything appeared quiet around the Evans place. I made a judgement call."

"That's it for now. I'll be conferring with your watch commander," Simon concluded.

"That's it?" Blair demanded. "If they hadn't left their post, Wendy Evans would still be alive!"

"You know, Sandburg, it's real sad that you got slapped around by your old boyfriend, but that doesn't make domestic violence cases top priority in the whole fucking department!"

"That's enough, Carlton," Simon snapped.

"That's more than enough." Jim rose from his chair and moved toward the other cop.

"Jim, let it go." Blair remained seated at the table. "If he has to resort to throwing out insults, he obviously doesn't have anything strong to say in his own defense."

"I have to say I'm inclined to agree with that," Simon added, shuffling a few papers on his desk. "Carlton, you've already been dismissed from this meeting once. I would suggest you follow that order before I really lose my patience."

Without further comment, the other man left the room.

"You know, it's entirely possible IA is going to see this his way. I mean, given the call they received, it would seem more urgent than guarding a domestic abuse victim, which we generally don't do anyway." Simon shook his head. "I just wish I could bust him for being an asshole, but unfortunately, that's not sufficient grounds for suspension around here."

"Maybe you have to know what it's like to be in one of those situations to understand the importance of it." Blair let out a sigh. "I mean, everybody is telling how the cops don't usually get so involved in domestic abuse complaints as we did on this one--like it's a minor crime."

"The sad reality of it is that we just don't have the manpower. Unfortunately, there are a lot of people out there doing nasty things to each other, and there's no way we can intervene and protect everyone." Simon leaned back in his chair. "The only reason we were involved in this is because I think Jim and I have a heightened sensitivity to this issue now with it having touched someone close to us. And because I knew this case was important to you, Blair."

"I didn't mean to sound like I thought you guys didn't care. I know I'm putting unrealistic expectations on the department to think that there could be this kind of follow up with domestic violence complaints and restraining orders against violent husbands. It's just so damned frustrating." Blair rubbed his eyes tiredly. "And I don't have any answers on how it could be done better."

"None of us do, Chief," Jim said, moving to stand behind Blair, massaging the taut muscles in the younger man's shoulders.

"Look, I have a breakfast meeting anyway, and it's almost dawn. Why don't you two go home for a few hours? I'll be here for any of the preliminary reports from Dan, and I can deal with the family."

"Oh, God, her parents," Blair groaned, dropping his face into his hands.

"I'll do my best to handle them as sensitively as possible," Simon responded.

"Come on, Chief. Let's go home for a while before the boss changes his mind."

"Okay." Blair rose from his seat and headed toward the door with Jim. "Simon?"

"Hm?" Simon looked up from the already substantial Evans case file.

"Thanks for trying with this situation." Blair hesitated, then, "for understanding why it was important to me."

"It was important to all of us, Blair. We'll just have to do our best to nail Evans now. It's too little, too late, but it's all we've got to work with."

"Yeah, I know. See you later," Blair said softly, turning and heading out the door.

"Thanks, Simon." Jim paused a moment. "We'll be back in later this morning."

"Make him get some rest."

"I will."

Continued in part two.

Due to length, this story has been split into four parts.
Just Remember I Love You

by Candy Apple
Author's webpage: http://internetdump.com/users/candy_a/

Disclaimers and notes can be found in part one.

Just Remember I Love You - Part two
by Candy Apple

Blair walked into the house and headed toward the stairs, Jim following silently behind him. It had been a horrible day from the get-go, with Mae's death, his own close call with a sniper's bullet and now this tragic end to the Evans case. Worse than all of it was watching the emotional toll on Blair. The Evans case had been a way for him to give something back--at least, that's how Blair had described it. That by helping Wendy Evans, he was somehow paying back the Karmic scales that allowed him to be saved--or something lofty like that.

Jim didn't know what he thought about Karmic scales, but he knew how immensely meaningful the case had been to Blair.

"Think you could sleep for a few hours?" Jim asked, moving up behind where Blair stood in front of the dresser, as if he were too tired or too despondent to be troubled with undressing. Jim looked at their shared reflection in the large, oval mirror above the dresser. He wrapped his arms around Blair from behind. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart."

"It's not fair!" Blair shouted, slamming both fists down on the heavy antique oak surface of the dresser. "It's not fucking fair!" he shouted again, sobs starting to wrack his body as his hands flattened out on the smooth wood.

"No, it's not fair. It sucks," Jim agreed quietly, tugging at Blair's shoulder to turn him around. It didn't take much. Blair turned and accepted the embrace eagerly, wrapping his arms around Jim's middle and sobbing against his chest. "I wish we could save everybody who's in those messes, baby. Don't ever think I don't feel for it too. I do. I do care. I just wish we could do more." Jim stroked the soft hair. "We're going to get him, baby. I promise."

"But she's dead, Jim."

"I know. I know." Jim wrapped his arms more tightly around his lover, wishing it were as simple to shield him emotionally as it was to protect him physically. And wishing there was any wise or meaningful thing he could say that would truly help. Wendy Evans' death had not only been horrible and tragic, but almost prevented. Nonetheless, given the choice between what seemed like a useless stakeout and responding to a call involving children in danger, Jim had to admit to himself he'd have most likely made the same choice.

"I should have done something," Blair muttered now. "We were home, making love, sleeping...she was being murdered."

"Listen to me. And hear me this time. Even cops have to have personal lives. Yes, what we do is vital, and it's often life and death stuff, but no cop can devote twenty four hours a day to following the people around who need protecting. We have to encourage people to work with the system, and then let the system do its thing."

"But I pushed her."

"No, baby, you didn't. You tried to help her. Some of these situations just don't work out. If he wanted to kill her, he would have done it next week or next month or next year--and whether she filed a complaint or not. Wendy was at a point of being almost frustrated enough with this jerk not to need encouragement to file charges. She would have most likely done it with or without you eventually. All your intervention might have effected was the timing." Jim paused, kissing the top of Blair's head. "I'm so sorry things turned out like this, but I really believe it would have turned out this way at one time or the other."

"Not if someone had been there!"

"For how long, Chief? A week, a month, a year? Ten years? How about when he got out of jail? Would it be practical that you could have pledged to guard this woman personally when the jerk got out of lock up and came looking for her three or four years from now? And how about every other domestic violence victim? Can we guard them all, all the time?"

"No! But I was involved with this case and I should have been more responsible in the advice I gave her. I just pushed and now she's dead."

"You pushed with the assumption that she had police protection. Would you have approached it the same way if you knew she wouldn't be protected?" Jim patted Blair's back lightly, wishing the tears would stop. Wishing Blair's misery and guilt would lessen just a little.

"No."

"Okay then. It was a tragedy. I don't know as it's exactly the fault of the guys who left their post--it was a well-engineered hoax that got them away from there. You thought they'd be there, so you encouraged her to do what she needed to do to free herself from that sick excuse for a relationship she was in. It was one of those chain reactions of lousy timing and tragic miscalculations. I honestly don't think anybody, including you, handled anything about this irresponsibly or lightly. I think we just got outsmarted by a killer--and it wouldn't be the first time that's happened to cops, Chief. Unfortunately, it won't be the last, either."

"Thanks," Blair said quietly, clearing his throat and pulling back a little.

"For what, sweetheart?" Jim asked, taking Blair's face in both hands, brushing at tears with his thumbs.

"For talking it through with me," Blair said, his voice firmer now. "I still don't feel good about it, but I feel better. What you said...it makes sense."

"Good." Jim smiled slightly, and was glad to see it returned. "Think you could get a little sleep?"

"How about you?"

"As long as I get my favorite human metronome in bed with me, I'll be fine."

"Human metronome, huh? I didn't know I was that boring," Blair responded, chuckling a little.

"Your heartbeat, dummy."

"Oh." Blair nodded. "I'm going to, uh, clean up a little." He gestured at his damp face before leaving the bedroom and going into the bathroom. The door was left open, and as Jim undressed and got into bed, he could hear the water splashing and all the little routine sounds of Blair moving around in the bathroom. In a moment, he was back, tossing his clothes in an unsightly heap on a nearby chair and crawling into bed with Jim.

"Kelly and Brian will probably be coming up here for Mae's funeral," he said glumly.

"It's been a bleak day, hasn't it, Chief?" Jim spooned himself around his partner.

"Not entirely," Blair said in almost a whisper. "When I think about what things could have been like tonight...I could have been in this bed by myself."

"Or I could. It was a close call for both of us with you stepping into the line of fire."

"I guess it just makes you realize how precious...and fragile life is, you know?" Blair sighed. "I mean, there was Mae, and with Wendy--she was young, healthy...and in just a few moments, that's all snuffed out."

"I guess all you can do is live as much as you can while you have the chance." Jim was quiet a few minutes, then kissed Blair's shoulder.

"And love as much as you can...and say what you want to say...don't wait." Blair smiled. "You know what?"

"What?" Jim smiled at the lightness of Blair's tone after such a dark discussion.

"I just happened to think that all the things we would want to say to each other would just be repeating what we've already said. I think that's really...incredible."

"And as for that loving as much as you can? I think we've got that base covered too, don't you?"

"If we loved any more, we'd have to sign up for disability and never leave the house." Blair stifled a snort, and Jim had to laugh. It was laughter that heals pain and relieves tension in the middle of so much darkness.

Blair started a pot of coffee and located a couple of decent bagels left over from the batch Jim had bought a couple days ago. Curling his lip, he thumped it on the counter once, noting that fresh bagels only stay fresh a limited time.

"Rigor mortis set in yet?" Jim asked, kissing Blair's cheek quickly as he headed for the refrigerator.

"Just about. I don't need to worry about carrying a gun. I'll just take one of these and throw it at the perps," Blair joked, starting the arduous task of sawing through it to put it in the toaster. "It'll be better toasted."

"Or microwaved."

"If I microwave this, I can use it for a spare on the Volvo."

"You're the bagel expert, Chief." Jim set two glasses of juice on the table, then poured the fresh coffee for both of them.

"There was a message on the machine from Kelli. She and Brian are going to be arriving this afternoon--staying with her folks. They thought maybe we could get together for a couple beers or something tonight."

"Once the funeral process gets underway, they'll probably be pretty tied up."

"Maybe we can just have them come over tonight."

"Yeah, that's fine. You think Michael'll behave himself?" Jim asked, accepting the plate with the toasted bagel on it as Blair sat down with his own plate.

"That reminds me. Where did you put the chimes?" Blair asked, taking a drink of his orange juice. Jim didn't respond right away, taking a prolonged, deliberate time chewing his first bite of breakfast. "Jim?"

"Out back," Jim responded, taking a drink of coffee.

"Where 'out back'?"

"Way out back."

"The woods?" Blair asked, his eyes widening.

"The fucking things were upsetting you and so I...took care of them."

"By throwing them in the woods? Jim, those were a present from my mom. How could you do that? What am I supposed to tell her? I can't believe you'd do something like this!" Blair got up and stalked over to the sink, looking out the window there toward the trees in question.

"Is this really about the chimes? I can find those damn things in a heartbeat out there, and you know it. I'll clean them up and hang them back where they were and then we can spend the next two nights lying awake and listening for them."

"No, it's not about the chimes." Blair let out a long breath. "I'm sorry. It's me. I just...I guess I'm not as okay as I thought with everything."

"It's okay, Chief."

"No, it isn't. I hate myself when I jump all over you. It's the same behavior pattern I used to see in Vince when he'd start slapping me around. Only he did it physically. I get frustrated and I slap you around verbally. God, maybe they're right about abuse victims turning into abusers."

"How did you twist this to make yourself an abuser?"

"What's the difference? I'm upset about something else and I take it out on you. Verbally. The only real difference is that I don't hit you physically."

"Blair, you're being way too hard on yourself. You're upset so you're testy. Big deal." Jim went back to his breakfast. "I'll get the chimes before we leave and I'll put them back up tonight--okay?"

"Yeah, fine, whatever." Blair continued to stare out the window.

"Blair, look at me."

"How come you never get mad at me?"

"I get mad at you."

"You almost never yell."

"Let me get this straight. You're concerned because I don't yell at you?"

"Well, yeah."

"Habit." Jim took a drink of his coffee. "Your bagel's getting cold."

"Habit?"

"Look, after what you went through with Vince, if I said 'boo' too loudly, you just about jumped under the nearest bed for cover. It wasn't worth upsetting you just to vent a little anger."

"I'm not that freaked out now."

"No, but I'm out of the habit of yelling. Which isn't a bad thing exactly."

"It is when I start pushing you around--like I did about those damn chimes."

"They were a gift from Naomi. You care what happens to them. And you're upset about something else totally unrelated. You got pissed and exploded a little. No big deal. You apologized. I accept. Let's get going." Jim stood up from the table and started clearing it.

"I really am sorry." Blair watched Jim rinse off his dishes in the sink, their bodies close enough to touch. He wrapped a hand around Jim's arm and laid his head on the larger man's shoulder.

"No harm done, sweetheart." Jim moved the arm to put it around Blair and pull his lover close against his side. "We're both pretty wound up with...everything."

"Did you talk to Simon yet this morning? Has he seen Wendy's parents?"

"Yeah, I called him upstairs. He said he notified them personally. Her mother was hysterical and her father was convinced that the PD bungled the case and is threatening to sue us. All in all, pretty much the reaction we expected. Forensics didn't come up with a whole lot of value from searching the other house--the one where the fake call originated. At least we won't know if it's of value until the owners can get back. I mean, any house is full of hair and fiber samples."

"What about the Evans house?"

"Well, there were footprints near the back patio, right before you get to the kitchen door, and some faint prints on the cement--so apparently the killer walked through the yard and then onto the cement, and with the dampness of the grass, it left some impressions. Looked like an athletic shoe to me. Which narrows it down to 95% of the male population of Cascade."

"We know who killed her."

"Yeah, but we have to prove it." Jim moved away from the sink, disentangling himself from his partner. "The APB is still out on Evans, but we haven't reeled him in yet. So that's going to be top priority for us today. You going to be okay with that? Not losing your cool?"

"I'll behave myself."

"You know we can't do anything with Evans even if we find him. Just take him in."

"I know." Blair pushed away from the counter where he'd been leaning and cleaned up the rest of the breakfast mess. Jim headed out the back door. "Where're you going?"

"Windchimes," Jim said with a little smile. He opened the back door and froze in his tracks. "Shit."

"What?" Blair joined him in the open doorway. The chimes were hanging where they always did.

"Why didn't I hear them? I can hear those damn things even when they don't move."

"Michael," Blair said, grinning. "He was playing a trick on you."

"He was playing a trick?"

"Yeah. He put the chimes back--but how else would you be unable to hear them unless he kept them silent?"

"You believe that he moved these all the way from the woods and hung them back up?"

"How else do you explain it?"

"Someone else retrieved them and hung them back up. We were talking and I didn't notice the sound of them being out here, because I'm pretty used to it now."

"Who else would go get them? Who else would know where they were?"

"I don't know. That's the part that bothers me." Jim moved back from the door and closed it as soon as Blair was out of the way. "Come on. Let's get going."

After an entire day of fruitlessly hunting for Evans, Jim and Blair were less than enthusiastic about having company. They hadn't made it home before nine, and their guests were due any minute. Jim flopped on the couch in the TV room and Blair eschewed the nearby chair to crawl onto his lover, appropriating the tiny sliver of spare cushion space, as well as most of Jim's body, for his personal lounge area.

"You have to get up to answer the doorbell when it rings," Jim announced, flopping an arm over Blair's back and cuddling him, nothing but happy to have the warm weight of his lover sprawled on him. He had to tease Blair, though. The opportunity was too good.

"What doorbell?"

"We have company coming, remember?"

"Michael can get it." Blair smiled as he nestled against Jim's body, moving his leg up and down slowly against his lover's.

"It really doesn't bother you to have a ghost, does it?"

"No. Well, not usually. But even when the chimes went nuts--he was trying to warn us. It all makes sense now--he was trying to get my attention."

"We're not talking about any of that with Brian, right?"

"Kelli is having a little problem living in Michael's shadow as it is."

"I can imagine. Well, in a way, I can't imagine. If anything ever happened to you...I couldn't just pick up and go on with someone else."

"Me either. Sometimes I think Brian's sticking with it because Michael wanted that for him. And out of loyalty to Kelli because she's a good wife and a good person--and I think he loves her. But when you find that one true love--the one--I don't think anybody could ever compare to that favorably."

"So you settle, is that what you mean?"

"Kind of. If you want to marry or have a life partner, you accept that you're not going to feel what you did before. Man, that's so sad when you think about it."

"Almost sadder for the spouse who's the second choice."

"Really. I mean, they don't accept it. It's just the way things are." The doorbell rang.

"You're on, Darwin," Jim said, undulating enough to shake Blair a little.

"You wanna get some beer and snacks and stuff out?"

"You managed to get the easy end of this anyway, you sneaky little shit," Jim teased, swatting Blair's butt as they parted company in the hall, Jim heading back to the kitchen.

"Yeah, cry me a river, tough guy," Blair retorted, heading for the front door.

Jim was taking a few bottles of beer out of the refrigerator when he paused, hearing only Blair's indrawn breath...no guests. Frowning with concern, he walked out to the foyer. His partner was standing in the open door, staring fixedly at something on the porch.

"Blair?" There was no response, so Jim joined him in the doorway. On the porch lay a contraption of leather straps, topped off with a muzzle and red, ball-shaped gag.

"What the...?" Jim carefully lifted the thing by one strap and hauled it inside, past Blair, who seemed frozen to his spot in the doorway. Laying it on the table in the foyer, he used his handkerchief to open the folded over white card attached to it.

Dearest Blair,

Still thinking of you... See you soon.

Love, Vince
"Who could know that?" Blair finally asked, shutting the front door. "God, Jim, the case didn't go to trial--who would know that...except for..."

"Don't go there." Jim released the slight hold he had on the strap and the card, and turned to face his partner. Blair was white as a ghost, and shaking almost visibly. "Stay right here." Jim pulled his gun and went outside, though he didn't detect any movement in the bushes or in the immediate vicinity of the house. After making a survey of the area surrounding the house, he returned to the foyer to find Blair still staring at the leather contraption on the table.

"Jim...this looks like the one--"

"It isn't. I burned the goddamn thing myself." Jim slammed and locked the door.

"You what?"

"What, you thought Watson's goody bag was in storage somewhere? Everything's gone. Ashes. History. I burned the shit with Simon's blessing."

"You're kidding." Blair backed up until he sat on a step at the foot of the impressive staircase. "I thought it was probably in evidence lock up somewhere."

"It was, before it became kindling. What was the point of leaving it there? Watson's dead, the case is never going to trial...and it was important to me to burn it. Destroy it. Anything he had like this doesn't exist anymore."

"Who would know about it though?"

"Maybe some friend of Vince's? Someone who had access to your statements given to Beverly? Or her inventory of Watson's toys?"

"If she had that inventory, isn't it possible that someone might question it someday--what happened to the stuff?"

"Sure. But they'll figure somebody pilfered it for kicks, given the nature of it. Besides, being it wasn't ever going to be used as evidence again, it would have been disposed of eventually anyway."

"Then where did this thing come from?" Blair gestured toward the table.

"I don't know. Go get a trash bag in the kitchen. We'll bag it and take it in to the lab."

"What does the note say?"

"I thought you read it."

"I never picked the thing up, Jim."

"It's signed from Vince."

"Man, that's creepy." Blair made no further comment and headed into the kitchen to get the trash bag. When he returned, Jim lowered the whole thing into the waiting bag and knotted the top of it. "That's all it said? 'From Vince'?"

"Basically."

"Jim."

"It said 'Still thinking about you. See you soon.'"

"Ugh." Blair shivered and stared suspiciously at the bag.

"I'll put this in the truck." Jim carried the parcel out to the truck and stuffed it contemptuously under the front seat. He could hear a car pulling up outside, and rolled his eyes. They hadn't been in the mood for company earlier, and now... And being honest with himself, Jim was never in the mood to watch Brian making big cow eyes at Blair the entire time they were all together, as if he were waiting for Blair to suddenly transform into Michael at a moment's notice.

"...just stepped out into the garage a minute," Blair was explaining to their guests as he ushered them into the living room. "There he is," Blair commented as Jim joined them, shaking hands with Brian and hugging Kelli briefly.

"I'm so sorry about Mae," he said to Kelli, who just nodded.

"Thanks. I knew grandma was going downhill. She really didn't have the same enthusiasm for things after she moved into the home."

They all took seats, and Blair excused himself to go get the refreshments.

"I wish we'd had a chance to visit with her before... You know, you put things off, and..." Jim shrugged.

"Well, once we moved to New York, it was the same for us," Brian spoke up. "Getting back here was an inconvenience, so we didn't do it too often. It's sort of sad how you make time to get back for funerals but not for visits."

"I talked with her on the phone about--" Kelli stopped talking when they all heard glass shatter in the kitchen.

"I'll go see what's up. Excuse me." Jim got up and hurried back to the kitchen to find Blair carefully picking up shards of a beer bottle from the puddle of spilled liquid on the floor.

"It slipped out of my hand," Blair said quietly as Jim grabbed some paper towel and squatted next to him to help.

"You didn't cut yourself?"

"No." Blair tossed the broken bottle in the trash, and Jim finished wiping up the mess. Blair returned with a wet sponge to clean off the area where the spill had occurred.

"Your hands are shaking." Jim took a hold of one of the hands and squeezed it.

"It just brought a lot back when I least expected it," Blair admitted, sighing. "That ball thing...when it's in there you can't move your mouth, and you feel so fucking...helpless..."

"I can tell Brian and Kelli that you're not feeling well if you want to go upstairs." Jim slid an arm around Blair and rubbed his shoulder.

"No, I don't want to do that to them. I just...the timing really sucks, you know?"

"I know." Jim leaned over and kissed Blair's temple. "I'll take this stuff out to the living room. Bring the chips and dip when you come, okay?"

"Yeah, okay." Blair managed a little smile as Jim took the beer with him.

When all four people were seated in the living room again, Blair asked Brian how the band was doing. It had been several months since their last radio hit had faded from the airwaves a bit. Seated on the couch next to Jim, Blair had placed himself close enough that their hips touched, and Jim and taken the invitation to run his arm behind Blair on the back of the couch. He could still feel a little tremor in his lover's body, but Blair seemed to be drawing a great deal of comfort from the closeness, his heartbeat and breathing settling to near normal after a few moments there.

"We're working on the new album. We should be ready to actually start recording in a couple of weeks. I want us to go up to Longview Farm to do it, but the rest of the guys aren't crazy about leaving the city that long."

"Isn't that that farm that's converted into a studio?" Blair asked.

"Yeah, it's really cool. I visited a couple friends there when they were recording, and it's very...homey. A really nice, relaxed atmosphere." Brian took a drink of his beer and slumped a bit in his chair. "Kelli didn't like the idea too much."

"Well, I can't leave my job and he would be staying on the premises. I guess with touring and everything, I like us to be together as much as we can when he's off the road." There was a definite edge in her voice now, and Blair tried to come up with some way to backpedal out of what was apparently a touchy subject.

"I understand you guys had a lot of sold out shows on the last tour," Jim spoke up.

"Yeah, we were drawing some great crowds. Man, it's so wild, you know? All those years I couldn't draw flies playing around here, and now..." He shook his head. "I just wish Michael were here to see it."

"I'm sure he knows," Blair added.

"I hope so. You know, he really deserved to be in on this."

"The house looks really nice," Kelli interjected. "Have you started on the landscaping out back yet?" The change of subject from discussing Michael was blatant, but Blair ran with it.

"Yeah, we put up the gazebo and we pulled up some of the weeds and junk, and put in the path...I'm just doing some planting now, and we've got more stuff to plant, like shrubs and things."

"We'll probably have to wait until next year for the pool unless one of our lottery numbers pays off," Jim added, smiling.

"We wanted to start on the garden before now, but you know, having a house...there are all sorts of new expenses to get used to."

"Tell me about it," Kelli agreed, laughing slightly. "We just have a small place, but there are all sorts of little hidden costs."

The conversation progressed along uneventfully, through a couple of beers and most of the munchies. Reminiscences of Mae were kept at a minimum, because those brought about discussion of Michael, and that seemed to rankle Kelli considerably. By the time the couple left, both Jim and Blair were relieved to see them go.

"I was surprised we didn't have any 'incident' with the chimes or something," Jim commented, tossing out the beer bottles while Blair disposed of the snack remains and cleaned up the snack dishes.

"Michael said good bye to Brian after the seance. I think what he wanted most for him was to have a normal life."

"Yeah, well, you can't legislate how someone feels, and I don't think Brian's ever going to love Kelli the way he should to be married to her."

"I'm afraid you're right. The worst part is, she knows it."

"How're you doin', huh?" Jim came up behind Blair, wrapping his arms around the smaller body.

"Not so great."

"I know. Let's see if we can get some rest. We've got an early call in the morning to go after Evans again, and I want to get that...thing down to the lab for analysis."

"I thought I was over it better than this."

"It was a shock. That's all. Being over it doesn't mean you don't remember it anymore."

"How do you always know what I need to hear?" Blair was smiling a little now.

"Do I?" Jim smiled himself, kissing the side of Blair's head.

"You're the best friend anybody could ever ask for, man."

"I learned from the best, Chief."

"I didn't teach you how to do that. You always were."

"Maybe because you were the first person who didn't make me regret caring," Jim said quietly, his voice a little strained.

"I'm glad that when you got a chance to dump all that love on somebody, it was me," Blair responded, turning his head enough to grin back at Jim.

"Me too, sweetheart." Jim made an awkward attempt at kissing Blair's mouth from their odd angle, and managed to catch the side of it. "Let's turn in."

After a relaxing shared shower, both men climbed into bed, more than aware they only had about five hours before the alarm would drag them out to face another day. Jim spooned up behind Blair, cuddling him close, and within moments, both were sound asleep.

Blair's cry and sudden movement jolted Jim out of his slumber. He sat up next to his lover, all systems on alert to assess what the problem was. Not surprisingly, it was a nightmare.

"Blair?" he asked softly, not sure if Blair was fully awake, and not wanting to startle him.

"Yeah. Sorry I woke you," he said in a whisper.

"Nightmare?" Jim asked, venturing to slide an arm around Blair's shoulders now.

"Oh, man. This one was a real winner." Blair rubbed a hand over his face. Then he let his fingers linger over his lips briefly. "That thing was in my mouth. I could feel my lip splitting, because it was stretched so far. I think that's why I screamed--I kept trying in the nightmare but I couldn't move my mouth at all. I know Vince was there but I didn't really see him, if that makes any sense."

"Dreams are weird that way sometimes."

"Yeah, tell me about it. Oh, man."

"You want some water or anything?"

"No. I'm okay." Blair took another deep, slightly shaky breath. "Just hold me for a while, okay?"

"Gee, Chief, if I have to," Jim quipped, and Blair chortled a little as they slid down in the bed, facing each other. Soon they were wrapped up in a tangle of arms and legs, Jim rubbing Blair's back slowly, sliding his hand under the tank shirt to gently massage the taut muscles.

"I don't want to start having nightmares again. Not about him," Blair admitted quietly against Jim's chest, where he'd pressed his face.

"I know, honey. Maybe this was a one-time shot."

"Yeah, I hope so."

"He's dead, Chief. No matter what you dream, he can't ever come back."

"Not physically. But in my head...I guess he really never left."

"I wish I could kill the one that's in your memories, too."

"You do a little bit every time you hold me like this. Or call me some sticky love name." Blair smiled and Jim pulled back a little.

"A 'sticky' love name, huh?" he demanded in totally feigned anger. "I'll show you sticky, my little peach tart."

"Peach tart?"

"That's right, sugar lips."

"Oh, man, hang on--I left my insulin downstairs!"

"That's okay, my sticky little cinnamon roll." Jim invaded the space between Blair's neck and shoulder, kissing and sucking at it.

"What's the matter, Jim? Hungry?"

"Hungry for you, my apple strudel." Jim started kissing his way down Blair's chest, rolling the younger man on his back and moving over him. "Let me relax you, baby." Jim lightly caressed the insides of Blair's thighs, encouraging him to spread them slightly.

Without a lot of preliminaries, he moved down on the bed and sliding Blair's boxers down, started replacing the caresses of his hands with kisses, happy to see Blair's languid cock perking up and taking interest. He nuzzled Blair's balls and then took one in his mouth, sucking on the oval gently, listening to Blair's groans of pleasure as he released it and treated its mate to the same thing.

Then he moved to take Blair's growing erection into his mouth, working the base of it gently with his hand, concentrating his oral efforts on the sensitive head. He snaked his free hand under Blair and teased at his cleft. Blair let out a moan of pleasure, and Jim could feel the tugs on the sheets where he knew Blair was grasping them, trying not to thrust too hard despite the fact his back was arching up now in the heat of the moment.

Jim moved his hand and took Blair all the way into his mouth, grasping both of Blair's buttocks both to control the natural thrusting and to knead and massage them while he worked the hard shaft in his mouth.

"Jim...oh, God...I...it's coming..." Blair managed just before his climax swept over him, hot juices shooting down Jim's waiting throat. "Love you," Blair whispered, sighing as his body seemed to turn to jelly on the mattress.

Jim released the spent organ, and as he started to move away, Blair made a lethargic attempt to spread his legs again.

"What about you?" he asked, a definite invitation to Jim to take his satisfaction in return.

"I'm fine, sweetheart. Go to sleep." Jim moved up and gathered his languid lover in his arms. Blair's hand brushed over Jim's groin area, and satisfied there wasn't a raging hard-on there, the younger man nestled into the embrace.

"That was just what I needed," Blair sighed, his breathing starting to even out. "Love you."

"Love you too, cuddlebug. Sleep. Everything's okay." Jim kissed the warm curls under his chin and let himself relax, drifting off to sleep.

Blair stirred and finally surrendered to the daylight in the room. He was a little surprised to be alone in the bed, and even more surprised when he saw that it was ten o'clock. He pulled himself up to sit, surprised to feel his bare butt make contact with the sheets until he remembered the night before, and realized his shorts were somewhere under the covers instead of on his body. There was a note on Jim's pillow.

"Morning, my little bear claw,

You were sleeping so soundly that I thought you needed the rest more than anything else. Come downtown and join me when you can. If I don't see you there, I'll be home around three to pick you up to go to the funeral home for Mae. Fresh bagels are in the kitchen.

Love,
Jim"
Blair laughed at the endearment that started the message. He had let himself in for at least two days' worth of strange new love names for teasing Jim about his propensity for "sticky" endearments. Blair loved being called by the love names, and Jim knew it, but when the younger man called him on it, Jim would launch into a pattern of teasing him ruthlessly with the sappiest concoctions he could think up.

He re-read the note, and smiled at the mention of fresh bagels. Since they'd moved to the house, that meant a ten minute drive into town, pick up bagels, and another ten minute drive back out to the house to leave them there. Jim was a once in a lifetime find, and Blair was more than a little pleased to be the one to have found him. Bagels might not cure nightmares, but it was typical of Jim to try anything he could think of to make Blair feel better in the wake of one of them.

Getting out of bed, he dug around for his underwear and tossed it and the tank shirt into the hamper in the bathroom before stepping into the shower for a quick clean-up. He shaved, pulled his hair back and found a pair of jeans and a navy blue Rainier t-shirt, then pulled on socks and shoved his feet into his athletic shoes. As he was heading downstairs, he froze in the middle of the staircase. A door had just slammed somewhere in the house.

"Jim?" he called out, not surprised to get no response. It sounded like an interior door, not one of the doors leading outside. "Shit," he muttered, retreating back upstairs. He located his baseball bat in the back of the closet, and started back downstairs. He stopped again when the slamming noise repeated itself--over and over again, as if the door were opening and closing again and again.

Mustering all his courage, Blair made it to the foot of the stairs and turned to walk down the hall toward the back of the house, where the sound originated. The door into the sitting room, which used to be Michael's music room, was swinging open and slamming shut repeatedly, and each time it did, a gust of cold air flooded the hall.

The ringing of the phone made him jump, and as the new sound invaded the house, the door slammed a final time, and didn't open again.

Blair walked slowly into the kitchen, casting the occasional suspicious glance over his shoulder at the closed door.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Chief, it's me. Anything wrong?"

"Huh? Oh, I, uh...just got up and I was on the stairs when the phone rang."

"Blair."

"Something's going on in the TV room."

"Something...like what?"

"Like the door opening and closing and cold air coming out into the hall."

"I don't hear anything now," Jim responded.

"It stopped when the phone rang."

"You're on the cordless in the kitchen?"

"Yeah."

"You want to go check out the room while I'm on the line?"

"Okay." Blair started across the kitchen and into the hall. He eyed the door with great trepidation, moving slowly toward it. Just as he approached it, the knob turned and it opened slowly on its own. No one was behind it. "Jim?"

"What's up?"

"The door just opened by itself. But I don't see anything."

"Nothing behind the door?"

"Um," Blair moved slowly around to check. "Nope."

"You think it's calmed down now?"

"Looks like it. Man, I don't know. If this is Michael...I don't understand why he's trying to scare the living shit out of me every five minutes."

"Why don't you get out of there, Chief? We'll tackle it together tonight, huh?"

"Yeah. I'm gonna grab one of the bagels and then I'll be there. Thanks for getting them for me."

"Anything for my little buttercup."

"I really hope you're alone, man," Blair replied, laughing at this latest addition to the list of truly sticky names Jim had come up with. "The last thing I need is Simon calling me 'buttercup'."

"I better be the only one calling you that, Chief. No, I'm in the break room on my cell phone. Listen, don't hang around there too long. Grab your bagel and get out of there, huh?"

"I will. Love you."

"Love you too. See you later." Jim broke the connection, and Blair turned off the phone, then let out a long sigh. He glanced out the window at the partially finished garden, and then at the trees beyond, where Michael's body had been found.

"Whatever it is you're trying to tell me, man, you're going to have to be a little more specific." Blair shook his head and opened the bag of bagels, finding a tomato basil and slicing it, spreading a little of the veggie cream cheese on it and continuing to stare out the window as he ate. Maybe this house was too good to be true after all.

The funeral home was fairly crowded with mourners paying their final respects to Mae Devon and expressing sympathy to her family. Jim and Blair didn't linger long, but managed to see Brian and Kelli, and also to pay their respects to Mae.

When Blair approached the casket, he couldn't help but notice how much more frail the small woman looked than she had looked in his encounter with her. He wasn't sure whether to categorize it as a dream or a vision or a psychic encounter, but whatever it was, the Mae he had spoken with was a wholly different woman than the corpse he was viewing.

"Wish we could ask her how to handle things now," Jim said quietly, surprising Blair a little.

"She already told me. Well, she made me see it. She asked me why I wasn't listening to Michael now."

"Then I guess that's what we need to do, huh?"

"Yeah. He's trying to tell me something. I just need to figure it out."

"The roses you sent from us are really nice, Chief." Jim nodded toward the large vase of yellow roses.

"Well, I figured she ought to have them for real this time."

"Blair?" Brian approached them from behind. "Could I speak to you for a minute?"

"Uh...sure." Blair shrugged a little, a bit uneasy at Brian's unspoken implication that he didn't want Jim a part of the conversation.

"Excuse us a minute?" Brian said to Jim, who hadn't moved.

"There's nothing you need to say to me that Jim can't hear--or won't hear about later anyway," Blair spoke up. What he said was true; there was nothing he didn't hash over with Jim anyway, but something in Brian's dismissal of Jim from the conversation rubbed Blair the wrong way.

"I was just wondering if, uh, there had been any more...you know...incidents."

"You're asking after Michael again?" Jim clarified.

"I know you said he was at peace, but I always hope that...you know, if I visit--maybe there's a way to still contact him."

"I don't think Michael wants to interfere in your life, Brian. Not now. He wanted you to have a full life, with Kelli."

"I can't help how I feel. And...things aren't working out so well with Kelli. I just thought, maybe, if you would be willing...you know, to try to contact him--"

"If you're asking Blair to channel Michael again, you can forget it." Jim seemed more than mildly annoyed. "That was a one-time shot, pal."

"I don't believe you're jealous of a spiritual experience. He was channeling Michael's spirit--"

"I don't care if he's channeling Elvis. If you think you're going to have another little game of smashface in the music room, let me save you the trouble of asking."

"I wasn't asking you."

"Yeah? Well I'm telling you. For the last time."

"Excuse me, but I am still here," Blair spoke up. "Look, Michael said what he had to say to you that night. I can't conjure him up like uncorking the genie's bottle."

"But he is still present?"

"I have no proof of that."

"But you feel his presence? God, man, that's all I'm asking--to feel close to him. If Jim were dead, wouldn't you want that chance too? Or Jim--if someone could channel Blair's spirit for you, wouldn't you want to be near that person--have contact?"

"I'm going to say this again, slowly, so that maybe you'll get it this time. It. Isn't. Going. To. Happen." Jim pinned the other man with an angry glare. "Blair's not a fortuneteller or a medium--and you're not going to show up and use his body like some sort of...of...device to make out with Michael from beyond the grave."

"This isn't about sex."

"Look, both of you, just cool it. This isn't the place to have an argument." Blair looked at the other two men. "Brian, I understand how you feel, but Michael isn't communicating the same way he used to, and there was a real sense of closure about that encounter you had with him." Blair paused. "If I ever get any kind of feeling from Michael that he wants to reach out to you, I promise you, I'll get a hold of you. Fair enough?"

"I--"

"You heard him, Brian. This discussion is over," Jim stated, moving away, guiding Blair with a gentle hand in the middle of his back. The younger man didn't resist the movement, and the two of them headed for the exit.

"He was asking after Michael again, right?" Kelli met them at the front door as they were about to leave.

"Kelli, I--"

"Blair, you don't have to protect him. I know that's the main reason he was so willing to drop everything and come here for Grandma's funeral. It wasn't for moral support for me, I know that much."

"I'm sure he'd want to be with you for something like this."

"Our marriage is a joke. I knew the night of the seance it was really over--that I was just babysitting him until he could be with Michael again."

"But he loves you--"

"Like a best buddy or a sister, sure. But he's in love with Michael, and that isn't going to change. And he's going to stay hung up on him until the day he dies and joins him. I know you can't keep giving in to him, but if there's anything...you know, that you can tell him about Michael? I think Brian's very close to...wanting to go be with him."

"You mean you think he's suicidal?" Jim asked.

"I don't think Brian will ever take his own life directly, but he's careless and reckless--he has a very real death wish. Things might not be going all that great in our marriage, but I do still love him. I don't want to see him die a stupid death."

"You think communicating with Michael would alleviate that?" Blair asked.

"I don't really know. Maybe not. Maybe it would make it worse. I think it's a no-win situation." Kelli glanced back toward the room where her grandmother was being shown. "Brian has a great career, and he's trying like hell to do what Michael told him to do, but he's dead inside. He can write such good lyrics because he's so miserable all the time."

"I'm really sorry things are turning out this way," Blair said sincerely. "I like Brian, I think he's basically a good guy. And I know how I'd feel in his place."

"Well, anyway, I'm glad you're not too angry with him. I know he's nervy asking you to try to repeat what happened the night of the seance. We really both value having you guys for friends. I don't want this to mess that up." She tried a faint smile, and both men returned it.

"No hard feelings, Kelli. It's just a hard situation," Jim responded.

"Yes, very," she agreed, nodding.

"You know, Jim, I don't want to feel guilty for another death." Blair watched the scenery move past the window as Jim drove back toward headquarters. "If he needs to feel like he's tried to contact Michael--"

"You don't need to feel guilty about Wendy Evans."

"I feel better than I did about it--honest. I just...there's still a part of it that I feel I had a hand in. But with Brian--"

"As for the Evans case, that's just a mess. There was no good way to handle that one. With Brian--hell, I don't know. The worst part of it is, I know how I'd feel if I were him and I knew someone could channel your spirit. I'd probably kidnap them and drag them off to some remote hideout and chain them up there until they did it again. And again--well, you get the picture. The whole thing would probably drive me insane if losing you hadn't already." Jim was silent in the wake of what struck Blair as a very open, verbal admission from Jim. He reached over and rested a hand on his lover's thigh.

"I would never leave you, Jim. Even if something happened to me. If I could reach out to you somehow, you know I would."

"But that's my point. If there was any way--I wouldn't have any ethics about what I did to make it happen. So that's why Brian sniffing around you worries me. People get obsessed enough with an idea...I just don't want you getting hurt or getting in the middle of an unpleasant situation."

"Michael would never let that happen to me. If I helped them get in touch, he'd protect me."

"You have a hell of a lot of faith in a ghost."

"Michael warned us--I didn't understand the warning, but if he hadn't done what he did with the chimes...God, Jim, I'd probably be in the same boat Brian is right now. I don't want to even think about it. But Michael saved your life. He protected what was most precious to me the only way he could--by warning us."

"So what's he warning us about now--the headcase that left the thing on the porch last night?"

"I don't know. I just need to make contact...to listen to him."

"You think he'd communicate with you if I were there?"

"I think so. Are you game to try contacting him?"

"I know you're going to, one way or the other. I don't want you doing it alone."

"He wouldn't hurt me, Jim."

"When I was first wrestling with this Sentinel thing, I needed you to pull me out of zone-outs more than once. You're playing around with this Shaman thing now, contacting spirits--I just want to be sure that you don't have any similar risks--you know, something weird happening, where you need someone around to get you grounded back in reality again? There are a lot of people in asylums babbling about seeing spirits."

"Ugh," Blair responded, shuddering. Then an odd look crossed his face.

"Look, Chief, about this Brian thing--if you want to try to contact Michael for him again, I won't stand in your way. But I do want to be there, and I want you to think hard about sticking to the resolution

of keeping this guy weaned away from you. This whole obsession with Michael could take an ugly twist if he sees you as the vessel for his dead lover."

"I know. Jim?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for backing me up either way. I really love you, you know?"

"Yeah, I know. Me too." Jim hooked a hand behind Blair's neck and pulled him over for a quick kiss to his mouth. "Let's go," he said, pulling back and getting out of the truck. Blair hurried around the vehicle and fell into step with Jim. "I have a couple ideas to follow up on with the Evans thing. There are a couple possible hiding places we haven't checked."

Still talking over the case, the two men walked into the bullpen, startled to see a vase of red roses on Jim's desk. A large greeting card in a white envelope was leaned against the vase, with Blair's name carefully printed on the front of it.

"Did you...?" Blair asked quietly, frowning a little at Jim. If Jim planned to send flowers, he wouldn't have done it exactly this way, or in the middle of such a somber day.

"No, I didn't."

"Got a secret admirer there, Sandburg?" Simon teased good-naturedly as he walked back into the room, pausing on the way to his office.

"I don't know." Blair reached for the card, but Jim took a hold of his wrist.

"Use these. Just in case."

"Good idea." Blair pulled on the gloves, and Simon frowned.

"After that delivery we had last night..." Jim let the sentence trail off.

"Good thinking," Simon agreed.

Blair opened the card carefully and slid it out of the envelope. Against a red background, the words "Be Mine" were scrawled in a white script, obviously a Valentine card.

"You want me to do the honors, Chief?" Jim offered, picking up on the spiking of Blair's pulse and heartbeat.

"No, I got it." Blair opened the cover of the card and read the verse inside. "Roses are red, violets are blue, Watson's not dead, and he's coming for you." Blair tossed the card on the desk and backed away from it, staring at it like it was a live snake.

"Son of bitch," Jim grumbled, picking up the card and envelope by the corner and tossing them in an evidence bag. He called down to the Forensics lab to come up and get the roses in their vase, in case there were any prints or florist information to be gathered from the piece.

"You okay, Blair?" Simon asked, his voice softer than usual as he rested a hand on Blair's shoulder.

"I know it's just a verse on a card...I just..." Blair swallowed hard. "Yeah, I'll be okay."

"The lab's sending someone up to get this damn thing and have it checked over. We'll get this asshole, Chief. Don't worry about it." Jim looked around the room. "Hey, everybody, listen up! Did anybody see who delivered these flowers?"

"It was Jenny from downstairs in Records," Brown responded, joining the group. "What's up?"

"It's a threatening message--a sick joke." Jim turned to Blair, who still seemed more than a bit shaken, but was maintaining his composure. "Let's go talk to Jenny." Jim gave Blair a gentle nudge with a hand on his shoulder and the two of them headed for the Records department. "It's just a sick prank, Chief," Jim said softly as they made their way down the hall.

"I know. It's just...chilling."

"Yeah, it is." Jim steered them into a nearby men's room and seeing it was empty, locked the door. "Think you can hold it together all right, sweetheart?" Jim asked gently, placing a hand on the side of Blair's face. The other man leaned into the touch, closing his eyes.

"I know he's dead. I just don't know why it's so hard for me to see something like that without feeling...crawly."

"It's supposed to make you feel crawly." Jim pulled his lover into his arms. "It makes me feel crawly and I didn't live with the son of a bitch. But it's a sick joke, baby. Watson's six feet under and he's never coming back."

"Michael came back. Gavin came back."

"As far as we know, Michael's a friendly spirit, and the last time Gavin showed his ugly face, we sent him back where he came from. Now as for Watson, that fucker is dead. And if by some weird circumstance he tries to come near you again, I promise you that what I'll do to that motherfucker will make hell look like a good option. I don't care what form he's in, he'll never touch you again."

"I feel so stupid for even being afraid of this."

"Yeah, so do I." Jim chuckled a little bit. "I guess we're a little oversensitive given our...unique tenant at the house."

"Who would do something like this? Whoever it is, they have to hate me so much..."

"This was pretty common knowledge around the U given the old grapevine, wasn't it?" Jim asked. Blair nodded, still not giving up the comfort of the embrace. "Could be a lot of people. I think we can write off your friends, since any of them would know this would be a source of extreme stress to you and not in the least funny. Could be an angry colleague, a pissed off student--anybody got it in for you lately that you know of?"

"Not really. I mean...nobody I've had any big showdowns with. I didn't even have to fail anybody last semester. I gave out a couple of D's, but I had a basically good group of students. With colleagues...I don't get along with all of them all the time, but there aren't any I have a vendetta going with or anything."

"I'll try to figure out if there's anyone around here, or anyone I know who could be doing it. A good way to harass me would be to harass you. I can't think of anyone right off hand, but I'm sure there are plenty of candidates if I think about it long enough." Jim squeezed his lover and kissed his forehead. "Come on. Let's go find out from Jenny who delivered the flowers to her."

Jenny was a pleasant woman in her mid-thirties, with short dark hair and a ready smile. She was stationed at the front desk in Records, a not always enviable spot.

"Enjoying your flowers?" she asked pleasantly, looking directly at Blair.

"That's why we're here," Jim spoke up. "Who brought those in to you?"

"It was a guy. He was probably in his early twenties. I figured he was a delivery guy for the florist."

"Can you give us a description?" Jim persisted.

"Well, sure, I suppose. He was average height, muscular build, short medium brown hair, no facial hair...he was wearing a Jags sweatshirt and jeans, and he had a blue cap of some sort in his hand, but he wasn't wearing it."

"That's great, Jenny," Jim commented as he jotted down her description. "You think you could guide Amy through a composite drawing?" Jim referred to the PD's sketch artist.

"I can try. I don't know as I remember the details that well. What's up, guys?"

"The flowers were a threat," Jim responded. "It's very important we track down the jerk who sent them."

"Oh, that's really lousy. Kind of takes the fun out of getting roses, doesn't it?" she said sympathetically.

"Yeah, you could say that," Blair responded, forcing a little smile.

"I'll go downstairs and see if Amy's in. If she is, I'll do what I can."

"Thanks, Jenny." Jim smiled as the other woman called someone to cover her phone while she was gone. "We appreciate the help."

"Oh, hey, no problem. I hope you find the creep."

"So do I," Blair agreed.

The balance of the afternoon was spent following up on a couple potential hiding places for Evans, including a trailer on some property out in the country owned by his aunt and uncle, and a rental property owned by his brother. It was at the rental property where they hit paydirt, Jim spotting the suspect sitting in a chair near the window of his second floor apartment.

"Talk about hiding in plain sight," Jim commented, checking his gun.

"Most people couldn't see him from the street."

"No--but this is still a pretty obvious place to hide. I'm just a bit embarrassed it took me this long to come up with it."

"You've been distracted with this other situation with me...and then Mae..."

"Call for back up. Stay in the truck, Chief. I mean it. This guy's a nutcase. I don't want you getting hurt."

"Then wait for the back up to go in."

"I'm not going to rush in there on my own. I just want to get up there and into position so the bastard doesn't slip away somehow before we can nail him."

"Okay. Be careful."

"Always," Jim responded, smiling slightly as he got out of the truck and headed for the entrance to the building. Blair called for back up, then watched the building with growing anxiety. Not long after he made the back up call, his cell phone rang.

"Hello?" He was still watching the building, not really concentrating on the call.

"I've been waiting a long time to get my hands on you," a raspy voice growled over the line.

"Who is this?" Blair tried to keep his voice firm.

"You always were an unfaithful little whore. Who do you fucking think it is?" The connection was broken. Blair put the phone away with a shaky hand, and jumped at the sound of gunfire.

Grabbing the phone again, he called the dispatcher, reporting the shots fired and adding that it could be an officer down because Jim was the only cop on the scene, one on one with the suspect. Finishing the call, he jumped out of the truck and ran into the building, taking the steps two at a time to the second floor, peering cautiously through the stairwell door into the hall. He saw Jim sitting against the wall across from the open door of one of the apartments, talking on his own cell phone. His head was back against the wall, and there was a spreading dark patch on the arm of his beige jacket.

Blair rushed down the hall to his partner's side, dropping to his knees on the floor.

"He's gone. Out the fire escape down at the end of the hall. See if you can find a towel or something in there. No one else is in there," Jim nodded toward the open apartment.

Blair rushed into the apartment and located the bathroom, snatching an armload of clean towels out of the linen closet there. Jim chuckled a little at the number his partner returned with as Blair carefully wadded one up and pressed it against the wound.

"I called it in as shots fired with a possible officer down."

"I hear them. They're almost here," Jim responded. "I thought I told you to stay in the truck."

"Give me a break, man. You're shot! Would you have stayed in the truck?"

"Point made," Jim said, rolling his eyes a little. "I wasn't careful with this at all."

"What happened?"

"Bad timing," Jim said, wincing a little at the pressure on the wound in his upper arm. "I think it's just a flesh wound, Chief. It's bleeding like crazy, but the bullet passed through."

"Thank God. This was too close."

"Things have been getting a little too close the last few days. Anyway, I didn't draw my gun as soon as I got up on the second floor, which I should have, so when I came out that stairwell door where you just came out, and started down the hall, he swung open his door and walked out and took one look at me, and drew and fired. I didn't have time to even get my gun. The only reason this is a lesser wound is because I had both arms back to grab for my gun when he fired."

"So your arm wasn't as much in the line of fire as it would have been?"

"Right. Plus I think he was a lousy shot. I was going to go in there and have a look around, but I started feeling shaky from the wound, so I just parked here."

"Why didn't you wait for back up?"

"I planned to. I didn't figure on him coming out when he did." Just then, two uniformed officers emerged through the stairwell door. Blair took Jim's ID from him and held it up.

"Get the ambulance guys up here!" one of the officers yelled down the stairs.

"I still feel like an idiot," Jim grumbled, settling into the comfort of a mountain of pillows in their bed. After bullying the medical staff into treating and releasing him, Jim had ridden home with Blair driving the truck, and was now luxuriating in the comfort of his own bed, getting what he considered better nursing care then he'd have enjoyed at the hospital.

"You said yourself it was bad timing, lover. It wasn't your fault."

"The son of a bitch got away. Again."

"You know, we could look on the bright side here. He was a lousy shot and you moved for your gun at the right time, and because of that, you're here instead of in intensive care or...worse." Blair seemed to shudder a bit at that mental image as he placed the bed tray of food in front of Jim. "And it could have been your right arm."

"Guess we have to be grateful for small favors, huh?"

"We'll find Evans. You tracked him this time. You'll track him again."

"This isn't good timing for me to be laid up. Not with this other situation going on."

"Don't worry about that." Blair sat cross-legged on his side of the bed. He hadn't mentioned the phone call to Jim, and didn't plan to until his wounded lover had enjoyed a good night's sleep and was feeling a little stronger.

"Of course I'm worried about it, sweetheart."

"Yeah, well, so far all he's done is mess with my head. That's probably his thing...you know...scaring me."

"Probably. But probably isn't good enough when we're talking about your safety."

"The doors and windows are all locked, you can still hear if anyone gets in, and we have two cell phones and the phone by the bed, and a gun up here. Short of laying in a year's supply of canned goods and berming up the front yard with sandbags, we're better prepared for war and disaster than most survivalists." Blair smiled as Jim laughed out loud.

"Can't argue with that logic."

The evening passed in comfortable companionship, with Blair reading, curled up on his side of the bed with the textbook for his summer class, which he would begin teaching in a couple of weeks, and Jim channel surfing on the small television opposite the bed.

"Listen." Jim muted the TV sound and waited. Blair looked up from his book, watching his lover intently. Then he heard the rising crescendo of the windchimes. "Take a look outside. I don't hear any wind."

Blair got up and went to the window, pulling back the drapes and looking outside. The moonlit branches were only barely moving with the lightest of breezes.

"It's not that windy outside." Blair looked back at Jim. Then he heard the same sound of the TV room door slamming downstairs.

"Shit." Jim started to get up.

"Be careful. Don't move too fast." Blair was at his side in a minute. "It's just the TV room downstairs."

"That's what it was doing earlier?"

"Same thing."

"Goddammit, Michael, if you've got something to say, fucking say it and knock off the goddamned theatrics!" Jim shouted. Both men lurched a little as the door to the bedroom opened and closed twice, hard enough to shake the pictures on the wall. "Fine. Slam the goddamned door. It'll save you saying anything useful!" Jim shouted at the invisible force.

"Jim, come on, man, don't antagonize him."

"Why not? You're the one who sings his praises. If he's Casper the friendly ghost, let him say or do something useful instead of these adolescent pranks. Next thing you know he'll be rattling chains and running through the halls with a sheet over his head!"

As abruptly as it had begun, the symphony of noises ended.

"Geez, Jim, you probably pissed him off and now he'll never communicate with us."

"Let's give him a little more credit than to assume he's gone away pouting. Maybe he knows he's got our attention now. So let's hear something worthwhile."

"Jim?"

"What?"

"Are you up to doing a seance with me?"

"A seance."

"Yeah, a seance. You don't have to really do anything. Just sit there and let me do the rest. I think we should do it in the TV room. That was Michael's music room--his favorite room in the house. And it's where we feel his presence most, and where the door was slamming."

"I don't know, Chief. What Mae could handle and what you could handle could be two different things. She had experience."

"She told me to listen to Michael. I think he'll tell me what I need to know if I give him half a chance."

"All right. We're not going to get any rest at this rate tonight anyway."

After Jim was comfortably settled on the couch in the TV room, Blair went to the kitchen and found six fat white candles he often used for meditating. Returning to the room, he lined the candles up on the coffee table and lit each one, then turned off the lights and took a seat, cross-legged, on the floor in front of the table, across it from Jim.

"Okay, I'm not too sure how to go about this, but let's just start by closing our eyes, and trying to clear our minds of everything but an...openness to communicate." Blair watched Jim a bit anxiously, and was relieved when the other man nodded. //Either he's humoring me or what I said actually made sense to someone but me,// Blair thought, smiling a little and closing his eyes.

The house was strangely silent, and despite the breeze picking up a bit outside, no sound was heard from the chimes.

"Michael, we're listening. If there is something you want us to know, please show us a sign."

The slight jangling of the windchimes.

"Are you trying to warn us of something?" Blair asked, opening his eyes. He tried not to be distracted by the fact that Jim opened his at the precise same moment. //God, can he hear my eyelids moving, or are we that attuned to each other?//

A misty form glowed from the corner of the room.

"Michael, please help us understand what it is you're trying to tell us. Are we in danger?" Blair asked.

"Yes," Michael's voice came through softly, but clearly.

"Is it Evans?" There was no response. "Michael, who is the threat?"

"My battle."

"What does that mean?"

"My fault." Michael's voice was strained, almost regretful, apologetic.

"What's your fault?"

"Danger."

"The danger is your fault? How?"

"I did it."

"Michael, what did you do?" Blair persisted.

"Is it Brian?" Jim interjected, surprising Blair a little. There was a long silence before the spirit responded.

"Never Brian. Tell him...I love him."

"I'll tell him. Do you want to see Brian again? Kelli's afraid for him. He misses you terribly."

"Not our time yet."

"Why is the danger to us your fault? Who is the threat?"

"I...was angry. Haunted him... But he is angry with you..."

"Who?!" Blair prodded, becoming impatient.

"I wanted to protect you." Michael's voice was still softer now. "I was wrong..."

And with that, the form began to fade, and in an instant it was gone. Both men lurched back as the flames on the candles shot up almost a foot from their wicks and then returned to normal.

"Damn. He's gone." Blair exhaled, running a hand back through his hair.

"That was weird." Jim rubbed a hand over his face, shaking his head a little.

"He said it was his battle and his fault, and that he was wrong. What do you suppose that means?"

"Well, maybe he was wrong in scaring you instead of communicating with you."

"I get the feeling it was something else. I mean, I don't know as Michael can just pop in for coffee and chat whenever he wants to. Maybe he was communicating the only way he could."

"The only way without someone with psychic ability drawing him out. Blair, do you realize what just happened here?"

"I guess I...I guess I did that, didn't I?"

"You drew him out, opened up a line of communication with someone from the other side. All by yourself."

"Maybe what Incacha said...maybe he really did pass something on to me."

"One thing I know about Incacha. He didn't talk just to have something to say."

"Whoa." Blair sat there, a bit stunned at the significance of what had happened.

"Michael said he wanted to protect you, and that he was wrong."

"Okay, let's take this one step at a time. He said it was his battle. The big battle he fought was with Gavin." Blair looked up, fear plain in his eyes. "You don't think...?"

"You mean that Gavin's back? Shit, I hope not," Jim responded honestly, leaning back in the seat, wincing at the movement of his arm.

"Man, you must be tired. We should call it a night."

"We can't just go to bed and forget about this."

"Mae thought Gavin was gone."

"Well, who else has Michael fought a battle with?"

"I don't know." Blair walked over to the wall switch and turned on the overhead fixture in the room, then returned to the table and blew out the candles.

"I can think of one."

"Who?" Blair moved to sit next to Jim instead of in his old spot on the floor.

"Mark Borden."

"We don't have any proof of that, Jim. Mark Borden wasn't wrapped too tightly when I had him in class. The fact he went off like a roman candle and slugged me for flunking him was a pretty good indicator he wasn't in great shape. We know he had some major psychological problems and ended up in a sanitarium." Blair shrugged. "I just thought it was a nice, fancy way to get his sentence for the assault charges deferred."

"You know your first thought was that Michael had paid him a visit. Or several."

"I know I thought that, but--"

"But what?" Jim paused. "It all fits. If Borden is all pissed off and wants revenge, it truly is Michael's battle, Michael's fault, and if he thought he was protecting you by going after Borden, he was wrong. Everything he said tonight fits."

"So you believe that Michael drove Borden crazy, and now Borden wants a piece of me because he thinks it's my fault?"

"It makes sense." Jim chuckled a little at that. "Well, as much sense as holding seances in our TV room, I guess."

"It's just weird how he seems to know the lingo about Vince...I mean, it's like it's beyond knowing about the S&M thing. What he said on the phone--" Blair stopped.

"What he said on the phone?" Jim asked, a definite tone of irritation in his voice. "And you talked to him on the phone when?"

"This afternoon," Blair admitted quietly. "I didn't want to upset you, and it seemed so unimportant with what happened--"

"Unimportant? Blair, this nut is stalking you! Sending threats in the name of your dead lover! How much more do you need to take this seriously?!" Jim demanded angrily.

"I take it plenty seriously!" Blair shouted back. "I can't sleep, I can't eat worth shit because I feel like there's a rock in my stomach, and I have this horrible feeling like Vince is back from the grave following me around! If I take this any more fucking seriously I'll be as crazy as Borden!" Blair was on his feet and pacing now.

"I'm sorry, Chief. I didn't mean to jump you that way."

"It's not your fault. It's me." Blair sat in a chair that faced the window, behind the couch and out of Jim's line of view. "I just feel like I can't deal with it anymore...and everything just...sets me off. I didn't mean to go postal on you."

"Tell me what he said this afternoon, and how he called you--was it on your cell phone?"

"Yeah. I was waiting in the truck for you, and he said he couldn't wait to get his hands on me. When I asked who it was, he said..." Blair paused, and Jim finally looked over the back of the couch at where the younger man sat slumped in the chair.

"What?" Jim prodded gently.

"He said that...that I always was an unfaithful little whore. God, Jim, it sounded just like him." Blair's voice shook, and Jim could see him brushing a hand past his eyes.

Jim got up and walked over to stand behind Blair's chair. He caressed the bent head with his right hand.

"Watson's dead, sweetheart. You know that."

"He's never going to be dead. You can kill his body but he's always going to be some goddamn boogeyman I can't get away from!" The tears were coming harder now, and Jim cursed the limitation on his arm that made his movements to comfort Blair slower and a bit labored. Still, he got down on one knee in front of the chair and held out his good arm.

Always mindful of Jim's injured arm in its sling, Blair wound his arms around his lover's neck and good shoulder, and did his best not to put any pressure on the injury.

"It's okay, baby. Let it out. I've got you." Jim put as much security into the one-armed embrace as he could, holding Blair firmly against his body. "We'll nail Borden or whoever this creep is, and it'll be over."

"The memories never go away," Blair moaned softly against Jim's shoulder. "I think they're gone and I feel okay and then something happens and it all just comes back."

"We've all got bad memories, Chief. There's nothing wrong with you because they bother you or scare you."

"You've got such a good handle on yours...they don't sneak up and bite you on the ass all the time," Blair observed brokenly.

"No, they just lurk in my subconscious until something triggers them and then my senses shut down and if you weren't around, I'd probably be drooling in the corner of a rubber room. We all deal with our...shit in different ways--but we've all got it."

"Why does it bother me what he called me?"

"You don't have to love a person who insults you in order to be hurt or pissed off or offended by it."

"If Evans was a better shot...if anything ever happened to you..."

"I know. I feel the same way." Jim patted Blair's back lightly, and kissed the side of his head. "Shhh. It's okay, sweetheart. I'm here."

"I'm sorry." Blair's voice was a bit steadier now, and his tears seemed to have calmed to an occasional hitch in his breathing.

"Nothing to be sorry for."

"I should be taking care of you tonight." Blair straightened up and sniffed a couple of times, then laid a hand on the side of Jim's face.

"How about if we take care of each other?"

"We usually do," Blair responded, smiling as Jim used his handkerchief to dry his lover's tears. "What, you don't want me to blow?" Blair joked as Jim tucked his handkerchief back in his pocket.

"I don't love you that much, Chief," Jim shot back, and then smiled as Blair laughed out loud. //Mission accomplished.//

"I was noticing that the shadow of those tree branches up there in the lower right hand corner of the ceiling look sort of like a sailboat," Jim observed.

"You're supposed to be sleeping. I thought those pain meds the doctor prescribed usually work for you."

"I didn't take them."

"Jim." Blair pulled himself up on one elbow and looked down at his lover, who was lying on his back and analyzing the shadows on the ceiling. "You need your rest, man."

"I didn't want to be too dopey. I dialed it down. I'm all right." Jim was quiet a minute. "What's your excuse, Darwin?"

"Guess my mind's just moving too fast...too much to process." Blair flopped on his back next to Jim. "Who'm I trying to kid? Every time I close my eyes, I see...him. That last phone call just freaked me out, you know?"

"I called Simon before bed, and he ran a check on it. It came from a stolen cell phone."

"Swell." The two men were quiet a while longer before Blair spoke again. "I'm really sorry about all this, Jim."

"About what?"

"About...well, about all the...crap you've had to put up with because of...well, Vince, and now maybe Borden..." Blair shrugged. "I really am sorry for dragging all my baggage into our life like this."

"Your baggage is my baggage, Chief. Just like mine's yours. Comes with the territory." Jim groped around under the blanket and found Blair's hand. "We'll figure this mess out."

"I hope so." Blair rolled onto his side and rested against Jim's good side, laying his head on Jim's shoulder. "Love you."

"Love you too, cuddlebug." Jim ran his hand up and down Blair's back in long strokes. "Don't worry about Borden. We'll get him."

The first day of Jim's forced convalescence began on the phone, as he was on the line to Simon first thing to check up on the progress in hunting down Evans, as well as to run a check on Borden to see if he was still safely ensconced in the mental facility.

"No word on Evans, and Simon's running a check on Borden himself. He'll call back when he's done," Jim reported to Blair, who was serving him his breakfast, saving him the effort of maneuvering around with his bad arm. The doctor had stated that the flesh wound probably wouldn't take too long to heal, but it was serious enough to warrant limiting the arm's movement to prevent re-opening the wound. Meanwhile, Jim was off active duty at what he considered the worst possible time.

"Man, we were so close. He can't have that many more places to hide out."

"He's probably trying to get out of town. We've got roadblocks set up, the airports, bus terminals--all that's covered." Jim took a drink of his coffee.

"Did they ever lift a print of any kind off that matchbook they found at the scene of the shooting?"

"Just the bar owner's. Henri and Joel questioned him, but there was no evidence linking him to the shooting, and he had several witnesses attest to the fact he was behind the bar all afternoon. It's a little odd that his was the only usable print. Unless the guy who picked it up was wearing gloves when he was in the bar." Jim thought for a moment. "I'm going to see if Brown can take a run over there and question the regulars, see if anyone remembers seeing a guy in there wearing gloves recently. I mean it's May--that's got to attract attention."

"Really," Blair agreed, sitting at the table with his own coffee and bagel. "You know you're working as much as you would at work?" Blair observed as Jim dialed another number on the cordless phone, most likely to share that suggestion with Brown.

"Ah, but this is even better. I get to hand out orders and supervise while I'm recuperating." Jim smiled a little evilly, then, "'morning, H. Hey, would you be willing to follow up on something for me?" Blair watched his lover, amused, as the other man dispatched Henri to go talk to the folks at Sonny's Grill. "Really? Great, can you transfer me in there? Thanks." Jim covered the mouthpiece. "Simon wants to talk to me. Hopefully we've got something on Borden." Jim waited a moment. "Yeah. What've you got?" Jim listened, then rolled his eyes. "When?" Another pause. "Shit. Timing's perfect." Jim listened a bit longer, then nodded. "That's great. Thanks, Simon--we appreciate it." Jim nodded slightly. "Yes, I'm taking it easy. Sandburg's waiting on me hand and foot. It was just a flesh wound. Between you two, you'd think I was in ICU or something." Jim paused again. "Right. Thanks again." Jim hung up the phone.

"Well?"

"Borden escaped from the mental hospital where he was staying, and he beat an orderly nearly to death in the process. The guy's on life support with a bashed in skull."

"Oh no." Blair covered his mouth briefly with his hand. "When did he get out?"

"A little less than a week ago. The facility is located near Sacramento, so Simon is going to get a hold of a friend of his at the PD there and find out what they know about Borden, what his obsessions are, anything his doctors might have been able to tell them. Plus, he's putting an unofficial word-of-mouth APB out on him." Jim paused. "Unless you can ID the voice as being Borden's--then it would be official."

"I didn't recognize it. But then, I never talked to Borden on the phone before, and I haven't talked to him at all for over a year now."

"Before all this started...you got a phone call, here at the house. Remember? Some guy threatening you?"

"Oh yeah. Now I do. He said something like he was coming to get me. I figured it was some smart ass who didn't like his grade and got my number off the syllabus."

"The timing would have been right for Borden--that would have been right after he got out."

"Maybe we could find out where that call came from?"

"Good thinking. We've got to get going if we're going to make Mae's funeral."

"Are you up to that?"

"It's just a flesh wound, sweetheart. As long as I take it easy and keep my arm in the sling, I should be fine."

"Okay." Blair stood up and reached for his breakfast dishes. "I'll go upstairs and--" He was cut off when Jim pulled him into a one-armed clutch, his butt landing on the larger man's lap. Jim started nuzzling the back of his neck. "What're you doing?" Blair asked, laughing a little.

"You have about ten minutes to spare?" Jim asked, a decidedly devilish tone to his voice.

"What about your arm?"

"I don't need my arm for what I've got in mind." Jim punctuated the remark by letting his tongue snake out to lick at the side of Blair's throat.

"I have an idea."

"Dangerous words, baby," Jim growled against the spot on Blair's neck he'd been licking and nuzzling.

"I think you're gonna like this." Blair wriggled out of Jim's clutches and turned to face him, kneeling in front of the chair and opening Jim's robe. Grasping the waistband of Jim's boxers, Blair looked up at his lover with blatant lust. "We need to lose these. Now."

"Aye, aye, sir." Jim obligingly lifted his butt and Blair dispensed with the offending garment easily.

"Mmm. Breakfast." Blair licked his lips slowly, concentrating on the shaft that was already beginning to take an interest in what he was doing. Sliding his own robe off his shoulders, Blair tossed it aside and slid his boxers down and off, kicking them out of the way to join the robe. Kneeling again in front of Jim, he encouraged the strong thighs apart and moved between them, leaning in to lick at Jim's balls, finally sucking the first oval into his mouth, then moving to the second. His hair brushed the insides of Jim's thighs as the larger man watched the slightly sleep-rumpled curls moving between his legs.

"Oh, man!" Jim gasped, his back arching as the oral ministrations shot hot pokers of pleasure from his groin throughout his entire body.

Blair moved from the now saliva-slicked, taut balls to the rapidly engorging shaft, drawing his tongue up the underside of it in a long, tortuous stroke. Then he pounced, swallowing Jim whole in one passionate swoop. If Blair could have smiled, he would have, at the loud growl of pleasure that brought. He kept his hands on Jim's hips, hoping to control the undulations that seemed to be happening independent of Jim's will.

And then he pulled back, releasing the pulsing cock from the hot wetness that had brought it to hardness.

"What...?" Jim opened passion-glazed eyes and looked down at Blair, who was standing up now. He calmly handed Jim the small plastic tub of whipped butter, then turned around, bending over and gripping his calves.

"Your move, stud boy," Blair teased, thrusting his ass out invitingly.

Jim grappled with the container with a shaky hand, dipping his fingers in it, knowing he'd never be able to put it on toast again without getting semi-hard. Wishing he had both hands to devour the prize in front of him, he went through a cursory preparation of stretching the snug passage, since Blair was relaxed and more than willing.

Blair felt the greasy fingers probing his hole, first one, then two, then that delicious stretch as the third one slipped inside him, opening him and getting him ready for Jim. The stroke to his prostate turned his grunts of pleasure to a scream, and Jim repeated the stroke several times over until Blair was nearly mindless with the ecstasy of it. Bending over this way for Jim, coupled with the movements of the busy fingers had brought Blair to full hardness, and he was relieved to feel the fingers slide out of his body, and a firm hand on his hip, encouraging him to turn around, guiding him toward his goal.

Jim guided his lover until his slick hole was positioned over the hard shaft waiting to claim it. He moaned in pleasure as Blair made the descent in one long, slow motion until rounded buttocks brushed against Jim's thighs.

"Come here," Jim got his good arm around Blair's middle and pulled him close, kissing his way across the smooth expanse of Blair's throat and shoulders. Blair had straddled his lap, and now began to writhe on the hard column that impaled him.

Jim's cock was hitting Blair's prostate with almost every move, and the painful intensity of the pleasure made Blair cry out with each impact. Blair's engorged shaft, trapped between their writhing bodies, thrived on the friction of flesh on flesh. Blair grabbed one of Jim's shoulders and the edge of the table, riding his lover faster and harder until both men were groaning and crying out their pleasure, the sounds mingled until neither was sure which came from his own mouth and which came from his lover's.

"That's it, baby. Come for me," Jim whispered huskily against Blair's ear as the younger man's head dropped back, his hair brushing his shoulders and falling down his back, a few strands sticking to moist skin.

"Oh, yeah, these little guys are interested in playing," Jim opined, staring lecherously at Blair's taut nipples. Moving in to drag his tongue over the first little protrusion, he drew it firmly into his mouth, sucking hard on the little bud of flesh, loving the groans it dragged out of Blair as the younger man held onto Jim's shoulders, careful not to touch the sensitive area of Jim's injured arm.

"God, Jim, fuck me hard," Blair groaned, followed by a wail of pleasure as Jim released the nipple held prisoner in his mouth and took the invitation, making the effort to thrust upward as hard as his position allowed.

"Come on, baby, move that sweet ass for me," Jim goaded. "Ride it, baby."

Blair let out a final cry of Jim's name, and spurted his completion between their bodies.

As Blair's body contracted around him in frantic spasms, Jim shouted his lover's name and in a couple wild thrusts, filled Blair with his seed before his body stilled, truly spent from the mind-blowing orgasm.

Blair was panting above him, his own sweaty body finally slumping against Jim, his head angling around so their lips could meet, although awkwardly, for a lazy kiss.

"Wow," Jim said eloquently, running his hand over Blair's damp back, again wishing he could use both arms to cradle his spent lover in the afterglow.

"I should move while I still can," Blair said, grinning up at Jim.

"You could just stay there. I don't mind," Jim teased, nipping at the nearby earlobe. "That was beautiful, sweetheart. You're beautiful."

"We're beautiful," Blair responded, smiling and finding Jim's mouth for another kiss.

"God you smell good," Jim opined, nuzzling the damp curls.

"I need a shower," Blair retorted, laughing a little. The motion vibrated the lax cock still buried in his body. "And I need to move before the general salutes again," Blair added, moving carefully to let Jim slide free of his body. In an instant, they were kissing deeply, smiling as they ran into each other while each trying to kiss every part of the other's face.

"Are we late yet?" Jim asked, focusing on the kitchen clock. They had about an hour before they had to leave the house. "Great. Time for a nice, long shower."

"I love you," Blair said softly, leaning in for a much slower, gentler kiss.

"I love you too, angel. Let's go get washed up, huh?"

"That means I have to move."

"Well, normally I'd carry you, but a one-armed load you're not."

Blair hauled himself off Jim's lap with a little groan, and Jim stood up on his own slightly shaky legs, shrugging his robe back on his shoulders. Blair grabbed his robe and boxers as well as Jim's discarded boxers and walked shamelessly nude toward the stairway. Jim tried not to concentrate too hard on how it felt to be buried to the hilt in the sexy bare ass that was making its way up the stairs in front of him.

The funeral dinner for Mae was held at her church, and since Brian and Kelli would be making their trip back home immediately following, Jim and Blair opted to stay for it. As they sat at one of the long tables mixed with friends and relatives, Jim happened to glance over at Blair, to see him shifting a bit in his seat. The other man caught his gaze and winked. Jim wondered if his face was turning the color it felt like it was turning, and sincerely hoped it was only his heightened sense of touch magnifying the hot blush beyond what it really was.

"So, you two are heading home this afternoon?" Blair said.

"Our flight leaves in about two hours," Brian responded, still a bit subdued after their confrontation at the funeral home.

"Maybe when we come up in the fall we can spend a little more time together," Kelli suggested. "We'd like to invite you guys to come out to one of the shows. Brian--aren't you going to be playing in Seattle during the tour?"

"Probably. Nothing's firmed up yet. We don't even have the album out yet."

"I just mean that you usually do."

"Yeah, we do."

"The label's talking about them going on as headliners this time," Kelli added.

"Congratulations," Blair spoke up.

"Thanks. The whole opening act scene sucks. I'm glad to be finally planning a real tour."

The conversation progressed along calmly, with Jim and Blair meeting and talking with Kelli's sister and her husband, as well as a few other family members. By the time the dinner was over, and the four of them were strolling out into the vestibule of the church, Blair managed to get Brian aside for a moment.

"Michael sent you a message," Blair said quietly. Brian's face brightened immediately.

"You've talked to him again?"

"He said to tell you he loved you."

"Blair, look, I know Jim's against it, but if you can contact him...please help me to talk to him. I...I need to talk to him."

"I told him you missed him, that you were having a hard time without him. He said he loved you, but that it wasn't your time yet. He's going to wait for you, Brian. But he wants you to live your life now. Not pine away for a ghost."

"Look, I promise, I won't keep harassing you for this. But I really, really need to just spend some time in his presence again. If you can do that, why won't you let me be in on it? My God, I loved him with all my heart and soul! If anyone deserves to make contact with him, why not me?" Brian took a hold of Blair's upper arms and gave him one hard shake. A firm hand clamped on one of his wrists.

"Because Blair's not hanging out his shingle as a medium." Jim stepped up behind Blair. "Get your hands off him. He's not Michael, and he's not going to be your stand-in either."

"He has contact with him. Is it so wrong to want to get in touch with someone you love? Besides, man, I don't hear him speaking for himself." Brian backed off a bit physically, but he wasn't giving up his argument.

"You hear it now, Brian. Michael has said it isn't your time. I asked if he wanted to see you, and that's what he said. I take my cues from him."

"I don't believe he doesn't want to see me. I don't believe that he'd refuse to communicate if I were there."

"I don't know how to make this any clearer." Jim's entire body seemed to stiffen out with anger. "Michael doesn't own our house, and he's not calling the shots. Neither are you. Blair did what he did out of the goodness of his heart. It was a one-time shot, pal. I've tried to keep this friendly because I didn't want to have a confrontation over it during Mae's funeral. But I'm telling you now--once you get on that plane, you stay the hell away from Blair and quit harassing him about Michael. Got it?"

"I want to hear it from Blair."

"You did hear it from me but you weren't listening, man. I told you that Michael said it wasn't your time. If you can't take it from us, take it from him." Blair paused. "I understand that you love him--he loves you too. But he's not...of this world anymore. And every time we talk, you bring the subject back to Michael and start hinting at asking me to make contact with him."

"I love him. I want to be near him. I don't care if it's once a year or once every fucking decade." Something in Brian's desperation seemed to soften Blair's resolve.

"Brian, there's something going on... There's this guy who's stalking me--it's a long story. See, I think the reason Michael is around is to try to warn me about this mess--to help me. I honestly don't think he wants to mess up your life with Kelli. When he said it wasn't your time, I think he was trying to let his good bye to you stand so you could go on living."

"Yeah? Well, I'm sorry about your stalker problem. Your cop friend here doing anything about it?" Brian tried to lighten his tone a little toward Jim.

"We're doing everything we can, and a few things we normally wouldn't if Blair weren't as important to the PD as he is."

"I'm just trying to say that I think that's why Michael's restless. I'm going to be honest with you on one thing, Brian, because I think you deserve to know. I feel Michael's presence very noticeably quite a lot, but he doesn't usually communicate in any direct manner anymore. This...problem I'm having...it's brought him out. But I really felt that he was at peace with how things were left with you--and while he loves you as much as you love him--for that reason--he's trying to let you have a life. He's still going to be waiting for you when it's over. But you've got the success now you always wanted, and you have a great wife--"

"But I don't have him. If you didn't have Jim, would any of that shit matter to you?" Brian asked, pinning Blair with an intense gaze.

"No, I don't suppose it would." Blair looked at Jim, and then back at Brian. "If you want to stop by the house before you leave...we can give Michael the opportunity if he has anything else to say. I'm not promising anything, and I'm not going to do anything...like before. I don't want this getting physical."

"Anything you're willing to do, I'll be grateful for. I won't push you to do anything you're not comfortable with. I just want to talk to him."

"Okay. Stop by the house before you leave today. What you tell Kelli--well, that's up to you."

Continued in part three.

Due to length, this story has been split into four parts.
Just Remember I Love You

by Candy Apple
Author's webpage: http://internetdump.com/users/candy_a/

Disclaimers and notes can be found in part one.

Just Remember I Love You - Part three
by Candy Apple

"I don't like this, Chief." Jim didn't look a bit happy as he sat in one of the big wingback chairs in Blair's study. "I think you're taking a dangerous road with Brian."

"I couldn't say no. Not when I put myself in his place." Blair sighed, staring into the dormant fireplace across from where they sat. "If something happened to you...I would want to be with you. And if I could find someone who could make that happen... It's just like you said--it would make me crazy to be denied that."

"Still, I--" Jim paused when the phone rang. Blair got up and picked up the extension on his desk.

"Hi, Simon. Yeah, he's right here." Blair handed the phone to Jim.

"Yes, Simon?" A smile curved Jim's mouth like a large cat that just set his sights on a choice, fat canary. "When?" A pause. "You bet I want to be in on it. I can be there in a half hour." Jim hung up the phone. "Guess who the cat just dragged in?"

"Who?"

"Evans. Caught the fucker hiding in the basement of his grandmother's house. Mr. Tough Guy," Jim snorted, standing up and heading for the door of the room. "Come on."

"Brian's due here any minute."

"I thought you were all gung-ho about this case, Chief."

"I am. But I promised Brian, and they're leaving in a little over an hour. He probably won't get another chance to do this for a while. Look, why don't you go ahead and I'll handle this situation with Brian."

"Absolutely not."

"Jim, Brian isn't going to hurt me. He's a good guy, and besides, if he hurts me, he closes the door on communicating with Michael. Besides, Michael won't let anything happen to me."

"So I'm supposed to trust Brian's character and a ghost?"

"The ghost hasn't let us down yet, and we don't have any reason to think that Brian is suddenly this horrible psychotic who's going to attack me. I think of him as a friend."

"I want you to keep my old gun within reach. It's been cleaned within the last week, and it's loaded."

"Oh for God's sake, Jim. Like I'm going to shoot Brian."

"If he decides to force an issue with you, you might consider it."

"What, you think he's going to rape me while I'm channeling Michael?"

"The thought had crossed my mind. The only reason he stopped last time was because Michael called a halt to it. What if this time, they both want it?" Jim shook his head. "No way."

"Jim, Brian isn't going to hurt me. And I want you to go deal with Evans. You know that case means a lot to me."

"Yeah, I know that, Chief. But not half as much as you mean to me." Jim rested his hand on the side of Blair's face. "You really think this is safe?"

"Yes. And truthfully, Jim, as negatively as you feel about this whole thing right now with Brian--I think it could have a bad effect. Spirits respond to those negative feelings, and Michael might not show up at all."

"Okay then." Jim kissed Blair's forehead and walked into the foyer, picking up his keys off the table there.

"You can drive all right?"

"Sure. My right arm's fine, and I'm not planning on doing any high speed pursuits," Jim concluded with a smile.

"Be careful."

"You too. And don't let anyone else in except Brian--got it?"

"I got it."

"Go get the gun. It's in the top left drawer of the dresser."

"I know where it is."

"Promise me, Chief."

"I promise," Blair agreed.

"I'll call you."

"Give us a while, huh?"

"I will." Jim paused a moment and then headed out the door. As he stood in the open truck door, he looked back up at Blair, standing inside the front door. "Love you."

"Love you too. Let me know how things are going with Evans. If I get cleared away early enough here, I can drive in and join you."

"Wait 'til you hear from me, okay?"

"Sure. See you later," Blair said, watching Jim get into the truck and start up the engine. The truck passed Brian's rental car as the two vehicles went opposite directions up the wide, winding drive.

Blair lit the final of the six candles on the coffee table. Brian and he were seated on the floor on either side of it, the shades in the TV room drawn to close out the sunlight.

"Okay, the last time I did this, I just sat here and tried to clear my mind of all distractions. So let's close our eyes, and try to clear our minds. And relax." Blair waited until Brian had closed his eyes and then Blair closed his, and took in a long, slow, deep breath, expelling it slowly.

The first thing that popped into his clearing mind was that he hadn't gone up to the bedroom to get the gun as he'd promised Jim. One thing he never did was break a promise to Jim, no matter how minor it might seem.

"Look, I don't know how many times you want me to say this," Evans stated, his face a mask of anger. The hulking man's face was framed with dark, semi-curly hair, a black mustache adorning his upper lip. Both forearms bore tattoos, one of a snake, the other a sword. "I didn't kill her. I wasn't anywhere near the house that night. There was a fucking restraining order on me. I didn't want to get my ass hauled into court again by that bitch."

"I can see you're all torn up about your wife's death," Jim shot back, making a couple of notes on Evans' file, as if he could care less about what the man was saying.

"She broke up with me and was trying to take me for my last cent. Then she starts sayin' I'm some sorta wife beater. If you're lookin' for me to get all misty because she's dead, you're gonna be disappointed."

"If you're so innocent, why did you go into hiding?" Jim asked, his face as impassive as if it had been carved in granite.

"Because I figured the cops would take her word over mine. And when I heard she'd gotten murdered, I knew I was goin' down for it."

"So all of this was just a bad rap? You never hit your wife?"

"We had some fights. Same as anybody."

"There are arguments, and then there are fights. What were these?"

"Don't get tricky with me. I know my rights. I want a lawyer."

"Fine, you'll have your lawyer. Don't forget to mention to him that you shot a cop--assault with a deadly weapon against a police officer is a damn serious offense, Ace. And one way or another, you're going down for that one, because this victim is still alive, and just waiting to hang your ass out to dry."

"Yeah, well, that doesn't prove I killed Wendy."

"Oh don't worry. We'll take care of that." Jim smiled sarcastically before rising and leaving the interrogation room. Simon was standing on the other side of the two-way mirror, chewing on his cigar, looking more than a little perplexed.

"Is he lying?" he asked Jim.

"Like a rug." Jim shook his head. "His voice is the same voice that was on the tape of the 911 call that was the ruse to get the unit away from Wendy's place."

"I really hate that this case ended this way. Not just because of Sandburg's connection to it--but because it was so damned preventable."

"Was it? That's the thing I keep going back and forth with when I talk to Blair about it. If he was prepared to kill her, he probably would have done it when the opportunity presented itself. We couldn't guard her forever."

"No, that's true. I guess it makes me think a little harder about all that harping Sandburg's done about getting a more effective domestic violence unit. A couple overworked cops and a burned out part-time social worker aren't really doing the job anymore." Simon shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest. "This is the third family dispute-relate d homicide we've had in the last year."

"I know it'll mean a lot to Blair that the issue is even being considered."

"Technically, it isn't being considered by anyone but me. But I do plan to run it by Chief Warren." Simon looked back through the glass at Evans, a look of disgust on his face. "Oh, by the way, Jim," he turned to look at Ellison, "we got the Forensics report back on the flowers and the greeting card Sandburg got. One of the prints on the vase was Mark Borden's."

"I just stopped by and took a look at the composite drawing of the delivery guy on my way up here. It looks to me like the son of a bitch walked right into headquarters and delivered them himself."

"Where is Sandburg anyway? I thought for sure he'd want to be here for this."

"He did, but a friend of ours was coming over, and he's leaving tonight to fly back out to New York--Mae Devon's granddaughter's husband."

"The lady whose funeral you went to today?"

"Right. She...helped us with the house."

"I remember who she was," Simon responded, the skepticism still evident in his voice.

"So who's hot shot's attorney?" Jim inclined his head toward the interrogation room.

"Public defender. Don't know who it's going to be, but it better be somebody good, for his sake."

"Better be a miracle worker," Jim added, a sneery little smile on his face.

Jim looked at the clock, bored with waiting for Evans' attorney to arrive so they could resume questioning. It was almost four, two and a half hours since he'd left Blair at the house. Brian should be airborne by now if all went well, and if it didn't, he'd be airborne as soon as Jim got a hold of him. Figuring it was safe to call the house without disturbing any significant contacts with the spirit world, Jim dialed the number.

"I'm sorry, the number you are dialing is temporarily out of service."

Jim stared at the receiver, stunned, and then dialed his number again. The same recording greeted him. In a flash, he was out of his chair and in the hall, heading for the elevator, cursing himself for having trusted the obsessed man to be alone with Blair.

The drive to the house was a blur of traffic, car horns and ignored traffic signals as Jim made a single-minded flight with lights and siren, calling back into headquarters to request back up for what could be a hostage or assault situation. He could faintly hear other sirens in the distance, one of which was the ambulance that he'd requested. He wasn't sure what had happened, and prayed fervently that he had overreacted, and that Blair would be sitting in his study, reading calmly, and that the whole phone situation would be a simple technical difficulty. He found that whole scenario highly unlikely.

Pulling up in the drive and bringing the truck to a halt, Jim jumped out and ran for the front door, tearing the sling off his arm and tossing it aside, drawing his gun and ignoring the flare of pain in the healing wound. He unlocked the front door, then gave it a shove, sending it swinging open. He burst through the opening, scanning the house with all senses on full alert. If the entry hall was any indication, something was seriously wrong. Beads from the crystal chandelier near the stairs were scattered all over the floor and the staircase, the plant that had been on the table looked as if it had exploded, shards of the pot everywhere, mixed in with dirt, shredded leaves and the crystals. The two framed pictures that had been on the wall were on the floor in piles of smashed glass.

"Blair!" he called out. No response. There was some sound of movement coming from the other side of the staircase, but it wasn't Blair. Jim edged around the foot of the stairs and sprang into a firm stance with his gun aimed at the source of the noise near the side of the staircase. Brian lay on the floor in a pool of his own blood, the result of a wound in his chest.

"Brian?" Jim squatted near the wounded man, and tuning in to the slowing pulse, the white pallor and the lack of consciousness, realized he was very near death. "Hang on, Brian. There's an ambulance on the way," Jim squeezed one limp, cool hand before rising to his feet again and resuming his search for some evidence of his lover's whereabouts. He stopped at the foot of the stairs and zeroed in on a small red splotch on a step near the middle of the staircase.

A thorough search of the house revealed almost every room in the same condition as the entry hall. It looked as if a tornado had ripped through the interior of the house, and the Forensics team that arrived wandered through the destruction, baffled for a way to explain how any human could wreak this particular type of havoc. Items that were broken were left in patterns that implied they had exploded rather than been smashed. The damage to the chandelier appeared to be the work of an incredible wind rather than human vandalism.

Jim found the dresser drawer still open, items in it hastily shoved aside, the gun missing. When Blair went after it, he was obviously in a hurry.

Brian was rushed to the hospital in the ambulance, barely clinging to life. And Blair was nowhere to be found.

Blair tugged at the restraints that held his wrists and ankles firmly in place. He knew he was nude except for his boxer shorts, as he could feel the fabric of the bedspread beneath his bare skin. He fought the effects of whatever drug had been injected into his system and forced his eyes to open. They widened in horror at what he saw. He was back in the bedroom he used to share with Vince.

"Welcome home, bitch," a low voice pulled his attention to the small easy chair in the corner of the room. Mark Borden sat there, grinning sadistically at his captive.

"How...why are we here?" Blair asked, trying to ignore the barrage of unwelcome memories his situation was bringing back.

"I rented the place. Thought you might enjoy a trip down memory lane."

"You're making a big mistake, Borden."

"No, man, you made a big mistake."

"You've probably killed a man...and now you're holding me hostage, over a grade?"

"What? A grade? You think I give a shit about your two-bit class or your stupid fucking grading curve?" Borden threw his head back and laughed. "I was talking about Vince."

"What do you know about Vince? Why the obsession with him?"

"I'll give you three guesses, professor," Borden shot back, watching Blair with a satisfied smirk.

"I figured it was to get back at me."

"Let me ask you something. Did you really think some pathetic excuse for a sorry-ass bitch like you was enough for a man like Vince Watson?"

"What are you driving at?" Blair demanded, angry enough at that moment not to care if he antagonized his captor.

"'No, please, not that...it's not going to fit!'" Borden shouted in a sappy, almost effeminate tone of voice. "Sound familiar?"

"Not particularly, no," Blair retorted, knowing only too well that it sounded very much like one of his countless pleas for mercy when Vince was either raping him or torturing him with one of his ungodly oversized toys. He swallowed the bile that rose in his throat.

"It's a quote from one of my favorite adult films. You know, Vince really knew how to put on a hell of a show. When he got done fucking your little pansy-ass, you wanna know who fucked his?" Borden stood up. "What's the matter? Did you think he was married to you or something? You were a joke."

"What are you talking about?" Blair asked, a little of his fight gone as the thoughts that dawned on him were nothing short of horrifying.

"When I was a freshman at Rainier, I met Vince. I stayed off the wrestling team because we got involved right away, and he figured his job would be on the line if he was doing it with one of his students."

"You and Vince?"

"Yeah, me and Vince." Borden looked over the gun he was holding with great interest. "You know, I never figured on picking up a handgun. That's going to be helpful."

"If you kill me, it's murder one. You could be executed for that."

"They've gotta catch me first. Besides, haven't you heard? I'm crazy." Borden leaned on the brass footboard of the bed with both elbows. "You know, you've put on a little weight since you starred in the movies. Not weight exactly--looks like you've been working out. Nice muscles. You're not bad for a little guy." Borden ran the barrel of the gun along the inside of Blair's left calf. Blair jerked his leg as far away as he could, but the other man persisted until he could continue the stroking despite Blair's disdain for it.

"You and Vince were lovers?"

"Until you and that asshole you live with murdered him."

"So that's why you came after me about the grade?"

"I didn't care about the motherfucking grade. But I made up my mind I was gonna make your life hell. That was just the beginning." To Blair's relief, he abandoned the stroking activity. "There's something seriously weird about you, man. What did you do to conjure up all that shit I saw--some kind of weird ancient spell or something?"

"If you believe that, why are you chancing this? I could do it again."

"You could. But you know what? I don't care. I've got nothing to lose, man. Give it your best shot." He moved up to the side of the bed and knelt on it with one knee, running the barrel of the gun from the middle of Blair's chest down to the edge of the waistband on his boxers, tugging at it a little. "This is going to be more than worth it, bitch."

"What do you want from me?"

"Plenty." He got up off the bed and walked over to the dresser. "You know, it's a real break that they rent this place furnished. Kind of completes the whole deja vu thing, doesn't it?" Borden gestured around the room with his muscular arms. He looked like an ugly clone of Watson, right down to his brown brush cut and his undersized white t-shirt fitting each curve of his muscled torso. "I have something you might get a kick out of. Don't go away now," he taunted, leaving the room momentarily. When he returned, he was grunting under the weight of a 25" TV, which he plunked on the barren dresser. "This is one that's got the VCR right in it. Handy, eh?"

"What're you doing?" Blair asked, trying to keep his voice steady and assertive. He couldn't think about what Borden actually had in mind for the rest of their time together.

"Well, Vince dubbed me a copy of this one movie I particularly liked. He didn't like to have them out and around, so usually, we watched together and he kept the tapes. But this one--he gave it to me for my birthday. Actually, he knew I had a real kink for dildos, so he made this little film just for me."

"Get to the point," Blair shot back, forcing himself to sound tougher than he felt.

"You remember Vince's toy box? The little green felt covered one?" Borden smiled wickedly as Blair bit his lip and closed his eyes briefly. "I see you do. Well, one of the nights he used the whole gamut on you, he had a tape rolling. You didn't know that, did you? This was Vince's one and only 'candid camera' venture." Borden popped the tape into the machine and turned on the power. Then he moved over to sit on the bed next to his captive, aiming the gun at him. "You keep your eyes open and on the screen, or I'll blow your fucking brains out--got it?" Blair didn't answer him, and Borden reached down and took painful hold of his prisoner's balls. "Understand me, bitch?"

"Yes," Blair ground out.

"Yes, what?" Borden grinned, increasing the pressure.

"Yes, sir," Blair managed, feeling tears spring to his eyes at the pressure.

"That's better." Borden removed his hand and Blair tried vainly to move his legs up as he writhed against the pain radiating from his abused privates. "You know, we used to watch tapes of you before we'd fuck. It got us both horny. We used to have to wrestle for who got to top. Sometimes I'd fuck him while he was on his stomach, watching one of these tapes. I used to hear you screaming almost as much as I'd hear him. You got quite a set of pipes on you, Sandburg. You better not try that tonight, or I'll kill ya--understood?" Borden pressed the gun against Blair's temple.

"Yes, sir."

"You are a good little whipped bitch, aren't you? Fuck, man, Watson really taught you some manners. You just have to be reminded of them once in a while."

Borden pressed the play button the remote and cranked up the volume, then tossed the control aside, leaving one hand free to explore while the other held the gun.

"What the hell really happened here, Jim?" Simon picked his way through the debris in the entry hall.

"Michael," Jim said quietly from where he sat on the bottom step. "The blood was Blair's, wasn't it?"

"No. It was Brian Nolan's." Simon paused by the banister, looking down at Jim." Simon frowned. "Michael? As in Michael Crandle, the musician who was murdered here? Are we talking about your ghost again?"

"How do you explain this? Simon, what blows the crystals off a chandelier? Or...blows up plants?"

"I don't know, but I'm not ready to accept the ghost theory just yet. Madmen have a lot of strength."

"Damn." Jim got up and started pacing. "Blair would know how to look for a sign. How to ask for a sign. Any attack on Brian or Blair would draw Michael out. And not in a good way. One thing Blair's right about--Michael's spirit is very protective of him."

"Jim, this is just a little too much for me. I know you believe in all this mumbo-jumbo--"

"The music room." Jim headed back for the room they now used as the TV room. Simon was still frowning when they entered the equally ransacked room.

"The music room?"

"This was Michael's music room when he lived here. It's the center of the...activity."

"What do you expect to find here?"

"Something. Anything." Jim froze in his tracks. The windchimes were beginning to jangle with the breeze, but then they picked up again, building to a crescendo that had even Simon covering his ears.

"What the hell is that?" he exclaimed, following Jim into the kitchen.

"The windchimes on the back porch--" Jim stared at the destruction in the kitchen, but his attention was drawn to the spilled bag of flour in the middle of the tan linoleum floor. The word "Vine" had been written in it, as if with someone's finger.

"Vine?" Simon yelled over the chimes, which suddenly tapered, and then quieted completely. He looked at Jim, a bit wide-eyed.

"You ready to believe me about our...tenant?" Jim stared at the word on the floor. "Vine..." A chill ran up and down Jim's spine as one connection registered. "Watson's place was on Vine Court."

"Watson? He's been dead for, what, two years now?"

"Going on three."

"Jim, your arm's bleeding," Simon noted with concern. "Where's your sling?"

"Probaby in the shrubs out front." Noticing Simon's surprised look, Jim added. "It was in my way when I was getting ready to make my entrance. I didn't want anything obstructing my shooting capabilities in case." Jim looked down at the spreading dark patch on the sleeve of his gray shirt. "I'll go change the bandage. Then I want to go check out Watson's place."

"He's dead, Jim." Simon followed Jim up the stairs, trying to avoid slipping on the myriad of little crystals scattered on the stairs.

"If Michael said 'Vine', he had a reason. That's the only one that comes to mind." Jim pulled the supplies out of the medicine cabinet and then took off his shirt, tossing it on the closed toilet lid. After a couple of aborted fumbles with the materials, Simon wordlessly stepped in and took over. "I guess I forgot...Blair usually does it for me." Jim swallowed, his jaw twitching visibly.

"We're going to find Sandburg. That kid always lands on his feet, Jim. He'll be okay."

"Anybody has a limit, Simon. I'm just wondering where Blair's is."

The images playing out on the screen made Blair feel as if someone had videotaped his most horrific nightmare in living color. Only worse. Now he was seeing it from an angle he couldn't have imagined...as a spectator. He felt the tears leak out the corners of his eyes, unable to stop the wrenching pain of reliving such a degrading violation at Watson's hands, seeing himself pleading and crying and bleeding, tugging on the restraints that were not unlike the ones he was in now.

When Borden's hand began its second voyage over his body, trailing over his chest, and then rubbing over a nipple, Blair's stomach rebelled violently. He had already endured the whims of the questing hand as it explored his body, and now he was unable to stop the intense wave of sickness as he vomited directly into Borden's lap. As the nausea receded, he simply lay there, limp in his restraints, his wrists and ankles raw from the struggle against the leather straps, the emotional anguish and the physical illness draining the last ounce of his strength. He had no fight left.

"You dirty fucking bitch!" Borden shot up off the bed. "When I get back, you're gonna pay for that stunt!" Borden stormed out of the room, obviously intending to clean off his vomit-spattered pants.

Blair's eyes darted frantically around the room, looking for any possible means of escape. But there was no loosening the restraints, and even the curtained window or the open bedroom door didn't offer any options when he couldn't reach them. He could only think of one possible recourse.

He took a deep breath and let out the loudest scream he could muster. And then another. And another.

Borden came flying back into the room, bringing the hand that bore the gun back and using it to smash across Blair's face. The blow stopped the yelling, and before Blair could muster the energy to try again, Borden stuffed a large washcloth in Blair's mouth to gag him.

"You better pray nobody calls the cops. If they do, I'll put a bullet in your brain before they can get to you. Now we're going to turn you over. You fight me, you die. Is that clear?" He stared menacingly at Blair, who just stared at him with wide, wet eyes. "Is that clear!!" he bellowed. Blair nodded. "I'm going to release your right arm. Don't even think about fighting me. You'll still have three limbs restrained."

Borden began the arduous task of rotating all the restraints, one at a time. He had little concern or regard for any pain he caused his captive by stretching his limbs almost beyond their capability to change the position of each restraint with the others still in place, but eventually, he had Blair on his stomach, his wrists bound fairly close together to the headboard, his ankles tethered to opposite posts of the footboard.

Smiling as he noted the tremors passing through his nearly nude prisoner, he ran the barrel of the gun languidly up and down Blair's spine.

"I always wanted to get a piece of what Vince was getting. I wanted to do a threesome, but he kept saying you'd never last through two of us. We used to laugh about you." Borden got down close to Blair's face, but Blair turned his head the other way. Borden grabbed a handful of curls and yanked Blair's head back in the direction he wanted it. "You were a fucking joke. While we were in the sack together, he used to tell me what he'd done to punish you for sniffing around after your cop boyfriend. 'Lovesick little puke', he used to call you. Aw, what's the matter?" Borden said in a mocking tone. "Did you think you were his one and only?" Borden sat back on the mattress. "That's a good one. The only reason he kept you is because I wouldn't let him top all the time. You were such a weak little goddamned fairy that he could fuck you anytime he felt like it."

Blair closed his eyes and felt the tears running out now, realizing he really didn't care anymore about dignity or whether or not Borden was enjoying the show. Between the pain in his stretched limbs and the throbbing in his jaw from the blow and the icy terror in his soul about the pain to come, dignity seemed a minor concern.

"You remember this?" Borden poked at Blair's face with something hard. "Look at it!!" he bellowed, startling his captive into opening his eyes and looking straight at an ominously large dildo. "It's not the same one, but it'll do." He smiled as Blair tried to move his face away from the object, held in place by Borden's grip on his hair. "Well, I'm gonna get me some of that sweet little ass for myself."

Blair felt a hand slide under the waistband of his boxers in the back, and then felt the fabric move as he heard something cutting it away.

"Whoa, that is a nice piece of meat," Borden opined, snatching the ruined fabric away and swatting Blair's naked rear. Blair hated the startled little whine it brought from the back of his throat. "What's the matter, don't like getting your pretty ass paddled?"

"Hands up before I blow your head off, you sick motherfucker." Jim's icy voice froze Borden in place. Ellison was standing in the doorway, gun aimed at his prey, having crept stealthily into the house after picking the lock on the back door. "Lay one finger on him again and you're a dead man."

"I'll kill him, man! I'm not kidding!" Borden made a grab for the gun he'd laid aside on the bed while he'd been fondling Blair. His reach was not only an inadequate attempt, but a fatal error. A moment later, he lay dead by the side of the bed, blood oozing out of his ruined head.

"Dammit," Simon spoke up as he followed Jim into the room, seeing Sandburg's miserable situation, the TV still running the final moments of the video, and the spatter of blood on the wall near the bed from Jim's deadly accurate shot.

"Baby, it's me. It's over." Jim sat on the bed and was grateful to Simon for grabbing a quilt that was flung over a quilt rack in the corner of the room. Jim carefully covered Blair's exposed body and gently pulled the gag out of his mouth. The younger man coughed miserably a time or two before the coughs dissolved into sobs.

"I have to call this in, Jim," Simon spoke up from behind them.

"What about...?" Jim nodded toward the TV. There was a long pause from Simon while he looked at Blair, sobbing there on the bed under the quilt.

"Like I said. I have to call this in, Jim. I think I saw a phone out in the living room." Simon turned and walked toward the other room.

"Hang in there a second, sweetheart." Jim left Blair and retrieved the tape, turning off the set before flipping the top on the cartridge and yanking large loops of the tape out, tearing at them, before stuffing the whole mess under his lightweight jacket and zipping it up. "It's okay, baby. Gonna get you loose here." Jim freed the bound ankles and then the wrists. He was surprised when Blair curled up in a ball, facing away from him. "Honey, look at me." He tried pulling the soft curls back to look at Blair's face, but that only made Blair curl inward on himself, turning his head farther into the mattress. "I need you to turn over for me, Chief. Look at me. Come on," Jim coaxed lovingly, rubbing the quilt-covered shoulder.

"How's it goin'?" Simon re-entered the room.

"It's not. I need help. I can't lift him--not with my arm like this. Can you help me get him in the truck?"

"No," Blair moaned, sobbing into the mattress under his face.

"Blair, please, sweetheart, look at me."

"I can't."

"Of course you can, Chief. Just turn over and look at me."

"I can't look at you!" Blair shouted back. "I can't...face you."

"Blair, don't be afraid of me. I won't hurt you, sweetheart. But I can't carry you, and you don't want to be still lying here when the back up arrives."

Blair finally turned slightly then, hesitantly looking over his shoulder at Jim through wet, puffy eyes. The bruise on his face was darkening with each passing minute. There was an odor lingering from the bout of vomiting, and Borden hadn't bothered to clean off his prisoner's face. And to Jim, there had never been a more beautiful sight in the world. He leaned forward and kissed each moist, puffy eye. "Shhh. It's okay, Chief. Come on. Sit up for me, okay?" Jim used his good arm to give Blair a little support until he was in a sitting position. He wrapped the quilt more carefully around Blair's body and guided him off the bed and onto his feet, where his knees buckled almost immediately. Simon was quickly on Blair's other side, steadying him until he stood more securely on his own two feet.

"You're bleeding," Blair said in a strained voice, reaching up to weakly touch the damp red splotch on Jim's jacket sleeve.

"I think we need to go home and patch each other up, huh?" Jim suggested, squeezing Blair's shoulders with his good arm, guiding him toward the door.

"Jim, we're going to need a statement from him."

"You think you'll get a clear, concise one tonight?" Jim asked, still ushering Blair to the door, hearing the sirens in the distance.

"Just sit tight in the living room for a minute. I'll get someone to drive you both to the hospital."

"Can you see if anyone's got any clothes with them--sweats, anything?" Jim suggested, steering Blair to sit on the couch in the living room.

"I'll see what I can do." Simon headed out the door to meet the arriving cops, directing them to the crime scene in the bedroom.

"Please, Jim...get me out of this house," Blair managed, his voice strained. Jim could hear and feel all of his lover's systems going crazy, his breathing becoming labored, his heart rate spiking as a full-fledged panic attack got underway.

"We need some clothes for you, sweetheart. Try to breathe and hang onto me." Jim ignored the throbbing in his wounded arm and pulled Blair into a tight hug, reaching under the quilt and rubbing Blair's bare back in long, gentle strokes.

"I can't stand this," Blair gasped, his voice choked off by his rapid breathing and the return of tears.

"As soon as we have some clothes and someone to drive us to the hospital--"

"No! I want to go home."

"So do I, baby. But you need to be checked out by a doctor."

"No," Blair protested weakly, clinging tightly to Jim.

"Either way, we have to go to the hospital tonight. I've probably pulled out some stitches, and they'll have to repair that," Jim said calmly, starting a slight rocking motion.

"Your arm!" Blair seemed to forget his own misery as he pulled back far enough to look at Jim. "I'm such an asshole. Is it bad?" he choked out, trying to get his own emotions under control, reaching a shaky hand toward Jim's bloody sleeve. Jim seized the opportunity to pull Blair out of panic mode.

"The pain's really getting to me, Chief."

"You have to..." Blair paused to take in a sharp breath, still trying to compose himself. "You have to dial it down."

"With everything that's happening, I just...I can't seem to concentrate well enough to do it."

"Pic...Picture the dial," Blair said, his voice coming back to him a bit through a sheer act of will over his tears. "Close your eyes," Blair instructed. "Can you see it?" he asked, the shaking almost absent as Blair's "guide voice" took over.

"I see it, Chief."

"Okay, just picture turning it slowly down." Blair waited, and finally Jim opened his eyes and nodded.

"I got it, sweetheart. Thank you." Jim kissed his lover's forehead.

"How bad is the damage?" Blair asked, looking up at Jim with nothing but undistilled worry for the larger man's well-being. Jim almost felt guilty for having manipulated Blair this way, but it had saved him from the paces his body was about to put him through with a full-scale anxiety attack. Even the deja vu of their surroundings didn't seem to be front and center in Blair's mind anymore.

"I think it's minor. Probably needs to be stitched back up, cleaned up, re-bandaged."

"Brian--oh, God--is he dead?" Blair asked, his eyes widening.

"He was still alive when I found him. We'll check on him when we get to the hospital."

"Michael tried, Jim. He tried so damn hard to help us," Blair said, shaking his head sadly. The clearing of Simon's throat drew both men's attention to the captain, who stood a few feet away, holding a folded pile of sweats.

"Compliments of Rafe. He was on his way to the gym when he responded to the call for back-up." Simon handed the clothes to Jim.

"Come on, Chief. Let's use the bathroom for you to change in so you can get washed up a little, huh?"

"Yeah, okay." Blair rose with Jim and the two men headed down the hall, past the other police personnel and closed the bathroom door behind them. "I hate being in this house, Jim," Blair said quietly, his voice shaking.

"I know, honey. That was part of Borden's game. Just hang in there. We won't be here much longer." Jim took a gentle hold of Blair's shoulders and kissed the back of his head as he stood behind him in front of the sink. "We've got socks here but no shoes, and I think mine'd fall off you anyway. You'll just have to watch your step when we go out." Jim carefully removed the quilt from around Blair's shoulders, looking around for a washcloth or a towel. "Guess we'll have to use this to dry off," he said, gesturing with the quilt. The bathroom was not stocked with any supplies of any kind. "The whole four-unit is up for sale, so everything's vacant." Jim pulled Blair's hair back while Blair leaned forward and splashed some water on his face, doing his best to wash away the after-effects of the vomiting. Jim dried the cleaned face with the corner of the quilt.

"He had another video," Blair said quietly, biting his lip as a tear trailed down one cheek.

"I have it. It's history. Nobody'll ever see this damn thing again."

"Should we fix your arm?"

"No. I think we better leave it until the doctor looks at it. Here, put these on--" Jim paused when he noticed the slight bruising and swelling around Blair's genitals. "What the hell--?" He focused on them for a closer look, but Blair took the sweatpants from him and started putting them on.

"He, uh, grabbed me there," Blair muttered, his face flushing pink.

"You don't need to be embarrassed, Chief. Here." Jim handed him the top, which was gray like the pants, but had both sleeves cut off . "Put the quilt back around you to stay warm. Don't want you getting shocky on me."

"I was so scared, Jim," Blair admitted in a whisper.

"So was I, baby. Losing you is the scariest thing I can think of." Jim pulled his lover into his arms. "It's okay to be afraid. But it's all over now."

"They were lovers," Blair muttered against Jim's chest.

"Who?"

"Vince and Borden."

"Two assholes made for each other," Jim responded, patting Blair's back gently. He knew Blair would need to deal with all of this eventually, but for now, they needed to make their trip to the hospital and get home. "Come on. We'll talk this all through at home. Let's get this hospital thing over with, huh?"

"Okay," Blair agreed, following Jim out of the bathroom.

The hospital stop was made fairly tolerable by an efficient and sensitive emergency room staff. The two men stayed together for their respective treatment, which for Blair amounted to a blood test, check of his vital signs and brief exam of his swollen groin area. Jim's wound had lost a few stitches, and the doctor gave his expected admonition about overdoing it and the potential for more extensive bleeding, concluding with a few remarks about Jim's good fortune in escaping major nerve and muscle damage.

As soon as the doctor finished with them, Jim inquired at the desk about Brian's condition, flashing his badge to override the usual restrictions on information to non-relatives. The nurse informed him that Brian was still in critical condition, but his vitals had remained steady since he was admitted.

Simon, who had driven them to the hospital, now drove toward the house with his two passengers sitting together, silently, in the backseat. Blair was tucked under Jim's good arm, head on the larger man's shoulder. From the occasional glance in the rearview mirror, Simon determined it was a draw who looked more exhausted. When they arrived at the house, Simon turned off the engine.

"Things are pretty messed up in there. Why don't you let me at least clear off a spot for you to sleep?"

Jim was about to refuse the offer when he looked at Blair, who was slumped against him, exhausted, and then thought about the expediency of making the bed with one arm, as his injured one was back in a sling with strict orders not to abuse it this time.

"That would be great, Simon. Thank you," Jim responded, concentrating on nudging at Blair to get him in motion to go in the house. "Could you grab a pair of shoes for Blair? There's a lot of broken glass and I don't want him walking in stocking feet through it. There's an old pair of Nikes by the door in the kitchen."

"No problem." Simon took Jim's house keys and hurried up the front steps, letting himself in the door.

"You think it's safe for him to go in there?" Blair asked drowsily.

"Michael's got no argument with him." Jim kissed the top of Blair's head. "How're you feeling, sweetheart?"

"Tired...lots of things..." Blair shook his head. "It was like the next thing to my worst nightmare. In some ways...in some ways, it was even worse."

Simon arrived back at the car with the shoes, opening the door and handing them in to Jim.

"The master bedroom isn't too bad. It won't take long to get it straightened up."

"Thanks for helping us out, Simon," Blair said quietly, the first time he'd addressed Simon directly since his rescue.

"If I don't, hot shot over here'll open up that arm again before I'm all the way down the driveway," Simon responded with a slight smile.

"Everything quiet inside?" Jim asked.

"Jim, let's not have this ghost conversation again."

"He was right about Blair's whereabouts."

"Borden could have left that message."

"Maybe we should just let the issue rest a while," Blair suggested, his voice more tired that Jim ever remembered hearing it.

"Sounds like a good plan," Simon replied, leaving the two of them on their own to go back inside the house.

With Blair finally in shoes again, the two men made their way wearily to the front door, Blair still under Jim's good arm, his own arm around the larger man's waist.

"Oh, my God." Blair moved away from Jim, leaving him holding the quilt. "I knew things were going nuts when Borden was here, but I had no idea..."

"We'll get it cleaned up, Chief. Don't worry about it tonight."

"I hope Michael knows that Brian's still alive...that I'm back."

"Something tells me that not much gets past him. I'm sure he knows."

"All right, gentlemen. I can't say much for the rest of this place, but you've got a place to crash, anyway." Simon came down the stairs and paused at the foot. "I better get back downtown. Between the Evans case and the paperwork with the Borden thing..."

"Is morning time enough for a report from me?" Jim asked.

"It's after midnight. Why don't you two come in early afternoon? We can get Blair's statement and your report taken care of. IA will probably want to talk with you about Borden, but it should be just a formality."

"He would have killed me, Simon," Blair spoke up, worried.

"It's nothing, Chief. I went through a routine interview over Watson's shooting, and any other fatal shooting I've been connected with. It's procedure."

"Take it easy, you two. I'll see you both in the morning."

"Thanks, Simon," Jim responded. Simon just waved as he headed for the door, then pulled it shut behind him.

"How did Michael tell you where I was?" Blair asked.

"This way." Jim motioned to Blair to follow him and headed back toward the kitchen. He pointed to the message in the spilled flour.

"And you thought of Vine Court?" Blair squatted near the writing.

"It was the only 'Vine' that was relevant to anything." Jim watched as Blair straightened, wincing a little. "My back and my legs hurt," Blair explained. "He really...twisted me around when he was...changing the restraints."

"Changing them?" Jim frowned.

"He had me facing up first...so I could...watch the video."

"He made you watch it?" Jim opened his jacket and pulled out the ruined tape.

"Most all of it. He...told me he'd kill me if I didn't watch it." Blair stared at the destroyed tape, tears filling his eyes. "Jim...they used to...to watch...Vince...showed him...the tapes..." Blair's voice was choked off by his tears, and in one swift move, Jim had his lover pulled tightly against him with one strong arm. He was a little startled when a racking sob seemed to rob Blair of his stamina, but the two of them dropped to their knees on the floor without parting. "They watched me...those tapes...when they...did it. God, Jim, I was their fucking entertainment!!" Blair shouted, sobbing until he had to struggle to breathe.

"I'm so sorry, baby. I'm so sorry." Jim didn't know what else to say. The revelation hit him like an icy dagger in his heart. Hurting Blair the way Watson had was inconceivable. Taping it was an abomination. Considering it entertainment was a perversion beyond Jim's comprehension. Easing his arm out of its sling, he gingerly brought it around Blair.

"The...sling..." Blair choked out, his face still buried against Jim's chest.

"Holding you could never hurt me, Blair. Just don't make any sudden moves on me, okay?"

"Why do I care if he cheated on me?" Blair shouted, still crying. "Why does that hurt so bad?" he asked, crying steadily in the security of the embrace.

"Because you were faithful to him. You played it straight. And he hurt you so badly if you even had a friendship with someone other than him."

"It was all...a...lie," Blair managed. "His mother...those letters... her saying he...loved me... I know it's...stupid...but...that somehow... made it...easier...the memories...to think he maybe sort of...loved me... at least a little..."

"I know, honey. I know." Jim patted Blair's back, rocking them slightly, praying for an inspiration of just one worthwhile thing to say that would ease Blair's pain.

"I was a joke to him...all that pain...I was screaming and bleeding and he was taping it so he could get off with his lover!!!!" Blair screamed out angrily, coughing and choking a little on the sobs that came too fast for his breathing to handle.

"Try to breathe, baby. I know it hurts. Damn it, Blair, this is so...cruel and sick that I don't even know what to say to you to make it better."

"I was so...humiliated...that he taped me... Just thinking about him...watching it later...watching me...the things he used to make me do... But he was using it and getting off on it with Borden. God, Jim, the guy was in one of my classes, looking at me and thinking about what I looked like..."

"The tapes are all gone, baby. No one's ever going to look at them again. Watson and Borden are gone."

"He was right," Blair moaned miserably, still crying, though the worst of the sobs had eased a bit.

"About what, sweetheart?"

"I...I am a whore. He made me into one," Blair concluded, fresh tears seeming to spring from that concept.

"Never." Jim closed his eyes and felt a couple tears of his own slide down his cheeks. "Blair, I worked Vice long enough to know what a whore is. I've dealt with them. I don't mean good people who ended up in bad situations--I'm talking about amoral people who don't care about anyone but themselves and use the vices of other poor schmucks to get rich. Bloodsuckers who will do anything for a buck, with anybody, in front of anybody--on camera or off. Those are whores, Blair. You were Watson's victim, but you're nobody's whore."

"I feel like one," Blair croaked out miserably.

"I know, angel. I know."

"Don't call me that! Come on, Jim! I've been through every sick kink in the book and not one, but two guys have gotten off on it. How many 'angels' can say that?!" The tears came harder in angry sobs against Jim's chest, the fabric of his shirt beginning to feel damp.

"Blair, sweetheart, listen to me. I know you think I'm just babbling reassurance here to make you feel better, but I'm not a liar, Chief. I could still love you if you'd sold it for $20 a shot down on the waterfront. But you didn't. You were tortured, humiliated, violated and used. None of that was your fault, Blair. Not one minute of it." Jim paused and took in a shaky breath. "You're the most beautiful person I've ever known. I don't just mean the way you look, though I've got no arguments with that either. I mean your light. You have this beautiful light inside you. You're good, Blair. Nothing that Watson or his sick little fuck buddy did extinguished that light. When I call you 'angel', I don't mean that I think you're so pure you've never done anything wrong in your life, or that you're some sort of vestal virgin in a flowing white robe. It just means that you're my angel, my light... you were when I met you and you still are now."

"I'm sorry to keep...putting you through this," Blair said quietly, working on getting his voice back a little.

"You're worth it, baby."

"Wonder when you'll finally wake up one day and decide that I'm not."

"I'm figuring sometime after Hell freezes over." Jim leaned down and kissed Blair's forehead. "You're stuck with me until I croak. And even then, if Michael's any example, you still won't be off the hook." Jim smiled as Blair actually chortled a little at that.

"I love you, mine."

"I love you too, sweetheart. But if you ever call yourself a 'whore' again, you're in deep shit, got that?"

"I got it," Blair said, sniffling and pulling back slowly. "You should put that back on." Blair started helping Jim with the sling. "I even messed up your arm. I'm--" Blair was cut off with a gentle hand over his mouth.

"You didn't mess up anything. I took my arm out of the sling, I overused it. I messed it up. All by myself. Not you." He moved his hand and kissed Blair's mouth gently. "Let's go upstairs and get cleaned up and fall into bed. We're both wasted."

"What I don't understand is how it could hurt so much that he cheated on me. I didn't love him. Nothing would have made me happier at the time than if he'd left me for Borden. I'd have been thrilled."

"Is it that he cheated on you or that he showed him the videos?"

"Well, both, but both things bother me in different ways, if you know what I mean."

"There's betrayal...well, and then there's betrayal."

"I guess it does boil down to the same thing, only in different degrees." Blair was satisfied now that Jim's arm was securely back in its sling, but he still held onto Jim's hand where it stuck out the end of the fabric support. "But at first, I stayed with him because I thought he really loved me, and because I felt guilty that I was sort of using him... and because he'd always tell me how much I meant to him... And I thought, you know, he was a really physical, aggressive guy...maybe he just needed someone to love him enough to help him learn how to love someone without hurting them." Blair shook his head as an ironic smile spread over his flushed face. "What a dumb shit I was."

"Yeah, probably. The same dumb shit who jumped under a garbage truck to save some asshole who'd just slammed him against a wall and told him to fuck off. The same dumb shit who stuck with that jerk every time his senses went ballistic--the same dumb shit who believed that it was possible to rein in and channel hyperactive senses and turn them into something positive and functional." Jim rubbed his thumb over the fingers of the hand still holding onto his. "Blair, you like to help people. It's what you do. It could be that old guy that lived behind you and Watson that you used to mow the lawn for, or it could be Daryl with his biology homework, or it might be me with my senses all over the map--but your tendency is to see someone who needs... fixing, and to try to help them."

"Why do you always see my screw ups as something positive?"

"Because you usually come down way too hard on yourself. You thought Watson was worth redeeming--worth a try, anyway. You were selfless enough to forgive him for beating you and abusing you up to a point, until it all degenerated into threats and intimidation. But you tried. And you cared. Even if you didn't love the guy, you cared about him as a human being. You did what you did in good faith."

"All that time...he was involved with Borden. They were lovers the whole time."

"Lovers? Do you think Watson was capable of having a lover? I don't. He had a victim and a fuck buddy. You and Borden. If Borden was walking around thinking Watson was capable of loving him, then he was crazy before Michael ever had a go at him."

"Oh, my God." Blair pushed some rumpled hair away from his face. "Michael knew."

"What?"

"Michael. When he went after Borden the way he did, way back then...he knew. That's why he went after him so violently--almost like overkill given what had happened between Borden and me to that point. I mean, he was an asshole and a jerk, but it always seemed like driving him nuts was a little extreme. But Michael knew what Borden was, who he was connected to...and he knew what Borden was planning--how much of a threat he was. It just all falls into place now."

"Certainly makes sense. I was always surprised at the degree of...of punishment Michael inflicted...I guess I figured vengeance from beyond the grave wasn't an exact science. But if he knew that Borden was a life and death threat to you, then whatever means he had, he used to protect you--that fits." Jim looked back at his exhausted lover, and at the ugly bruise darkening on his face. "I'm sorry you had to find out about Watson and Borden."

"I guess I keep going back and hoping to see something positive about the whole mess. And you know, there was that one little fragment I had--that I was his only one, and the things his mother said to me last year when I met with her--that he told her he'd found 'the one' and that he really was in love with me... I didn't feel so damned...used. It didn't make me view the whole thing as a good experience or anything, but at least I felt like I was loved, even if it was a sick, destructive kind of love. Now..." Blair shook his head, "now I know I was just one more sex toy in Watson's collection. I was a thing to him...not a person. That's how he could hurt me the way he did over and over again until he almost killed me, and not feel any real remorse."

"You said he did a time or two."

"The worst time, I thought he felt sort of sorry for me. I'm not sure now if he did, or if he was afraid I would panic and call the police, or if he was afraid I was going to die and he didn't want to have to hide the body and answer the questions. In a way, the fact I had friends... even if I didn't keep in touch with them--but I had friends at the PD--I think Vince was afraid when he thought he'd gone too far and I might end up dying from my injuries. He probably knew my disappearance would only go unquestioned so long before you or Simon or someone started asking some seriously pertinent questions."

"I wish there was a way I could take all that pain away from you, sweetheart. If I could take it myself, I'd do it in a heartbeat." Jim stroked a hand through the rumpled curls, stopping to rub lightly at Blair's cheek with his thumb. "That's the hardest part of this for me. That there's no way to stop you from hurting."

"Jim, you've made my life so...incredible." Blair took a hold of Jim's wrist with his free hand, their other hands still clenched together. "I can't forget what happened to me with Vince...I wish I could. Anymore than I can forget what Borden did to me tonight...or what it was like to see that tape..." Blair swallowed. "But that's not what my life's about anymore. It's about you, and about us...our home, our life together." He reached up to cup Jim's cheek with his hand. "It's about the way you love me and spoil me and take care of me. And that's the way you keep me too distracted to hurt too much."

"I only give as good as I get," Jim said, turning to kiss the palm of the hand on his face.

Jim picked up the ringing telephone as they entered the bedroom.

"Jim? Simon. Interesting development. We just finished searching Borden's car--we found it parked outside the rooming house where he was staying. Guess what he had tucked under the front seat?"

"I wouldn't even try," Jim replied dryly.

"A high-powered rifle. The same type of rifle that was used in the shooting at the home improvement store. If the ballistics match up, then it wasn't Evans shooting at you at all. Borden was apparently trying to get you out of the way."

"Terrific." Jim let out a long sigh. "Thanks for letting me know."

"We should have the final report from the ballistics testing in the morning. See you tomorrow." Simon broke the connection and Jim hung up. Not exactly sure how to relate this development to Blair without the other man spinning off on another tangent of guilt and self-loathing for having put Jim in the line of fire, Jim just stared at his lover as he tossed his robe aside and changed into fresh underwear. Realizing that staring at Blair nude was probably the most unnerving thing he could do to him at the moment, he diverted his eyes and sat on the side of the bed. Sex was the farthest thing from his mind right then, but his fixation on his naked lover would have indicated something other than an internal struggle over how to deal with this new development.

"What'd Simon say?"

"How'd you know it was Simon?" Jim shot back, more than a little defensive.

"I just thought it sounded like you were talking to him. Did I say something wrong?" Blair asked, frowning.

"No. It's not you. It's me. Look, Chief, there's been a new development in the case you need to know about, but I don't want you getting all upset and beating yourself up about it, okay?"

"Why don't you tell me what it is first?" Blair moved to sit on the bed next to Jim.

"Simon said that they just searched Borden's car--apparently they found it at the rooming house where he's been staying."

"And...?" Blair prodded.

"They found a high-powered rifle that looks like it's the same one that was used in the shooting at the home improvement store. So that wasn't Evans at all--it was Borden."

"Oh man." Blair shook his head, then leaned his elbows on his knees, dropping his head down to massage both temples with his fingertips. "Shit."

"Hey, it's over. He's dead. He's not a threat anymore, Chief." Jim laid a hand on Blair's back, rubbing gently.

"If he had shot you...Jim, it would have been my fault."

"Dammit, Blair, it would not be your fault. It would be his fault. Period. End of story. Saying it was your fault would be as silly as saying it was my fault because I walked in front of his bullet."

"He wanted to take away the one thing that was the most precious to me."

"He wanted to get me out of the way, and he also wanted to take revenge because he figures we killed his lover--turnabout is fair play."

"Thank God he missed." Blair straightened enough to lean on Jim, resting his head on the large man's shoulder while Jim wrapped his good arm around Blair's shoulders and squeezed gently, kissing the younger man's head.

"We both lived through it, baby. We're still together. Nobody's managed to stop that, and nobody ever will." Jim sat there a moment quietly, just holding onto his lover. "I should call and see how Brian's doing before we turn in."

"Yeah. I keep feeling like we should go over there, but I'm so damned tired. I don't think I can do it."

"We both need some rest, Chief. We'll be better off tomorrow, after a little sleep."

Jim called the hospital and checked on Brian's condition one last time as Blair turned back the bed Simon had straightened up for them. It seemed more than a little odd thinking of Simon roaming around their bedroom, tidying up and making the bed, but as bone tired as Blair was, and the way his pulled muscles were protesting now, he was unspeakably grateful. Blair listened as Jim talked to Kelli a few minutes, and gave her a very brief synopsis of what happened. Jim himself was missing most of the pertinent detail, but with the perpetrator dead and Brian unconscious, Simon had felt the details could be handled the next day.

"How is he?" Blair asked, hovering while Jim got into bed, waiting until his lover was situated comfortably on his back with a pillow under the elbow of his injured arm. Blair was selfishly grateful that his favorite sleeping spot, Jim's right shoulder, was undamaged and still available. If there was one thing he needed to have a prayer of sleeping, it was to feel Jim holding him.

"No change. He's still unconscious, still critical. Kelli's parents are with her, so she's not on her own or anything. She said I should tell you to get some rest and take care of yourself."

"I feel really sorry for her." Blair got into bed and turned off the small lamp on his bedside table, shifting over to snuggle against Jim as the other man extended his good arm in invitation, wrapping it around Blair's shoulders once he was situated. "I mean, she loves Brian and married him for all the right reasons, and he never really loved her the way he loved Michael."

"Did anything happen earlier? With Michael, I mean--well, besides the little tornado trick he pulled on the house."

"Brian and I were just getting started on the seance, and I remembered I'd left the gun upstairs. So I stopped everything and told him I had to go upstairs. He was kind of pissed about that and asked what the big deal was that I had to stop in the middle of things, and so I told him about Borden, and I said that you'd made me promise to keep the gun handy. I said I never broke a promise to you, so I had to go get it. He sort of smiled and nodded at that, and said he'd wait for me."

"Is this going to upset you to talk about this, Chief?"

"No. I kind of feel like facing up to it once. With you--just us-- before I have to make a statement."

"Okay. Stop anytime you don't feel like you can deal with it, okay?"

"Okay." Blair sighed. "So I went out into the hall and walked toward the staircase when the doorbell rang. I know it was stupid--feel free to clunk me over the head with something--I deserve it. But I answered it. I was thinking about the thing with Michael, and it was broad daylight, and I just forgot to be paranoid. So like a dork, I swing open the door, and Borden's already got the storm door open so he just like, lunges in at me and we start struggling. Brian heard us and he comes tearing down the hall like a bat outta hell and grabs Borden around the throat from behind, and the two of them start fighting. Brian knew there was a gun up here, so he just yelled GO at me when Borden lost his grip on me."

"Then you ran up here for the gun?"

"Yeah. I figured Brian could hold his own pretty well--Borden's a little more muscular, but they're about the same size, and Brian seems like a pretty good fighter. So I made a run for it and got the gun. It was then that I heard the windchimes go nuts, and this...wind started...whipping through the house, and doors were opening and slamming shut, the chandelier was rattling--it was like something out of some kind of...of armageddon movie, like the end of the world or something. I knew it was Michael, I could just feel it--and I figured he was trying to help us. When I got halfway down the stairs, I didn't hear anything, so I looked over the banister, and Brian was lying on the floor, bleeding, and Borden was crouched there with the knife at his throat, and he said that if I didn't..." Blair swallowed and took a deep breath, reassured by the gentle rubbing of Jim's hand up and down his back. "He said if I didn't drop the gun, he'd...he'd slit Brian's throat, and did I...did I think I was a good enough shot to stop him." Blair was quiet a minute. "I was so sorry at that moment that I didn't go to the shooting range like you wanted me to."

"You learned how to shoot, how to handle the gun."

"But you wanted me to get better at it, and I refused. If I'd had more confidence...maybe..."

"Maybe you'd have done something really stupid, shot, missed the target and Brian would have had a slit throat to show for it. Learning how to shoot well shouldn't make you careless. You did the right thing whether you were a good shot or not."

"So when I dropped the gun, he left Brian and headed upstairs after me, telling me that if I ran away, he'd finish the job on Brian. The wind was still blowing, and it was like I had to hold onto the banister to even stay upright. I thought the chandelier was gonna go, but in a way I sort of knew it wouldn't because Brian would have been hurt when it fell." Blair paused for a breath. "I was ready to bolt for the upstairs, but I knew he would do what he threatened, so I didn't, and he picked up the gun and held it on me while he pulled this syringe out of his jacket pocket with his other hand. He stuck it in my upper arm before I really had time to do anything--it happened a lot faster than I can tell it. All of it was like, seconds... Then I don't remember much of anything until I woke up...there."

"At Watson's old place?"

Blair nodded.

"Blair...we did get there in time, didn't we?" Jim asked gently.

"Yeah, you did...well, in time to stop him from going all the way." Blair was quiet for a few long seconds, then in a shaky voice he added, "His damn hands were everywhere...all over..." There was a sharp intake of breath and a couple of tears Jim felt on his skin before Blair moved a hand up and brushed them away. "While he was making me watch the video...he had the remote in one hand and the other..." Blair dissolved into tears and Jim felt his own emotions surging up to the surface.

"I know he grabbed you hard enough to leave swelling and bruising. Do you want to tell me the rest of it?" Jim probed gently.

"He just...he touched me...all over...and even after...he grabbed me like that...he started...playing with me...down there..."

"Oh, baby, I'm so sorry." Jim kissed Blair's forehead and his hair, pulling him as tightly against his own body as he could with one powerful arm.

"Not supposed to...be anybody...but you..."

"Shhhh. I know, baby. You don't say 'yes' to anybody but me. That's what matters, sweetheart."

"I'm gonna be sick." Blair bolted up out of the bed and flew toward the bathroom. Jim was close behind him, crouching next to the gasping man kneeling in front of the toilet. He pulled Blair's hair out of the way the best he could with one hand, and when the younger man finished, Jim managed to get a washcloth dampened with some cool water for Blair's face.

"The doctor said the drug might make you a little nauseous too. Although he said you got rid of a lot of it when you threw up before." Jim let Blair handle applying the cool cloth to his own face, using his functional arm to cradle his lover close to him.

"I couldn't move my arms or my legs," Blair said quietly. "He could do whatever he wanted and I couldn't stop it. I tried to fight him but I didn't have anything to fight with." The tears that came now were silent, sliding down Blair's face as he spoke. "I couldn't even bring my legs together..." Blair sniffled a little. "The tape he had...I remember when it happened, but I didn't know Vince taped it. The thing I used to be most afraid of was his 'little green box'." Blair's face seemed to flush hotter now. "It...it was..."

"I know what it was, honey. It was part of the stuff I destroyed." Jim closed his eyes and let his own tears come, thinking back on how horrified he'd been at the hideous-looking collection of dildos he'd tossed into the big trash can and set ablaze, along with an array of other devices he considered torture tools.

"Jim...stay with me..." Blair started crying in earnest again, turning to press his face against Jim's chest, winding his arms around the larger man's waist.

"I'm right here, Chief."

"I mean...please don't get sick of me. Of all this. I'm trying to forget it."

"I'll never get sick of you, cuddlebug," Jim responded, a little smile in his voice. "I know you can't just forget it happened. We have to do just what we're doing. Take it out, look at it, cope with it, and recover together. Your pain hurts me too, Chief. We both have to work our way through this stuff."

"I feel like I...just...backslid...to the...beginning."

"I know."

"I just feel like...I feel...crawly...like I used to... When I was with Vince...I'd stand...in the shower...just trying...to get the feeling...of his...hands...off me..."

"You still feel Borden's hands, huh?" Jim asked gently. There was a little nod against his chest.

"I don't want to."

"It's okay, baby. I understand."

"I was just...entertainment...to them..." Blair struggled with a few sharp intakes of breath. "They messed me...up so...I'm all...fucked up...and it's not...fair to you...and it...was just...games to them."

"Something like this could never be fair, sweetheart. But if you're worried about me feeling shortchanged or unhappy with you, put that out of your head."

"We can't even...be normal...in bed."

"No, we're better than normal. In bed, on the couch, on the floor...I seem to remember something about a kitchen chair..." Jim smiled when Blair actually chortled a little through his tears. "It's a damn tiny price to pay for me to have to avoid one or two things that upset you when we have sex in return for what we've got together."

"But after...tonight..."

"Tonight..." Jim took a deep breath and swallowed tears of his own, squeezing Blair a little tighter. "Tonight, you were sexually assaulted. It's a whole new ordeal to get over, and it doesn't negate all the progress you've made handling the memories of the whole mess with Watson. And the stuff Borden told you--that's all new...shit to handle. Don't be so hard on yourself."

"Should we go back to bed?" Blair asked, his voice strained.

"That would be good. As much as I love holding you, I don't love linoleum this much."

"Sorry," Blair pulled back and looked up at Jim through impossibly swollen eyes.

"No apologies." Jim leaned forward and planted a kiss right between Blair's eyes. "Let's go get comfortable. We can still talk if you want to."

"I think I'm all talked out. It's like I want to cry but I'm too tired."

"I think your whole body's drained, Chief. You need some solid sleep. Come on." Jim stood up and Blair followed, the two of them making their way wearily back to the bed and climbing into it, snuggling together again. "Let go and let yourself sleep, baby. You're safe now."

"Always feel safe with you," Blair whispered, his words slurring a bit. "So tired."

"I know. I love you," Jim whispered back, kissing the top of Blair's head.

"Love you," Blair muttered, shifting and hooking a leg over Jim's before falling asleep.

Blair wasn't sure what woke him up, but when he opened his eyes, Jim was still sleeping peacefully next to him. Blair had shifted in his sleep to face away from his lover, but his back still pressed against the warmth of Jim's body.

"Blair." The name was barely more than a breath. Blair looked around the room, and was startled a bit to see Michael standing by the closed door of the bedroom. The young musician was visible and yet...filmy. His long auburn hair hung down on his shoulders in all its shaggy splendor, and he looked as if he were dressed to go on stage. Black leather pants were adorned with two silver studded belts that hung a bit haphazardly on his hips, black leather boots decorated with silver rings and studs rose almost to his knees. A red tank shirt was covered with a black net tank shirt. The silver of an earring in his left ear glimmered as it caught the moonlight. And he was smiling brightly, happier than Blair had ever seen him.

"Michael?" Blair whispered softly. Jim stirred a little but didn't wake. The spirit by the bedroom door motioned to him to follow, and turning away, passed through the closed door.

Oddly confident that Michael wouldn't lead him anywhere he didn't want to go, Blair slipped out of bed and grabbed his robe, not quite ready for the chill of evening through his tank shirt and boxers. He had worn socks to bed, having felt a little too cold to part with them earlier.

Slipping as noiselessly as he could out the door of the room, he left it slightly ajar rather than make the noise of closing it tightly. He made his way to the stairs, and paused at the top when he saw Michael waiting for him at the foot. The spirit was still smiling, his expression almost impish and mischievous, as if he were letting Blair in on a great secret.

Blair followed the spirit down the hall and into the kitchen, and it wasn't until then that he realized that everything had been as neat and tidy as it always was--there were no chandelier crystals on the floor, no exploded plants, and the kitchen was more orderly than even Jim usually kept it. The message that had read "Vine", along with the spilled flour and all the other destruction, had vanished.

Michael paused at the door that led to the back porch, and took a long look at Blair. A light, warm breeze toyed with Blair's hair, then swirled around him, making him feel as if he'd just stepped into the glow of warm sunlight. His other worldly friend was smiling again, and then he was moving through the closed door.

Released from the wonderful moment of warmth, Blair hurried to the door, opened it and stepped out on the back porch. He grabbed onto the railing, staring across the moonlit lawn, his mouth agape.

Michael was sprinting across the grass toward the gazebo, no sign of the limp that had labored his steps in life. And when he hurried up the two steps into the ornate white structure, he met another figure there. Considerably taller, long blond hair picking up the glow of the moon, dressed in a stunning white leather stage outfit, Brian waited for him there.

Blair sat on the top step of the porch, not only reeling from the shock of such a vision, but in acceptance of what it meant. Brian had passed to the other side, and Michael hadn't wanted to leave without saying goodbye.

The two figures in the gazebo met enthusiastically, Brian catching his smaller lover in his arms and lifting him until his feet cleared the ground by a good two inches. Once Michael landed on his feet again, the two lovers kissed passionately, hands sliding into each other's hair, over each other's bodies. Michael pulled back finally, holding out a hand to Brian. The taller man's face broke into a huge smile, and he accepted the outstretched hand.

Michael led his lover down the steps of the gazebo, and both paused to look back toward Blair, who was watching them with tears in his eyes.

"Be happy and love each other," Michael whispered, smiling. Whether or not he actually said the words, Blair would never be sure later. But his message reached Blair clearly, and he smiled at the vision in the garden.

"You too," he responded. "Thank you for being here for me--both of you," he said softly.

Both figures lingered a moment longer, and Blair felt the warm breeze again, and the windchimes danced lightly.

And then Michael turned, pulling his lover by the hand, and walked toward the woods. In the last moment they were visible to him, Blair smiled as he saw Brian's arm go around Michael's shoulders as the smaller man's arm circled Brian's waist.

Then they were gone, and all that remained was the subtle song of the crickets and the cool night air, the light of the moon and the memory of what he had just witnessed.

"Blair?"

This voice was earthly, and Blair turned around to look up at its source. Jim was standing inside the open back door, one arm in his robe, the other side hanging sloppily over his sling.

"They're together," Blair said, looking back out at the gazebo. Then he noticed something different, and he got up off the step and hurried across the lawn to the half-finished garden. "Jim!! Come and look at this!!" It was a silly request, because all Jim had to do was stand on the porch and he could see anything he wished. But this was a miracle that deserved the respect of a close inspection.

"What is it, Chief? Oh, hey, one of the roses bloomed." Jim noticed the fat yellow blooms borne on tall, thick, glossy green stalks with abundant foliage.

"It's too early! Just a day or two ago, there was like, nothing on this plant but a few ratty little leaves."

"Maybe it had a growth spurt."

"Mae said we'd have yellow roses in the garden--Jim, it's a sign!" Blair looked off towards the woods behind the house. "You didn't see them, did you?"

"Who?" Jim frowned, looking in the same direction as Blair, but seeing only trees.

"Jim...Brian's dead," Blair said softly, looking up at his lover.

"Did the hospital call? Did you call there?"

"No. I...I saw him. With Michael."

"You saw him?"

"Just before you came out." Blair lightly touched one of the big yellow roses. Looking into the folds of the bloom, he continued. "Michael woke me up to say goodbye. It was incredible, man." Blair smiled widely and then looked back up at Jim.

"What happened?" Jim smiled back, not really caring if Blair had seen visions of pink elephants dancing on the lawn as long as it made him smile that way. The younger man's eyes were still weary from all his tears, and the bruise on his cheek was an ugly blue-black in the moonlight, but his smile positively glowed.

"I woke up, and Michael was in our room. Jim, he looked... so different than I ever saw him look. He was dressed like he was going on stage--all leather and studs, his hair really long and wild. And he looked so...happy. He led me downstairs, and then out here, and Brian was waiting for him in the gazebo. He was dressed in all white leather, and with all his blond hair--he looked almost...angelic in the moonlight. And when they came together--it was like...it reminded me of us."

"Pretty amazing, huh?" Jim asked affectionately, running his hand through the side of Blair's hair, then resting his palm against the cool skin of Blair's uninjured cheek. He leaned forward on an impulse and kissed the bruise.

"They were holding each other and kissing...they were finally together. And they were so...happy. I've tried to make myself want to cry for Brian, because he's dead...but I can't. He's finally with the other half of his soul. He's happy. And for all his attempts to back off and push Brian into living his own life, Michael was trapped here until Brian was with him."

"You don't think Michael hung around because of his connection to you?" Jim asked, since that had been their initial theory about Michael's presence.

"I think he cared what happened to me. We had a very special bond because he spoke and acted through me before. He always tried so hard to protect me." Blair looked off toward the trees. "But the truth is, he couldn't bear to move on without Brian, and I think he was so lonely his heart was broken. He needed Brian with him. I think he would have been trapped here however long it took for Brian to join him."

"That's the phone," Jim said, heading toward the house with Blair close behind him. He made it to catch the phone while it was still ringing.

"Jim? It's Kelli." The voice on the other end of the phone shook badly. "Brian...Brian's gone. He just...it was very quiet. He died in his sleep." There was the sound of a muffled sob or two.

"I'm so sorry, Kelli." Jim paused. "Blair and I really thought a lot of him--of both of you."

"I know. But I know he's happy now," she managed through tears. "The last thing he said was 'you came back for me', and then he smiled, and then he was gone. I know Michael came for him."

"I think you're probably right."

"The man who did it...he's dead?" she asked.

"Yes. There was no other way--"

"I'm glad. Brian didn't deserve to die that way."

"No, he didn't," Jim agreed. "He was a great guy, Kelli. You'll let us know when the arrangements are made?"

"Yeah...I'll call you tomorrow sometime..." There was a long pause, then in a tearful voice, she added, "I know he's happier. It's just...hard..."

"You were really good to him, Kelli. He was lucky to have found you."

"I was lucky too," she responded. "I'll let you go for now. I'll call when the times are set up."

"Okay. If we're not here, you've got Blair's cell phone number, right?"

"Yes. I'll find you, or my mom will. She's making some calls for me."

"Okay. Try to get some rest, Kelli. If there's anything at all we can do, please--call us anytime."

"I will. Goodnight, Jim." She hung up the phone, and Jim followed suit.

"How's she taking it?" Blair asked, getting them both a glass of orange juice from the refrigerator.

"As well as can be expected. She's pretty convinced that he's happier now."

"He is. He was miserable without Michael." Blair handed Jim the glass of juice. "Like we'd be without each other."

"How're you feeling, sweetheart?" Jim asked, looking at his lover with concern.

"A little better, I think. I--" Blair stopped when Jim set the juice on the counter and took a hold of Blair's hand, looking over the chafing around his wrist.

"Does it hurt?" Jim asked, leaning down and kissing the irritated area.

"Not as much now," Blair responded, grinning.

"How bad are your ankles?"

"The skin's not broken. It's just raw."

"We've got some ointment upstairs that should help. God, I didn't even look at that earlier."

"I was sort of...freaked out. That was probably the least concern."

"They must hurt," Jim said, still holding the hand he'd latched onto.

"They sort of burn..." Blair looked away. "I've had them before. It's no big deal." Jim hooked a finger under Blair's chin and gently nudged him until the dark blue eyes looked up and met Jim's.

"Don't look away, baby. You don't have anything to be ashamed of. And if you're hurting, it's a big deal. Are we clear on that?" Jim leaned forward and planted a gentle kiss on Blair's lips.

"Yeah, we're clear on it." Blair smiled and slid his arms around Jim, careful not to jostle the restrained arm in its sling. Jim used his free arm to pull Blair tight against him.

"Good. You don't ever have to look away from anybody, sweetheart. You're a survivor. You should be proud, not ashamed."

"I love you," Blair whispered.

"I love you too, Chief."

"I'm glad Brian and Michael are together finally. I know I should feel badly that Brian died, but they're so...happy now."

"It's good to know they're together." Jim moved back a little. "Did you notice the house?"

"Yeah...man, it's like nothing ever happened."

"It's almost dawn, Chief. Let's see if we can catch a nap before we have to tackle this day. I have a feeling it's going to be a long one."

"Jim...when I make my statement...do I have to go into detail about...you know...Borden...touching me?"

"Well, we've eliminated the tape from evidence, so you definitely don't want to refer back to that." Jim started up the stairs with Blair close behind him. "I don't think it's necessary to be gratuitous in your detail, let's put it that way. I think it would be good to be honest about at least some part of it, because it doesn't make sense that he'd abduct you and tie you up that way and then just...sit there with you."

"No, I guess not."

Blair didn't object as Jim led him into the bathroom and located some of the ointment. Even working with one hand hampered by his arm's position in the sling, Jim efficiently flipped the cap on it, managed to squeeze some out onto his fingers and began gently applying it to Blair's wrist while he held onto the younger man's hand with his own hand that extended from the sling. Looking at the left hand, most specifically at the left ring finger, Jim wondered why they'd never had rings.

Blair had bought them the mitzpah coin pendants when they were in New England, and Jim had thought them the perfect little symbol of their union, tucked away discretely under their clothing.

"Jim?" Blair's voice held a note of concern, and Jim realized he'd been staring at Blair's hand for quite a few seconds now.

"I was just thinking." Jim let go of that hand and reached for the other, working on soothing the chafed skin there. "Just a lot of stuff on my mind, I guess." Jim smiled as he finished his task with the right wrist, then directed Blair to sit on the closed toilet seat while he removed the socks that were damp from running around in the grass outdoors. "Damn, these look sore," Jim commented, seeing the bright red chafing of the tender skin around Blair's ankles.

"They are."

"Why didn't you tell me, Chief?"

"I was too tired to do anything about it, and I thought you should be resting--and you should."

"It was just a flesh wound, Chief. I'm doing fine. I'll be out of this stupid sling in a few days at the most."

"The doctor said a week, minimum, and then he wants to see you."

"Yes, Dr. Sandburg," Jim responded, smiling as he finished soothing the second ankle.

"Man, that feels better," Blair said honestly.

"Good. Let's hit the sack for a couple hours, huh?"

"Yeah, I'm still really wasted."

"Blair, about your statement--you tell whatever you can handle telling. Borden's dead. We can't charge him with anything anyway. I'm not saying you shouldn't be as honest as you can, and that you shouldn't tell the pertinent details, but we don't need to know every little touch and taunt."

"Thanks," Blair said, relieved.

The two men climbed back into bed and shifted around until they found comfortable positions, Blair's head on Jim's shoulder.

Concluded in part four.

Due to length, this story has been split into four parts.
Just Remember I Love You

by Candy Apple
Author's webpage: http://internetdump.com/users/candy_a/

Disclaimers and notes can be found in part one.

Just Remember I Love You - Part four
by Candy Apple

Brian Nolan was buried in the Nolan family plot three days after his death. The funeral was one of the biggest media circuses Cascade had seen in recent history, with grieving fans held at bay by some of Cascade's finest as the family and a few friends paid final respects at the grave side. The rest of Brian's band flew in from New York, comprising four of the six pall bearers, Jim and Blair doing the honors in the remaining two spots.

Amid the outpouring of grief from devastated relatives and friends, and the visions of tearful fans held behind police barriers, Blair couldn't help but feel a sense of release for Brian. His dearest wish had been to join Michael, to be with him and consummate their relationship. How consummation worked on the other side of the barrier, Blair didn't know, but he did know what he had seen in the gazebo the night of Brian's death. It was a good feeling to have proof that love does, indeed, survive death into eternity. As Jim and he each laid a single yellow rose, cut from the early-blooming bush in their garden, on the polished wood surface of Brian's casket, they knew that wherever Brian was, he was with Michael, and because of that, he was at peace.

Mark Borden was buried at about the same time, and the police department had heard from his grieving parents, demanding an explanation for their son's death at the hands of a Cascade PD detective. They were given that explanation by Simon and Jim in a meeting which had left them well-informed about their son's offenses, and satisfied that his death had not been preventable under the circumstances. Like Borden himself, his mother seemed to harbor some vague suspicion that Blair was somehow responsible for Mark's mental problems, but short of accusing Sandburg of putting a curse on her son, there was no way to put that suspicion into words, or to follow up on it.

The house had been free of any signs of supernatural activity since the night of Brian and Michael's reunion. There were times Blair felt a sense of loss at the absence of Michael's presence, but he couldn't be anything but happy to know that a spirit, trapped on this plane for years without release, was finally free.

Spirits of a more earthly kind were high in the house the weekend after Memorial Day as the long-promised cookout finally took place, and the half-finished garden finally reached completion. With burgers and hot dogs on the grill, bags of chips and dip in warehouse quantities and cases of beer and soft drinks being consumed over the course of the day, Simon, Daryl, Rafe, Brown, Joel, the Wolf Family, Megan, Serena, and a number of other Cascade PD denizens happily helped out with the planting projects. Jim and Blair's sprawling back yard had already been the site of more than one outdoor party, so there was no shortage of willing volunteers to improve the atmosphere for what they hoped would be more occasions in the future. Word had also leaked out that an inground pool was in the offing for the following summer.

Blair hurried downstairs following his shower, ready to spend the evening out in the gazebo with a few remaining friends. He was surprised to see Simon in the hall near the stairs.

"I still can't figure how you got that chandelier looking so good again. There were crystals all over the floor in here," Simon observed, staring at the fixture with great puzzlement.

"It wasn't easy," Blair responded, giving up on explaining to Simon that the tidy up had been Michael's departing gift.

"I hope you don't mind that I hit the shower in the bathroom down here."

"No, that's fine. I think there was more mud on us than in the garden," Blair responded. Much more comfortable now in a clean t-shirt and jeans, he was also better dressed for the cooling evening than he had been in the shorts and tattered excuse for a tank shirt he'd worn earlier. He found himself thanking all the deities for the vision of a sweaty Jim cavorting around the yard most of the day, wearing nothing but a pair of soaked shorts, and then quickly averted his thoughts back to Simon. Bulging denim wasn't something he wanted to explain to the captain at that moment.

"I had a talk with Chief Warren the other day." Simon paused. "You know that Wendy Evans' parents are considering a lawsuit against the department."

"I know," Blair responded, nodding. "As responsible as I felt for her death when it happened...looking back? I don't think it was our fault."

"No, I don't think so either. At any rate, Warren met with them and proposed another way in which the department could spend the money they would otherwise offer in the form of an out-of-court settlement. They went for it."

"What was it?"

"We're going to be setting up a new Domestic Violence Unit. Instead of those cases being at the bottom of the priority pile in Major Crimes, they'll be the sole activity of that unit. It would include child abuse and molestation cases, spousal abuse--and that would include homicides arising from those situations. Now when the workload wasn't sufficient to tie up a whole unit, the detectives assigned to it would work cases in their usual fields--I'm figuring we'll be drawing heavily from the half-assed attempt at a child abuse task force we have, as well as Major Crimes. We'll be looking for detectives who have been handling rape, child molestation and family violence cases predominately, and also giving the unit a shot in the arm with help from some of our best people when schedules permit."

"Wow." Blair leaned against the banister, smiling slightly. "Are they going to hire any new people?"

"Hopefully, eventually. There are going to have to be some new hires down the line, but for now, it'll probably be mostly existing personnel being re-assigned, with a couple departments undergoing some reorganization. I talked it over with the chief, and he agreed that we need someone to coordinate this project--once we pull these people and tell them they're part of this new unit, we need some sense of direction. I recommended you for that job."

"Me? But I'm not a cop."

"Hey, wait a minute--that's my line," Simon shot back, and the two men laughed.

"Do I have the right credentials for something like that?"

"Well, you've been working with Jim for a period of years now, functioning more or less like a cop, you have a Ph.D. in Anthropology and you're an abuse survivor yourself. The chief didn't seem to feel we could get anyone more closely qualified for this job if we grew one in a lab."

"Are we talking part-time, full-time, volunteer status, what? I have to know...I mean, I'm scheduled for a full teaching load in the fall."

"The initial offer would be full-time. We could probably work something out part-time if that's the only way you would do it. And it's not a volunteer job. It would be a full-time administrative position."

"What about Jim? I mean, I don't want to spend all day behind a desk. And I don't want to stop working with him. And then there's the U..."

"Blair, those are choices you have to make. As far as your work with Jim, it would probably be something you did when time permitted. This is going to be a big project to launch. My thinking is that it would be very full-time for probably the first couple of years, and once the unit is rolling and functional, your position could probably be cut back to part-time, or folded into a more general 'consultant' position. At the outset, I would be the senior officer in charge of the procedural issues relating to the unit. Eventually, it would have its own captain, and at that point, there'd be less of a need for your direct input into things."

"So we might be looking at a couple years of really going after it, and then having it taper back to part-time?"

"Possibly. Or be part of a more general full-time position that would actually sanction your working with Jim as part of your job."

"Wow." Blair sat on the bottom step. "I have to think this through...talk to my department head...maybe they'd let me do some sort of sabbatical. I'm so new as a faculty member that I don't know if they'll go for it."

"Maybe an unpaid leave of absence?"

"They might go for the 'unpaid' part," Blair quipped, chuckling a little. "Would Jim ever be working on the new unit at all?"

"Well, I'll be honest with you on one point, Blair. I can't spare Jim from Major Crimes for a full-time reassignment, even if he asked for it. But I would definitely cooperate with him working an occasional case relevant to the unit--especially one that overlapped with Major Crimes' usual domain."

"I have to talk it over with Jim. And if we agree on it, I still have to talk to my department chair."

"Give me an answer by Wednesday?"

"That's doable."

"Good." Blair stood up. "You know, I really didn't see how anything good could ever come out of Wendy Evans losing her life in such a senseless, preventable way...but this..."

"That's sort of how her parents seemed to feel. See, the hook is, you were kind of part of the selling feature with them."

"But it was because of me she filed the complaint and because of that--"

"They don't see it that way. They seem to feel you were the only one who really invested concern in their daughter's case--I guess she spoke to them about you, said you'd been a lot of support to her. When I mentioned the possibility of involving you with the project, her mother brightened right up and latched onto that."

"So this really wasn't just my glowing credentials that got me the job offer?"

"I wouldn't have mentioned you if you didn't have the right background for it. But your connection to Wendy, and your moral support of her, made a big impression on her parents, and it made them much more receptive to the idea. Warren was a little pissed off at first, but the more we talked, the more convinced he was that it was a good idea."

"This is really an exciting opportunity, Simon. Whether I can do it or not, I'm so thrilled it's going to happen."

"I am too, Blair. It's long overdue. Well, I better find my kid. Last time I looked, Daryl was drooling over your new computer. I think he's in the study, staring at it reverently," Simon quipped.

"Yeah, it's pretty cool. Pentium III, 500 mega-hurtz. Jim really knows how to pick out a birthday present." Blair led the way into the study, where Daryl was, indeed, staring at the new machine like it was a holy relic.

"Man, this thing is beautiful!" Daryl opined as Blair pulled up a chair next to him at the computer table with Simon looking over their shoulders. "I bet you have to fasten your seatbelt to surf the 'net on this baby!"

"Just about," Blair responded, laughing. "Power it up."

Simon took in the posh surroundings of the home office, the elaborate computer and the multi-function printer connected to it--which had been last year's birthday present--and shook his head, smiling.

"Sandburg, you're spoiled rotten, do you know that?" There was a little chuckle in Simon's voice.

"I sure do, Simon," Blair looked up, smiling back, the love he felt for his partner radiating from his expression.

"Don't get lost in cyberspace for too long, you two," Simon admonished gruffly, heading out to join Jim, Megan and Rafe in the gazebo.

"Garden looks pretty good now," Jim opined, sitting on the back steps next to Blair. It was almost midnight, and the only light to the garden was the moon, since all the outdoor lanterns had been extinguished.

"We've got some good friends."

"Who want a dip in that pool next summer."

"Not to mention a place to hold the Fourth of July party," Blair added, chuckling a little. "Jim, we've got to talk about something," Blair began. He immediately had Jim's full attention, and with a deep breath, proceeded to recap his conversation with Simon. "I don't know exactly what to do. I mean, in one way, it's a dream come true--to see a PD really take issue with domestic violence this way, and to have a chance to be part of it. But on the other hand, I just got settled into a routine at the U, and I don't want to miss out on us working together." Blair let out a long sigh.

"Do you think they'd give you a leave of absence from the U?" Jim asked, draping an arm around Blair's shoulders, happy to feel the answering arm slide around his back. //It should be illegal to be this happy with somebody,// Jim thought, squelching a smile.

"Well, actually, this job would be in my field--it's a people-oriented position, dealing with a social and cultural issue like domestic abuse and family relations. I can ask for a sabbatical. My department chair looks like he could use a good laugh."

"You haven't really built up enough seniority to get something like that, have you?"

"I don't even have tenure yet. I'm supposed to get that after next year. But if I take time off now, that could be delayed too."

"Blair, you've paid your dues with this whole abuse situation. And you did your best for Wendy Evans--we all did--even though we failed miserably. If you're happy at Rainier and with the way things are going, don't feel pressured into doing this."

"I know I come off sounding like it isn't something I want to do. In a way, it is. In another way...I don't know if I can deal with reliving all that day after day. When I'd talk to Wendy, and she'd tell me something about what her husband did or she'd have some big bruise or something--it was just like going back in time."

"Maybe it's still too fresh, Chief. A lot of time survivors get involved in work like this, but maybe you need a little more time to recover yourself before you're ready to help other people do it."

"I just feel selfish. I mean, here's this incredible opportunity dropped in my lap to give something back--in return for all the good things that happened to me. I was rescued, I was cared for, and I'm loved--by somebody who is patient enough to deal with all the scars inside from what I went through. I guess I feel like I owe something, on a cosmic level, for being that...blessed."

"Did you ever think that maybe the good things were what the cosmic scales owed you for living with that son of a bitch for six months and taking his abuse?" Jim responded, rubbing Blair's shoulder where his hand rested. "Sweetheart, you don't owe anybody anything because you're loved. You get what you give, and one thing you've always given me is a lot of love."

"I think about all the good things that could happen with a program like that--if it's put together right. And I won't have any rights to bitch about it later if I don't like how it's handled. Or if they pigeon-hole it after they get the lawsuit off their backs."

"True. The only way you can control anything about this new program is to participate in it. You know, Chief, they can't make you stay if you find you can't handle it--emotionally or otherwise."

"I'm not a quitter, Jim."

"Believe me, honey, I know that." Jim kissed the younger man's temple. "A quitter wouldn't have made it this far."

"What about my work with you?"

"You know I love having you with me, as much as I can. But if this is something you want to do, I won't be upset if you go for it. My senses are pretty well under my control now. And we live together--it's not like we won't see each other. We'll still live together, eat together, sleep together--the only time we won't be together are the hours you're working, and we're apart that much now when you're teaching full-time."

"I want to say yes to this. I'm just...scared. I've never been an administrator of anything before. I don't have any experience running a whole program on my own."

"Simon and I aren't going to just sit back and watch you flounder. You've got two resource people right there standing ready to help any way we can. You know that." Jim rested his head against Blair's. "You have the ability to do this job, Chief. And you've said you want it. The things you're afraid of...well, experience only comes from doing, so there's no way to get around that. As far as it reviving old pain, if it does, and it's too much, you pass the baton on to someone else and know you gave it your best shot. Whatever you want to do, I'm behind you, sweetheart."

"I don't know what they're talking about for salary. I mean, we're in debt up to our eyebrows with the landscaping and by the time that's paid off, there's the pool and--"

"Blair, listen to me. If this is something you want to do, we'll figure out how to do it, even if the money isn't that great. But I have a feeling it will be competitive, and maybe more than what you're making now."

"You think I should go for it?"

"I think it's an opportunity that might bother you if you don't," Jim responded honestly.

"I think you're right." Blair leaned into the embrace, smiling.

"What do you say we find some leftover wine and go upstairs, huh?"

"Yeah, that sounds good." Blair smiled, not moving for a couple of minutes, soaking up the contentment of being nestled against Jim's side, planning their future, looking out over the property around their home that they were improving and enhancing together. Having a house and a mortgage and bills and a predictable future was not something Blair ever pictured wanting. Now he couldn't picture wanting anything else.

Blair made the commitment to accept the full-time position with the Cascade PD beginning in the Fall. He was scheduled to teach a course during the summer, and had a couple of academic articles he wanted to finish and submit before taking a leave of absence. Rainier approved a leave without pay, but with his position guaranteed for at least one year's time. His department chair had found the project he was undertaking to be of great interest, and felt that Blair could bring some valuable insight and field experience back from it, perhaps teaching a Sociology or Social Work course or two related to domestic violence and intervention.

Returning to the Rainier campus to teach his summer course, Blair had a definite spring in his step. While there were times that the new job left him a bit intimidated in its breadth and level of responsibility, he was still excited by the opportunity.

Wandering around the campus free of fear was another new sensation. First it had been Watson and his terror tactics, and not long after the run ins with him, Blair had been dodging Borden and his harassment. Though he felt sorry that any human being would degenerate to the point of ending as badly as Borden did, it was a liberating feeling to know he wasn't going to be popping out from behind every tree. Knowing he was only receiving psychiatric treatment and could be released at any time, Blair had always had a certain sense of unease, wondering where and when Borden would pop up again. Most of his worst fears about such an encounter had been realized, so while he couldn't exactly say he was relieved, at least it was over and he could put it behind him.

Putting it truly behind him was proving a bit more difficult, and Blair found himself wondering when Jim would develop a fatal case of blue balls and finally dump him for good. Sex had been almost a daily occurrence until the incident with Borden, and now it had fizzled to once a week if Jim had time to romance and ease Blair into it for a couple of hours.

The first week after the assault, Blair had genuinely been too sore to get very enthusiastic, the bruising around his genitals keeping his sex drive at close to zero. Jim had, as usual, had the patience of a saint, not making any demands on Blair's body that he wasn't comfortable meeting. Sure, they had made love, but Blair still hadn't been able to cope with being on the bottom during sex. Sinking into his desk chair and staring glumly at the pile of exams in front of him, Blair let out a long breath.

"That sounds like a man who could use a lunch break," Jim said from the door where he leaned against the frame.

"Jim!" Blair jumped a little in his chair.

"You were expecting the Dean?" Jim quipped, ambling over to Blair's desk and leaning down to kiss him quickly on the lips before plunking into the visitor's chair near the desk.

"I thought you had to be in court."

"Been there, done that. The judge called a recess--one of the jurors had to leave because her kid fell on the playground and was in the emergency room to get stitches. I guess it wasn't serious, but she still had to leave. Anyhow, I won't have to testify until tomorrow."

"Great. I wanted to be there anyway, and now I can be," Blair responded, referring to the Evans murder trial, which was just getting started with opening arguments. Jim was the first witness for the prosecution. Blair was due to testify himself, but not until a bit later. He stared at his lover a moment. "God, you look good in a suit," he commented. Jim smiled and waved his striped tie at Blair.

"I look better out of it."

"No arguments there, man," Blair retorted, laughing. "Too bad you have such a self-image problem."

"If you've got it, flaunt it." Jim smiled.

"You better not flaunt it for anybody but me, lover."

"It's a deal." Jim laid his hand on the desk, palm up, and Blair's slid into it easily, curling his fingers around it and holding on tightly. "What's wrong, sweetheart?" Jim noticed the tension in the hand, and in Blair's whole demeanor.

"Things aren't...going too great for us...in bed."

"They're okay, Chief. We're working on it." Jim rubbed his thumb over the soft skin on the back of Blair's hand.

"You haven't...I haven't let you...penetrate me...since..." Blair looked away, blushing furiously. "I just can't."

"It's only been a month or so, Blair. It'll get better." Jim paused. "Have you thought about seeing somebody?"

"Yeah, I thought about it. I even looked into this support group for survivors of sexual assault. They wouldn't let me in because I'm a man. The woman I talked to said the whole group were women and that most of them had been victimized by men, so I would make them uncomfortable."

"That's discrimination."

"It makes sense. I understand it. But I want to change it. I thought about going in and talking to a shrink one on one...and I can't handle it. I can't keep reliving this over and over again. But I am planning on talking to one about setting up a support group for adult male sexual abuse and assault survivors. I mean, I just proved to myself that there's no place for men with this problem to go for support or counseling besides a private one-on-one shrink."

"Maybe you can get something going in relation to the domestic violence project at the PD."

"I hope so. It's one of the main things I want to address with the administration--the treatment and processing of male abuse and assault victims, and developing some resources for them." Blair slumped back in his chair.

"You know, when I was really little, I had this dog--he was a nice dog--you know, something presentable and pedigreed." Jim smiled as Blair laughed a little at thinking that even Jim's dog had to measure up to the Ellison standard for prestige. "He was a thoroughbred beagle from a really good bloodline. He was supposedly my dad's dog, and I think my dad took him hunting one time to impress a client, but honestly, he didn't like hunting and he was even less interested in dogs. He got the account and I got the dog."

"Sounds like a good deal," Blair responded, smiling, but wondering how they'd gone from discussing the possibility of therapy to Jim's beagle.

"Anyhow, I had him for about three years, until I was nine. He was a lot of company for me. Stephen was still pretty little, and Sally didn't allow him to get as far out of her sight as I could when he was a toddler, so Caesar went with me."

"Caesar the Beagle?" Blair repeated.

"My dad wouldn't have named a dog something like 'Spot', Chief. His papers said something like 'Ellison's Emperor Julius Caesar' -- you know how those dogs in the dog shows have longer names than most humans?"

"Sometimes I tune into the dog show just to hear the names," Blair said, laughing a little.

"Well, one day, Caesar got a little carried away when we were playing, and he chased a ball right out into the street. I yelled at him and ran, but there was no way...it was a busy street, the cars moved fast..."

"Oh, man, that's lousy," Blair sympathized, squeezing Jim's hand a little.

"He was dead. The guy who hit him felt terrible. He was an older guy, really nice. It wasn't his fault, but I felt so bad about it, I swear the old guy had tears in his eyes when he talked to me. He loaded Caesar on a blanket in the back seat and drove me home. Of course Sally had a fit that I'd taken a ride from a stranger. Anyway, the reason I'm telling you all this is because of something Sally said to me. I was miserable for weeks after that, skulking around the house. One day when I was sitting on the steps, sort of staring into space, Sally stopped what she was doing and sat down with me for a few minutes. And then she said that when a big hurt happens, sometimes it just takes so many sunrises and sunsets before it gets better, but it does get better eventually." Jim covered Blair's hand with his other hand. "I'm not comparing the terrible things you went through with Borden to something as simplistic and common as a child losing a pet, but maybe Sally's words were good ones to take to heart. It just takes so many days and nights to pass to ease the hurt a little."

"But that means you have wait through all that time with me, and that's not fair to you."

"I've got you, Chief. That's more than fair. That's the best. We'll recover from this. We made it through Watson, we'll make it past Borden."

"I just can't...give up that...control yet. I can't handle...being so...vulnerable. You know what I mean?"

"Exactly. As much as you participate when you're on the bottom, the top is still mostly in control--they have the most power physically."

"That's just it. I need to feel like I'm in control. I can't give that up yet." Blair shook his head. "And I feel so fucking lousy about that, because it's not like I don't trust you. I'm just..."

"Scared?"

"Yeah." Blair nodded, looking away.

"It's okay, honey. I understand. You know I think you're worth waiting for." Jim pulled the hand he held up to his mouth and kissed it.

"Thanks for loving me so much." Blair smiled and leaned forward, and Jim met him halfway for a long kiss, only broken by the uneasy shuffling of feet near the open door. When they parted, one of Blair's students was standing there. A pretty girl with long, dark hair, she smiled shyly.

"Sorry, Dr. Sandburg. I didn't know you were...uh...busy."

"That's okay, Diane. He was just finishing up his extra credit project," Blair quipped. That broke the tension and all three of them laughed.

"To the victorious assistant DA," Simon declared, raising his beer mug high above the table in salute to Beverly Sanchez, who, along with her co-counsel from the case, had joined the victory party Major Crimes had assembled at The Tavern Grill, an upscale bar favored by the cops and attorneys of Cascade, given its central location near the PD and the courthouse. The Evans case had ended in a conviction of first degree murder.

"I couldn't have done it without that nice, tidy case you gentlemen assembled," she responded, as hers and the other glasses were all raised in response to Simon's toast. "Now if we can get through the penalty phase successfully, we'll be all set."

"You're going for the death penalty, right?" Jim asked. Seated at the large table next to Blair, Jim leaned back in his chair.

"I'm trying for it, but I have a feeling we probably won't get it. I think there are a couple people on that jury that are just a tad too liberal. I don't see them voting death."

"We probably don't have enough strength in our case for special circumstances," Beverly's co-counsel, Andrea, an attractive blonde in her early thirties, spoke up. "Frankly, I have to admit that I don't think the death penalty in this case will solve anything. It'll only cost the taxpayers more money in the long run to finance Evans' career of making appeals. I think life would be the best sentence."

"I have to agree with that," Blair responded. "I mean, there's an element of revenge that society looks for in criminal punishments, and the death penalty is a whopper in that regard--it's this primal, ultimate payback. But I honestly don't think that it's very effective. Studies have shown it doesn't really have a deterrent effect and it's more expensive than life. And of course, that puts aside all the moral issues of two wrongs not making a right."

"I completely agree," Andrea enthused, leaning forward a bit in her seat. "I'm all for giving the scumbag the worst penalty he can get, but I don't think the death penalty is it. He'll spend the next ten to twelve years becoming a jailhouse lawyer, and then he might be executed. Or some bleeding heart along the way will probably commute his sentence because he'll find Jesus about the time he's on his final appeal."

"Yeah, there are quite a few religious experiences in prisons, aren't there?" Blair retorted, smiling a little.

"Well, let's just say that if anyone truly wants to find God, they can always check death row, because he seems to make a lot of visitations there," she added, laughing.

"I think sometimes it's genuine. Being faced with your mortality for real, when the appeals are running out," Blair commented.

"Oh, I'm sure there are some people who really do find a sort of redemption under those circumstances. I'm just not sold on the idea that quite so many of them do."

The conversation slowed a moment while the waitress arrived with drinks. Rafe asked Megan to dance, and the two of them headed for the jukebox first, where they laughed and talked over the selections, and chose something that would play when the current song ended.

"Would you like to...?" Andrea nodded toward the dance floor, looking hopefully at Blair, who managed to catch Jim's eye as subtly as he could. He did love to dance, and it was pretty apparent that Jim wasn't going to be asking him any time soon--at least not in a setting like this one. Still, the old ghost of Watson's brutal jealousy kept him hesitant to expect Jim to see it as the innocent activity it would be. He wasn't sure if he was happy or disappointed to see Jim's little smile of approval.

"Sure." Blair got up and the two of them walked to the dance floor and started dancing to the slow song Rafe and Megan had chosen. "You could always cut in," Beverly suggested to Jim, leaning over to whisper.

"I don't think Andrea's too interested in dancing with me," Jim responded, chortling a little.

"I wasn't talking about Andrea, you nitwit." She laughed, leaning back in her chair, shaking her head. Jim was relieved the rest of the group seemed to be engrossed in other conversations. "I think she's hit on every eligible man in the Cascade criminal justice system. She must be expanding the ripple effect outward to include consultants now."

"Mee-ow," Serena observed, having overheard Beverly's comment. The two women laughed at that, but Beverly defended herself, still smiling.

"Hey, I don't present my case unless I have all the facts straight. You better get out there and defend your turf, Ellison."

Jim laughed it off, but as he watched Blair dancing with the pretty blonde, he realized that his partner was still, for all intents and purposes, an eligible man. While most of their friends certainly knew they were in a committed relationship, Jim had laid no public claim on Blair. They wore no rings, there had been no ceremony...

Without realizing his body was actually acting now and setting him into motion, Jim found himself at the jukebox, agonizing over just what he'd pick out to play as the backdrop for his first public dance with his lover. He finally spotted one he liked, an old song by The Carpenters, and made his selection. Remembering the lyrics, he realized it described how he felt about Blair so perfectly that he couldn't believe he hadn't thought of playing it for him before. As the current song drew to a close and Blair and Andrea were heading away from the dance floor, Jim approached his partner and caught him by the arm.

"Think you've got the strength to go another round, Chief?" Jim asked, immediately cursing himself for putting the question to Blair in such a blunt, completely pedestrian manner.

"Another round of what?" Blair looked totally confused now, and Andrea smiled, moving toward the table to let the two men settle whatever their discussion was about in private.

"Uh...this...I picked something out...on the jukebox."

"You want to dance with me? Here?" Blair asked, his eyes bugged.

"It's okay, Chief. I shouldn't have put you on the spot. I mean I thought you'd like to so I--"

"Like to?" Blair laughed slightly. "I would love to, man! I literally thought you'd never ask!"

The two men moved back to the dance floor and took their spot among the other dancers. Blair slipped easily into Jim's arms as the first words of the song came through the speakers.

//Day after day
I must face a world of strangers
Where I don't belong
I'm not that strong
It's nice to know there's someone
I can turn to who will always care
You're always there

When there's no getting over that rainbow
When my small list of dreams won't come true
I can take all the madness the world has to give
But I won't last a day without you.//

Jim looked down into his lover's eyes and returned the broad smile beaming up at him from Blair's face. It felt good to give this moment to Blair, almost as wonderful as it felt to hold him close and move to the music. Thinking back on the early days of wrestling with his newfound sentinel abilities, remembering how lonely life had been before Blair, Jim felt a lump in his throat. He pushed away the painful memory of their year-long separation, and his own inability to recognize soon enough that the man he held in his arms was the one person he needed most in the world. That Blair had been subjected to Watson's abuse all because of bad timing. Blair knew they belonged together, were meant to be a couple, but it had taken Jim longer to recognize and accept that fact. He found himself pulling Blair more tightly against his own body, almost protectively, haunted by the thoughts of what he'd been unable to protect him from in the past. They were together now, and Blair himself had said the best way to battle the pain of the past was with the love they had in the present.

//So many times
When the city seems to be without
A friendly face
A lonely place
It's nice to know you'll be there
If I need you
And you'll always smile
It's all worthwhile...//

Blair rested his head against Jim's shoulder, feeling the warmth and security there, and realizing just how true the words were. Jim was his safe harbor, his protection, not to mention his best friend, lifetime lover and favorite person. He tried to reach back in his memory for a single time he had brought some terrible problem or fear or anguish to Jim and not gotten comfort, solace and help. Not a single moment in time sprang to mind. If Jim had drawn strength from his smile and his unwavering allegiance, Blair had drawn more than his share in return from his lover. And despite the horror he'd lived through to get to the place he was now, Blair knew in his heart he wouldn't do things any differently if that was what it took to bring them together.

//If all my friends have forgotten
Half their promises they're not unkind
Just hard to find
One look at you
And I know that I could learn to live
Without the rest
I found the best

When there's no getting over that rainbow
When my small list of dreams won't come true
I can take all the madness the world has to give
But I won't last a day without you...//

Jim drew back a little and then moved down to cover Blair's mouth with his own for a slow, gentle kiss. When he moved back, he rested his forehead against his lover's.

"I think the song's done," Blair said quietly.

"Nah. Not for us," Jim responded, kissing Blair again. "Ours is just getting started."

"Do the rest of those guys know what a hopeless romantic you are?" Blair teased, barely noticing that another song was starting to play, and the dancing was starting up again. Neither of the two men moved or swayed to the music.

"Well, I think they've got a pretty good idea now," Jim quipped, chuckling softly as Blair laughed with him. Hand in hand, they returned to the table and sat down again.

"You didn't tell me you were taken, Blair," Andrea chided, smiling.

"Well, he was before, but now it's official," Jim responded, sliding an arm along the back of Blair's chair.

"You really surprised me, man," Blair said, pausing in the middle of what had been an epic round of kissing and groping, having begun the moment the two men fell into the bed together.

"I surprised myself a little." Jim lifted a stray curl out of Blair's eyes and kissed the end of his nose.

"I didn't think you'd ever want to dance with me in public like that." Blair looked down a moment. "When Andrea asked me, it really felt wrong. I just wanted it to be you."

"I know you like to dance, Chief. I didn't want to turn into another jealous lunatic that keeps you chained by one ankle to the chair. You should have the right to do something as innocent as dancing with someone else if you feel like it. I don't have to like it." Jim added, smiling and then claiming Blair's kiss-swollen lips again.

"You didn't like it?" Blair asked, grinning.

"If wanting to rip every last shred of that dyed blonde hair out of her head by its dark roots counts, no, I didn't like it."

"Whoa--she's not a real blonde? Oh my God, Jim, I don't believe you were using your sentinel abilities to scope out the competition!" Blair started to laugh, and Jim feigned annoyance.

"It's not funny, Sandburg."

"Oh, Jim, it's a riot. Dark roots, huh? Man, I thought she was for real."

"Yeah, well, she's a bottle blonde, sweetheart." Jim rolled onto his back, bringing Blair with him until the smaller man sprawled across his body, his legs spreading to straddle Jim, their cocks meeting and rubbing together.

"Mmmm," Blair opined eloquently, rocking back and forth, increasing the friction. Jim's hands moved down to knead the firm buttocks, fingertips trailing into the cleft between them. He hadn't been inside Blair since the kidnapping incident several weeks earlier, and while he was resigned to wait forever if that's what it took, his desire to explore that most secret and tender of places was almost overwhelming. Reading his lover's thoughts, Blair ceased his movements. "We can try it if you want," he said softly.

"Not unless you want, too," Jim responded, patting Blair's butt gently with both hands.

"I do want...it's just..."

"Not time yet?"

"I don't want to make love with you that way and be thinking about... I just keep seeing that damned video in my head and... I don't know how to explain it."

"You don't have to, baby." Jim moved his hands away from the inviting cheeks and pulled Blair into a tight embrace. "When the time's right, it'll happen."

"Why don't you relax and let me do something for you?" Blair pulled back and looked down at Jim, flexing his eyebrows.

"Why don't we both relax and do something for each other?" Jim grinned up at his lover, watching Blair's expression as the concept of a 69 dawned on him.

Shifting positions with the coordination of professional dancers, each man found himself facing the other's semi-erect cock. Both men gasped as they were engulfed in wet warmth, soon losing themselves in the dual sensations of giving and receiving pleasure simultaneously.

Hands roamed over sensitive skin, silky curls brushed the insides of Jim's thighs as Blair settled himself there, sucking in earnest now, working at bringing Jim to his climax. Jim picked up the pace of his own ministrations, cautiously slipping a finger into the valley between Blair's cheeks, caressing the little pucker there, hoping to relax Blair enough to at least enjoy being touched there again.

The younger man wasn't objecting. He was writhing with his own pleasure, concentrating on keeping up the stimulation that would bring his lover with him to climax.

Suddenly, Jim stopped, pulling away and releasing Blair's rock hard erection.

"Why don't you finish up in me, baby?" Jim suggested. "I really miss that feeling, Chief," Jim admitted quietly, stroking Blair's thigh.

"But I still..."

"You don't have to look at this like some kind of debt you have to repay. I want you inside me for me. Not as some sort of incentive to make you return the favor. Just because I want it."

Blair looked at his lover, realizing how difficult a verbal admission like that was for Jim. And hating himself for making him spell it out. He should have known better than to think that Jim was trying to push him faster than he could move. He should have known it was just a desire to have sex that way, to get that intimate with Blair. There were never "payback" strings attached to anything they offered each other in bed.

"I want it too," Blair finally responded, smiling softly at his lover.

Jim rolled over on his stomach, drawing his knees up, presenting his aroused partner with an easy target. Blair fumbled in the drawer for the lube with shaky hands. For as long as Jim hadn't been inside him, he hadn't been inside Jim either, not feeling comfortable with asking that of Jim when he couldn't reciprocate. Up to this point, Jim hadn't asked for it. Whether that was out of concern for Blair or just the fact that Jim didn't feel the urge to be "on the bottom" as often as Blair did, he wasn't sure. But whatever the reason, the exceptionally beautiful, firmly-muscled body was laid out before him now like a feast. And feast he would.

Ignoring the lube and his own painful arousal for the moment, Blair moved between Jim's spread legs and with a gentle hand on each buttock, exposed his little hole. Moving in closer, Blair began to tease the tender skin with the tip of his tongue, loving the surprised moan that drew from Jim. He moved away from Jim's center, licking and sucking at his perineum, nuzzling the heavy balls.

"Oh, God, Blair...please, baby..." Jim pleaded breathlessly with the little demon who was now purposely ignoring his hungry center, waiting to be filled.

Blair finally returned to his goal, dragging his tongue in broad strokes over the little pucker before darting his tongue inside, again and again until he was satisfied that Jim was almost mindless with the teasing pleasure of it. He let his hair brush the skin of Jim's ass, knowing that feeling was a major turn on for his lover.

Pulling back, he located the lube and began the process of lubricating and stretching Jim to accommodate Blair as comfortably as possible. He made sure to reach one long finger deep inside Jim to brush over the little nub that he knew would drag the first animal shout of pure ecstasy out of the larger man. He rubbed the little spot a few times, putting enough pressure on it to make Jim scream and writhe shamelessly on the intruding finger, the muscles in the powerful back springing to life as strong arms spread out for fingers to curl over the top edge of the mattress.

Satisfied Jim was as ready as he could be without coming, Blair coated himself with lube and slid steadily but carefully into Jim's waiting body.

"Oh yeah," Jim muttered, receiving his lover readily and eagerly.

"Feels good, mine," Blair responded, kissing the middle of Jim's back before he straightened a bit and began to move slowly within the tight channel, picking up the pace of his strokes to match the rhythm of Jim's backward thrusts.

"That's it, baby...oh yeah...faster..." Jim ground out, thrusting up to meet each one of Blair's strokes until their frenzied rhythm stilled momentarily as Jim came, contracting around Blair and wringing a shattering climax from him as Jim's receded, their cries alternating and mingling until they slumped together on the bed in a heap of sweaty, sated, spent flesh.

"Love you, mine," Blair whispered against Jim's back, sliding out of him slowly, then crawling up to lay his cheek against Jim's.

"Love you too, sweetheart," Jim responded, managing a sideways kiss against Blair's mouth.

Blair rested there a moment, soaking up the warmth, feeling and scent of his lover. His own body somehow felt a bit vacant, something in his spirit almost asking to be physically filled by Jim the way Blair had just filled him. The intensity of the love he was feeling at that moment made him long for that connection, and to bitterly wish to banish the images of that ungodly video from his mind's eye. To shove back in its box the memory of that pain and violation, to again associate opening himself and being filled to his capacity with love and Jim and their commitment to each other, and not some painful endurance test forced on him by a sadist. One he invariably failed, one that always left him shaken, torn and bleeding, feeling used and humiliated.

"Blair?" Jim's voice drew him out of the horrible thoughts and back to his lover. "It's okay, honey. I know the memories are there." Jim reached behind himself to stroke Blair's hair. "We're going to beat this thing."

"I didn't mean to think about it. Tonight was...beautiful," Blair said quietly. "I love you so much."

"Ditto, buttercup." Jim smiled as Blair laughed with a loud snort against his shoulder.

"You're not going to let me live that down, are you?"

"On our 50th anniversary, I'll still be reminding you," Jim responded, laughing.

"Promise?"

"Promise," Jim responded, as both men shifted positions so Jim was spooned around Blair, on their sides, ready to fall into a lethargic, post-sex sleep. "Although if we celebrate that occasion this way, you'll probably have to call the rescue squad to get my knees out from under me." Both men laughed at that mental image, and before long, dozed off to sleep, wrapped around each other.

Blair put the finishing touches on the notes for his lecture the following day. Though he'd taught the course before, he'd come across some new information he felt would liven it up a bit, so revising his old lecture notes was a must. There were times it seemed almost odd working alone in the study and not sensing Michael's constant presence. On those occasions when his mind did drift back to Michael, he remembered the vision of him meeting his lover in the gazebo, and the joy he'd seen in the two men's faces.

Thinking of reunions with lovers reminded him to head out to the kitchen to start the steaks grilling. It was Jim's birthday, and when given the choice of spending it any way he wanted, Jim had chosen a fat, juicy t-bone and a slender, juicy guide, both to be devoured wantonly over the course of the evening. He much preferred a quiet celebration for just the two of them. Given the somewhat noisy and ribald donut party Jim had been given that morning, Blair figured he was ready to kick back a little. Blair had never seen so many creatively frosted donuts in his life, and wondered how safe Cascade was now that all its finest were flying around on sugar buzzes.

Blair tossed the steaks on the grill on the back porch, hoping they'd soon be able to afford to expand it. With the garden work just completed and the pool on the agenda for the following year, that wasn't too likely. The heat of the afternoon was waning a bit, but was still a contrast to the coolness of the air conditioned house. The overhang kept the porch in the shade, and there was a nice breeze, so Blair had no complaints.

Going back inside to get the potato and veggie kebabs he'd put together earlier to go on the grill with the steaks, Blair froze in his tracks as a memory hit him broadside. A good memory. The very first time he'd had sex with Jim, all the way, had been on Jim's birthday, three years earlier.

He pushed the thought aside and took out the kebabs, walking back outside and adding them to the grill. Jim had guaranteed he'd be there at six o'clock sharp, and since it was almost that now and Blair'd heard nothing to the contrary, it was time to get the food started. If he waited for Jim, the other man would insist on doing part of the food preparation, and Blair wanted Jim to be treated like royalty on his special day. Smiling, he wondered what Jim would think of his present.

A few weeks earlier, Blair had wandered into the music store in the mall to buy a string for his guitar. While he was transacting that big purchase, he had noticed Jim spending an inordinate amount of time examining a drum set displayed in the center of the store. He had finally watched his lover with some fascination as sentinel fingers wandered lightly over the surface of the drums themselves, those cool blue eyes taking in every detail with great interest. Unable to stand the curiosity any longer, Blair joined his lover.

"Nice drums," Blair said casually. Jim nodded.

"Beautiful. I would have killed for set like this when I was a kid."

"You played drums? Why am I having trouble picturing you in a garage band?" Blair teased. Jim chortled a little at that.

"I never got that far. I had a drum set for a few months when I was in high school. I got pretty...okay at it. I really loved it," Jim admitted honestly, obviously thinking back on the feelings playing the drums had engendered.

"Why'd you give it up?"

"I didn't, exactly. My dad couldn't stand the racket, and he thought it was a waste of time. One day I came home and they were just...gone." Jim was silent a moment, then he chuckled a little. "Probably just as well."

"He didn't tell you or anything? Just...got rid of them?"

"He'd been complaining about it the last few times I practiced. I wasn't surprised." Jim looked away from the drums to Blair. "Hey, you get what you need?"

"Yeah, I'm all set." Blair had still been in a sort of funk when they left the store, thinking how attached Jim must have been to his drums, given the almost affectionate stroking he had been giving this set. When he'd tried to open the subject again later, Jim had laughed it off as ancient history.

Blair turned the steaks, thinking to himself, a bit sadly, that it was no wonder that loud music and rock and roll often got on Jim's nerves. Maybe it wasn't so much that he didn't like it as it was a painful reminder of how much he did love it and how that passion had been squelched so ruthlessly. As he heard the truck pulling up out front, Blair hoped the drum set wasn't a mistake that would revive more painful memories than it would exorcize.

"I smell food," Jim called to Blair as he came out the back door of the garage and made his way to the porch, bounding up the steps and wrapping his arms around Blair from behind, burying his nose in the loose curls. "And chamomile."

"Happy Birthday, love," Blair responded, smiling at Jim's reference to one of the shampoo ingredients that Blair had found to be a real turn on to Jim's sentinel sniffer. Why it seemed to be an aphrodisiac, Blair wasn't sure. He only knew what the results usually were, and that suited him just fine.

"Food looks great. Man, I'm starved."

"You wanna help out here?" Blair asked with a little laugh in his voice as he tried to turn the kebabs with Jim draped happily over his shoulders, arms still around his middle.

"No, I'm just enjoying the scenery. All of it." Jim kissed a bare shoulder. It was still hot outside and Blair was in his favorite blue shorts and a loose white tank shirt.

"You want to change clothes before we eat?"

"Great idea. Maybe I'll grab a shower too."

"Nope, that's my job. Got something special in mind for that, lover."

"You do, huh?"

"I've got a lot of things in mind for tonight."

"I've thought of one or two myself." Jim kissed Blair's cheek before moving away from him and heading toward the house. "Chief?"

"Yeah?" Blair looked up from his work on the grill.

"I'm glad we're staying in."

"So am I," Blair responded, grinning.

The two men shared a pleasant dinner in the kitchen, looking out the window at their garden area and discussing the possibilities for doing the porch and the pool the following year. When it was determined that there was a choice between the porch expansion and groceries, both men opted to put off the porch project.

Blair brought out the cake he'd managed to hide--though he had little doubt Jim had smelled it as soon as he'd entered the kitchen--and placed a few candles on it.

"Don't want to set off the smoke detector, so I won't put the right number on," Blair quipped.

"Your day'll come, smart ass," Jim shot back, chuckling.

"I haven't sung 'Happy Birthday' yet." Blair set the lit cake in front of his lover at the table, and then straddled his lap, facing him. "Happy Birthday to you," a kiss to Jim's forehead, "Happy Birthday to you," another on his mouth, "Happy Birthday dear Jim," a thorough tonsil probe with a hungry tongue, "Happy Birthday to you," Blair concluded with a little thrust of his groin against his lover's. Resting his arms around Jim's neck, he grinned wickedly and flexed his eyebrows. "Aren't you gonna make a wish?"

"Why bother?" Jim said seriously, pulling Blair into a tight embrace. "I've already got it." That left Blair a bit speechless while he soaked up the closeness of the moment and the beauty of Jim's words.

"I love you," Blair said, pulling back and looking into Jim's eyes.

"I love you too, sweetheart," Jim said, stroking Blair's cheek and then kissing his lips tenderly.

"Time to cut the cake," Blair presented Jim with the knife, not moving off his lap. Jim looked at the white frosted confection with the light blue roses and "Happy Birthday Jim" scrawled across it. Then he looked back at Blair. There was no question which of the two desserts he wanted to devour first, but since Blair had even caved in to buying him something as unhealthy as a big, sticky, frosted cake, Jim figured he should take on the task at hand.

With Blair's warm body still snuggled against him, an evil thought seized him. He set the knife aside and stuck his fingers into the side of the cake, pulling off a chunk of cake and frosting.

"What--?" Blair gaped at the messy assault on the cake with glassy eyes. Jim offered him the chunk of cake, waggling his eyebrows. Grinning back, Blair carefully ate the cake off Jim's fingers, then seized his lover's wrist to hold the hand in place long enough to languidly lick clean the frosting-covered digits.

In the spirit of it now, Blair grabbed his own chunk off the cake, complete with a rose, and started feeding it to Jim, loving the feeling of the hot, wet mouth devouring the cake and then licking his fingers. When it was Jim's turn again, he took a large gob of frosting-drenched cake and stuck it in his own mouth. At Blair's surprised look, he pulled his lover in closer.

"If you want it, you're gonna have to take it," he mumbled around the mouthful. Blair pounced on Jim's mouth, their tongues and the sweet dessert sliding around together.

They continued working their way through at least a third of the cake until Jim intercepted Blair's hand, kissing it.

"I'm gonna blow up, Chief."

"I think there's more frosting on us than on the cake." Blair laughed softly as he surveyed their hands and mouths and the fronts of their tank shirts. "Only one thing to do about that, I guess," Blair said, sighing and shaking his head.

"Can't get frosting all over everything."

"Nope. Gotta keep neat and clean..." Blair hoisted himself back on his feet, off Jim's lap, and held a sticky hand out in invitation to his lover. Jim glommed onto the hand readily and the two of them made their way upstairs to the shower.

Clothes flew carelessly in the direction of the hamper, and both men climbed into the shower, washing each other and splashing around, kissing and groping until Blair moved down on his knees and engulfed Jim's hardness in a motion so swift it had almost escaped even sentinel detection.

Sighing with pleasure and bracing himself on the tiles, Jim lost himself in the sensations of that hot mouth working his shaft, and the sight of the full lips closing around it. Though he fully acknowledged that he was tightly wrapped around one of Blair's little fingers, one look in the desire-clouded blue eyes that looked up at him reminded him all over again.

"Oh, baby, that's good," Jim moaned, feeling his climax building. "Oh, man!" Trying hard not to thrust too wildly, Jim felt the tide building and flowing through him, exploding in hot juices that Blair swallowed greedily.

Coming out of the fog of his own orgasm, Jim noticed Blair's scent mingled with his own. As he pulled his lover up for a kiss, he let one hand slide down to feel the other man's lax, sticky cock.

"You came?" Jim asked stupidly. He knew the answer, but still, the thought that Blair would come solely from pleasuring him was an exotic thought Jim wanted to confirm and save for one of his best wet dreams.

"I was pretty worked up from downstairs, and doing that for you...I couldn't hold it." Blair grinned. "Happy Birthday, mine."

"I'll tell you one thing, baby. This sure beats the fish tie Brown gave me." Jim was startled by a slap to his wet rear.

"Smart ass," Blair shot back, laughing. "Your present's downstairs."

"Ah yes, the basement. I wondered when I'd get to see what you've been hiding down there." Jim pulled Blair into a tight hug. "I don't see how anything can beat what I've gotten so far."

"The night is still young," Blair responded, returning the pressure of the embrace. "Come on. We're starting to shrivel in here."

After toweling each other off and sharing a few more kisses, they both wandered into the bedroom and found clean shorts and tank shirts, clothing which had become their summer around the house "uniforms". Sliding their feet into comfortable old sneakers, they headed for the basement. As soon as they'd reached the foot of the stairs, Blair stopped, and turned to look up at Jim, who was right behind him.

"If you really hate this, I want you to tell me. I mean, if I called this totally wrong and you don't like it or it's not what you want it's okay and I'll take it back no problem--"

"Blair, before you return it, could I see it?" Jim asked, smiling. Blair had to laugh then, and he nodded.

"Wait here. I've got to get the lights. I'll call you, okay?"

"Okay." Jim waited patiently at the foot of the stairs while Blair hurried around the corner into what was the big, open area of the basement. They had talked about doing something with it, but with as much space as they had in the house, it really wasn't needed space, and there were other renovations and repairs that had been more urgent and plenty costly.

"Okay, you can come now."

"No, thanks. Maybe later," Jim called back, grinning devilishly, waiting for Blair's retort.

"Not at all if you're gonna be a wise ass," Blair replied, drawing a chortle out of Jim, who walked around the corner into the area where Blair waited with his birthday present. "Happy Birthday, love," Blair said, a little hesitantly.

The room had been converted, a la Blair, from a big, barren cement room into something friendly and inviting. There were a number of wall hangings decorating the white painted brick walls, most of them either Native American or South American in theme, interspersed with a few framed tour posters from bands like Led Zeppelin, Deep Purple, and of course--Santana. The floor was still mostly bare, but there was a large woven area rug in blended colors of brown, orange and gold framed by a big, cushy-looking couch and two matching chairs. End tables held fat, pottery-style lamps with burlap-look shades that cast a soft, friendly light into the room without benefit of the naked overhead bulbs.

There was a matching area rug beneath the central attraction of the room: the elaborate drum set that Jim had last seen in the center of the music store in the mall. Beautiful white drums with bright, chrome accents that had drawn Jim like a magnet on that shopping trip were now his, sitting in what was his own little musical paradise.

"There are a few stools down here too. Um, Henri likes to play a little music in his spare time, and I play guitar...I was thinking...we could have some fun with this...if you want." Blair seemed a little disconcerted by Jim's almost catatonic reaction to the gift, and continued filling up the uneasy silence. "I was gonna put a little bar over there, but I sort of...ran out of money. But I was thinking for Christmas, if you find you'd like something like that, I could get Simon to help me--he likes to play around with building stuff, and I'm not really all thumbs either, and we could put it--"

Jim made a couple of long strides toward Blair and ended the nervous chatter by covering his lover's mouth with his own, kissing him deeply.

"Does that mean you like it?" Blair asked, smiling as he looked up into Jim's moist eyes.

"I honestly...don't know what to say, Chief," Jim moved away from Blair, looking around the room. "It's...beautiful. And these..." Jim walked over to the drum set and let his fingers dance over the surface of one of the drums. "I haven't played in years. I probably suck now," Jim added, laughing.

"Very well, I might add," Blair retorted.

"One of these days, Sandburg, pow right to the moon," Jim quipped back, invoking his best Jackie Gleason voice.

"I figured we've got enough property around us that you should be able to really cut loose and have some fun. If you're not interested in playing again, I understand, no problem."

"Blair, I..." Jim looked back at the drums, touching one of the cymbals as reverently as he'd stroked the drum. "I loved playing... when I was a kid..." Jim looked around the basement room. "I'd have given anything for a room like this."

"Now?"

"Some things never change, sweetheart." Jim sat behind the drums on the stool there and picked up the sticks. "Oh, man, I don't even know where to start." There was a little laugh in his voice as he tried twirling a drumstick and it dropped gracelessly out of his hand on the floor. Blair picked it up.

"Not there, obviously," he teased, handing it back to Jim.

"I think I spent most of my time when I was a teenager perfecting the move of thumping the big bass drum with the foot pedal and twirling a drumstick over my head--I'd seen some of the rock drummers do that, and I thought it was pretty cool."

"Yeah, or the way they sort of propel them into the audience-- when it looks like they're bouncing them off the drums?"

"I tried that once. Hit Stephen in head with it. He never let me hear the end of it." Jim laughed at the memory, and at his thirteen-year-old brother's indignant insistence to Sally that he had been seriously hurt by the flying drumstick. That she had laughed out loud at his complaint hadn't exactly endeared her to Stephen's heart.

"Thanks for the warning. I'll duck when I come downstairs unannounced."

"It's weird. My mind's totally blank. I can't think of anything to play."

"Maybe I can help out with that." Blair went over to the beige tweed couch where his guitar was propped against it. Pulling up a wood stool near the drum set, Blair seated himself and drew his guitar into his lap, his hands poised to start playing. "Ummm...'Black Magic Woman'?"

"Too complicated. I'd fuck it up in the first two notes."

"Me too," Blair responded honestly. "Carlos Santana I'm not."

"You do okay, Chief."

"Oh--I've got one. How about 'Smoke on the Water'? The big thing's the guitar riff, and you can sort of plug along with the backbeat until you get the knack of it again."

"I used to play that one all the time," Jim said, a glimmer of recognition crossing his features. "Let's give it a shot. You have to promise not to laugh."

"I swear," Blair replied, raising his right hand, laughing.

"You're already laughing and I haven't played anything yet."

"I'm getting it out of my system early. Come on. I'll get started."

Blair started out the classic guitar riff, with only a few faltering notes from his own lack of practice, and it wasn't long before Jim ventured to tap on the drums in front of him, joining Blair in singing a somewhat off-key and undoubtedly inaccurate rendition of the lyrics while they played. By the time they were finishing up the song, Jim was keeping up with his lover quite well. When they were done, Blair let out a little whoop of approval.

"Yeah, man, we're good!" he enthused. Jim raised a single eyebrow.

"I don't think we should give up our day jobs just yet, Chief." Jim paused, looking back at the drums. "Thank you, Blair. This is probably one of the most incredible gifts anyone has ever given me."

"Kind of how I feel about you," Blair responded, setting his guitar aside and moving to stand behind Jim, wrapping his arms around his lover's neck.

"How long have you been working on this, sweetheart?" Jim asked, reaching up to pull Blair's face close to his.

"As long as I've kept you out of the basement," Blair responded, and Jim could feel the smile against his cheek.

"You trusted me not to peek while I had that day off that you had to work at the U?"

"You didn't, did you?" Blair asked, as if he didn't consider it any real possibility.

"No, I didn't. It damn near drove me insane, but I didn't."

"I trust you, lover. I knew you wouldn't spoil my surprise for you."

"This had to have cost a fortune."

"Actually, the drums and the furniture were the only items that were pricey at all--and the furniture is just some sort of cheap but comfortable stuff I found at that new discount place out by the mall. I had some of the hangings stored down here, and I ordered the posters from a collectibles place and framed those myself...it was a fun project. A labor of love," Blair added, kissing Jim's cheek.

"It's really great, Chief. Thanks," Jim added, twisting to look at Blair, then kiss him on the mouth this time.

"The party's not over yet," Blair said, grinning. "Can you stay down here and play with your new toy for a while? I have a couple things to do upstairs."

"Upstairs, huh? As in, second floor upstairs?" Jim probed.

"As in bedroom level upstairs," Blair responded, moving away from Jim. "I'll call you when it's time for you to come up."

"I'll be waiting...impatiently," Jim added, grinning and attempting to twirl the drumstick again. It made it a bit farther before falling this time. "Obviously I can use the time to practice," Jim commented, laughing as he leaned down to pick up the stick.

"I won't be long," Blair called back as he hurried up the steps.

Jim thumped around on his drums a little, examining them and experimenting with the sound of each one. It had been years since he'd actually had access to drums to try his hand at playing them, but he was fast feeling the old surge of excitement he used to feel as a teenager when he'd pound away, convinced he was the next John Bonham.

He could hear the floorboards upstairs, then Blair's footsteps heading up to the second floor, and of course, all his movements up there. He heard rustling fabrics, lots of footsteps, water running, drawers opening and closing, a few sounds he couldn't really place, and finally, a little soft instrumental music, and the sound that was truly music to his ears--the creak of the bed springs.

"Jim." The word was soft, not even a call. Just the speaking of his name. Casting a last fond glance at his birthday gift, Jim turned out the lamps and hurried upstairs, through the kitchen and up the steps to the second floor. The hall was dark, the door to the master bedroom was partially closed, and the soft flicker of candle light was visible through the small space it stood away from the frame.

Jim slowly pushed the door open, and smiled at the sight before him. The bed had been changed to white satin sheets, and a very naked Blair sat in the middle of it, propped on a mountain of pillows, holding two glasses of champagne.

"Wow," Jim mumbled.

"No clothes allowed in this bed, lover," Blair said, halting Jim as he moved toward the bed.

Grinning, Jim happily complied with the rule, tossing his clothes every which way before joining Blair on the delightful satin sheets. Between the luxurious sensation against his heightened sense of touch, the soft candle light to relax his eyes, and the soft music to soothe his ever-vigilant ears, it was obvious that Blair knew how to plan a celebration fit for a sentinel.

"Here," Blair handed him the glass of champagne. "We have to toast. To all our occasions--no matter how we celebrate them, may we always celebrate them together."

"Amen, baby." Jim touched his glass to Blair's and both men took their first drink of the champagne, then shared it with one another in a languid kiss.

"I wanted to give you something special for your birthday--"

"You already did, Chief. Everything downstairs--it's great."

"I mean besides that. Something more...meaningful." Blair took a deep breath. "You remember the first time we made love--all the way?"

"It's not likely I'd ever forget that, baby." Jim smiled affectionately, cupping Blair's cheek in his hand.

"It was on your birthday." Blair looked into Jim's eyes intently.

"Blair...tonight...?" Jim asked carefully, afraid to hope for what he thought was being offered. His heart resumed a normal rhythm when Blair nodded--or perhaps a slightly elevated rhythm. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure I want us to have that again. I'm not sure everything'll go perfectly for me...but I want to feel you inside me again, and I want us to be that close...and tonight, it just seems more meaningful somehow."

"It's very meaningful, sweetheart." Jim leaned forward and kissed Blair's forehead. "Just for the record, anytime we've made love has been meaningful...precious...I wouldn't trade a second of any of them."

"I know it's been hard waiting this long. I'm really sorry--"

"No apologies. You don't have anything to be sorry for. Besides, we've managed to entertain ourselves the last couple of months." Jim smiled and flexed his eyebrows a little. Blair had to chuckle at that.

"I just wanted you to know...that it means so much to me... how patient you are with me, about everything with Vince and then Borden... I didn't feel like I could even get through it for a while there. I mean,

you pull yourself back up above water from the whole mess and then all of a sudden something comes along and drags you back under again."

"If anyone should apologize, it's me. I should have never left you alone the day Borden got in here."

"That wasn't your fault."

"Maybe not my fault exactly, but I still should have protected you. If I had--"

"Jim, you had to go into headquarters, and Brian was going to be with me...quit beating up on yourself. You didn't do anything wrong by leaving me."

"And you didn't do anything wrong by holding back on some part of sex until you felt comfortable to do it again. When I touch you, I don't want you to feel afraid. I want you to enjoy yourself. If we can't both enjoy what's happening, we don't need to be doing it."

"It's still a little scary...but I want to try it. I want it to happen. Just be patient with me, okay?"

"You know I will be, sweetheart." Jim stroked Blair's cheek, then took the champagne glass out of his hand, setting it, along with his own, on the night stand. Moving back toward Blair, he pulled his lover into his arms and claimed his mouth, sliding them down on their sides on the slippery sheets.

Jim let his hands roam gently over Blair's body, caressing him, cherishing him, avoiding lingering on any of his more erogenous zones. He let his lips travel down from Blair's mouth to his chin, then beneath it to his neck, burying his nose in the soft, clean hair that smelled of chamomile and some other sweet herb that Jim didn't recognize. Whatever it was, it was part of the shampoo that Jim had teased Blair should come with a warning label. The minute he smelled it on his lover, Jim was ready for action.

Blair was holding onto him tightly, caressing a little, but mostly letting Jim make the moves. Jim didn't really need Blair to tell him that this step was a scary one; the sentinel could pick up the rapid heartbeat and the slight tautness in the muscles. The memory of the video that Watson had made still lurked in Blair's mind, and up to now, the association between that incident, which was tantamount to a torture session, and penetration, had been too close to allow Blair to even relax enough to let it happen, let alone to want it.

"Try to relax your muscles, buttercup," Jim said, smiling as Blair snorted a little laugh against his chest. When gentle kissing and caressing didn't relax Blair, laughter usually did. "That's the ticket, my little apple turnover." Jim licked and sucked at a tender spot on Blair's neck, sliding a hand down to caress the firm mounds of the other man's buttocks. He let the hand linger there, massaging, as he pulled back and kissed Blair's mouth again, a bit more aggressively this time. "I'm going to take care of you, angel. Relax for me," Jim coaxed, rolling them so Blair was beneath him.

He trailed his lips down Blair's neck to his chest, moving to the left nipple, lapping at it before taking it into his mouth. He sucked firmly, happy to hear a little groan of pleasure out of Blair as the younger man's hands slid into Jim's hair, attempting to hold him in place. Satisfied when he had turned the little protrusion into a rock hard nub, Jim moved to its mate and began inflicting the sweet torture on it. Leaving both of Blair's nipples impossibly hard, Jim considered them sexy decorations for the heaving, sweat-sheened chest of his lover. Blair loved having his nipples sucked, and Jim made a mental note to return to the task shortly.

"Jim...more..." Blair panted, trying to thrust his chest up toward the retreating mouth.

"In time, baby. Got a little more work to do down South." Jim licked a path down the center of Blair's chest, over his belly, stopping to dart his tongue into the little valley there, happy to feel Blair spreading his legs, trying to nudge Jim in the chin with what was becoming a raging hard-on.

Reaching in what he hoped was a subtle manner, Jim snagged the lube from the spot where he expected it would be. They usually stashed the tube under the pillows for one of their planned encounters, making it easier to reach in the heat of the moment.

"Pull your knees up for me, baby," Jim commanded gently. He could hear a little spike in Blair's heartbeat at the order, but his lover complied quickly, drawing his knees back up toward his chest, exposing himself completely. "It's gonna be good, sweetheart. Relax," Jim soothed, rubbing gentle hands over the backs of Blair's thighs. He started peppering the soft flesh there with kisses and licks, working his way toward his goal.

He teased Blair's perineum with the tip of his tongue, smiling as Blair let out the first full-bodied moan. He knew each little sensitive pleasure spot on Blair's body, and tonight, he was going to drive them all to the brink, make the experience so fantastic that Blair would never fear it again. Ignoring the obvious erection and sensitized balls, he moved down to the little pucker and started teasing it with his tongue, smiling at the little jerks as Blair's body spasmed at the pleasure of it. He took his time making love to Blair's hot little hole, darting his tongue in and out of it, getting Blair used to the sensations of something entering him; something small, wet and slippery without the capacity to hurt.

Moving back up, Jim opened the lube and squeezing some out on his fingers, descended on Blair's right nipple, sucking it hard into his mouth at the same time he ventured a tentative fingertip inside the smaller man's body. Blair grasped the sheets with both hands, the intensity of the grip being too likely to leave bruises if it had been used on Jim's body.

"Jiiiimm..." It was a half cry, half moan, undecided if the onslaught of stimulation was pleasure or torment. Judging by the response of Blair's cock, it was pleasure.

As Jim eased a second finger into his lover, he moved to the other nipple, treating it to the same suction its mate had endured.

"Oh, God...Jim...I'm...gonna... Oh, yeah...NOW!!" Blair shouted, knowing he was on the brink of coming, and if Jim didn't take him then, they'd never climax together.

"Love you, baby," Jim said against Blair's mouth before kissing him hungrily, then moving back between Blair's raised thighs, coating himself with lube, he positioned the head of his cock at the entrance to Blair's body. In one long, smooth slide, he was sheathed to the hilt.

Blair let out a long moan of pleasure, too hungry for completion to think about discomfort or fear or memories or anything else except reaching what promised to be a volcanic orgasm.

"Jim...take me..." Blair ground out, wrapping his legs around Jim's body, drawing him in tight.

Jim responded by beginning a slow, firm thrusting, spurred on by Blair's passionate cries of delight and his own hunger. He built the pace and force of his strokes, finally beginning to aim them directly at Blair's prostate. Blair screamed then, pulling one fistful of the sheets so hard that some little corner of Jim's brain noted that they were being ripped off the mattress.

"Oh yeah...come on, man, make me come..."

"Love your ass, baby. So hot, so tight," Jim managed, making a sloppy attempt at kissing Blair's mouth, thrusting his tongue into that warm, wet cavern while his cock was thrusting into the willing body from the other direction.

Blair was groaning out a string of nonsensical words, and in the middle of his raging lust, Jim had to smile. Even during sex, Blair was a talker, even if he didn't make any sense.

Jim didn't have time to think for long, feeling the rising tide of his own climax building, building and then wrenched from his pulsing cock by the frantic contractions of Blair's internal muscles as the hot wetness of Blair's completion spurted across Jim's chest and belly, Blair's cries of pleasure filling his ears as the scent of his completion filled the air. With a long, throaty howl, Jim thrust a few final, wild times, filling Blair with his seed. Exhausted, he slumped on his lover, finding the strength to gather Blair into his arms.

Blair's legs dropped away from him, landing with an unceremonious plop on the rumpled bed. The younger man's chest heaved for breath beneath Jim's head, and as soon as he had the strength, Jim pushed up on his elbows to take some of the pressure off his lover.

"Wow," Blair said quietly, smiling a little. His face flushed and damp, a few stray curls sticking to it, his breathing still a bit labored, Blair was a vision Jim wanted to savor. He smiled back at the younger man, stroking a warm cheek with the back of his fingers.

"Yeah, wow," Jim agreed.

"Best ever," Blair said, grinning up at Jim, shifting as Jim carefully withdrew from the snug passage and then gathered Blair close in his arms, turning them on their sides.

"Feeling okay, sweetheart?"

"Great," Blair responded, still grinning. "You knew just what I needed," he added, his expression a little more serious.

"I'm glad. I hoped so." Jim kissed the full lips gently. "I think I know what you like."

"Yeah...and you did it all." Blair snuggled into Jim's arms, holding on tightly. "I love you, mine."

"I love you too, baby."

"Happy Birthday," Blair said, and Jim could hear the grin in his voice and feel it where Blair's face rested against his chest.

"Every year, I think I can't have a better one." Jim reached down and hooked a finger under Blair's chin, encouraging his face upward until their eyes met. "Each year, you prove me wrong." He kissed Blair's forehead, then each eyelid, his nose, and finally his mouth. "I know how scary this was for you tonight. I hope you know what it means to me that you faced that for me."

"I trust you," Blair said softly. Then he unsuccessfully stifled a huge yawn.

"I trust you too, Chief. Maybe we should catch a nap?" Jim asked, smiling.

"Sounds good," Blair muttered, wrapping himself more firmly around Jim. Within moments, both men were sleeping.

When Blair awoke, the room was bathed in shadows, the moon peeking through the curtains, spilling a little light across the foot of the bed. He had flopped on his back at some point as he slept, and now he turned his head to see Jim propped on one elbow. Though it was hard to make out the other man's features in the darkness of the room, Blair knew he was being watched with sentinel eyes.

"I was hoping you'd wake up pretty soon--before midnight," Jim said, a smile plain in his voice as he leaned down to kiss Blair's forehead. "Of course, I was enjoying just watching you sleep."

"You mean watching me drool. Gross," Blair opined, wiping at his mouth with his hand. "That's really sexy," he berated himself.

"You haven't slept deeply enough to drool in a long time, baby." Jim smiled at Blair's puzzled expression, which the younger man knew could be seen in the darkness. "Or to sleep without a little line right here." Jim rubbed a gentle finger over the spot between Blair's eyebrows.

"It feels like things are...okay again."

"They are, sweetheart." Jim was quiet a moment. "I want to talk to you about something." Jim rolled over toward his night stand and lit the candle there, mainly for Blair's benefit. Then he reached in the drawer and pulled something out, obscuring it in his hand while he rolled back over to face Blair, who turned on his side, propping himself on his elbow to mirror Jim's position. "I know we made a commitment to each other, and we've never really questioned that we'd always be together...but I've been thinking a lot lately...and..." Jim let the words trail off, finally letting action speak for him.

He revealed the small velvet box that had been hidden in his hand and then opened it, holding it toward Blair. Inside were two identical, plain gold bands.

"Are you sure...?" Blair asked, looking from the rings to Jim's eyes.

"For the last few months, it's like I keep looking at your left hand and it seems like something's missing. I know you'll probably say this is me exercising my territorial imperative or something..." Jim shrugged. "But I love you and I want to put a visible claim on you. One that says hands off, that you're mine." Jim paused. "And because I'm proud of us...I'm proud of you--proud to have you by my side forever." Jim waited as Blair stared at the rings, his voice caught behind the lump in his throat. He swallowed a time or two, then looked up at Jim again through glistening eyes.

"I always wanted this. Always," he said softly, looking back at the rings. "I love you so much. I've wanted so badly to do something to...to show it."

"The best birthday present you could give me would be to agree to let me put this on your finger, and promise me it'll stay there the rest of our life together."

"As long as I live," Blair responded.

"'til death do us--" Jim's words were cut off when Blair pressed a finger against his lips.

"No. Death doesn't part two people who love each other like we do. Love is forever--if we didn't know it before, we know it now--look at Brian and Michael."

"I wouldn't want you to be sad and depressed and give up living if something happened to me, sweetheart."

"I wouldn't want that for you either, but you can't control that--how another person feels or grieves. I'd never be angry if you found someone else--I'd want you to be happy."

"So would I--for you, I mean."

"If I did, it would be living a lie, man. After what we've had...Jim, I could never love anybody else this way. Somebody new would be just...a sad imitation."

"I feel the same way, Chief."

"Maybe we could just say 'forever' and let it go at that?" Blair suggested, smiling.

"Forever works for me." Jim smiled back, nodding a little. He took the first ring out of the box and took a hold of Blair's left hand. "With this ring, I promise you forever." He looked into Blair's eyes as he spoke, easing the ring into place. Blair smiled so widely Jim feared his face might split in half. Then, the younger man took the second ring out of the box and took a hold of Jim's left hand.

"With this ring, I promise you forever," Blair repeated, catching Jim's gaze, smiling softly as he slid the ring into place.

They kissed to seal the pact, sliding back down in the bed, devouring each other's mouths until the need to breathe forced them apart.

"Looks like they belong there," Jim commented as they examined the rings, and evaluated how it "looked" to be married.

"They do." Blair slid his arms around Jim and held on tightly. Jim returned the strong embrace, rubbing Blair's back in long strokes.

"They always did. I'm sorry I made you wait so long, angel."

"I didn't know how much I wanted this until right now," Blair muttered, his voice a little shaky.

"I knew, baby. It just took me a little while to get up the nerve to...take ownership of us."

"You never hid our relationship. Not from anybody."

"No, but I didn't go out of my way to show you off as my lover." Jim laid a hand on either side of Blair's face and looked into moist blue eyes. "Now I want bragging rights." He kissed the end of Blair's nose.

"You mean that?"

"With all my heart. Besides, I have to protect my territory from predators. I thought the rings would be a better idea instead of my being forced to do them great bodily harm."

"You don't have to protect your territory. Your territory isn't going anywhere. Not ever. Not without you."

"Technically, we haven't consummated the marriage," Jim said, bumping noses with Blair.

"I'd hate to have the whole thing be invalid on a technicality like that," Blair responded, grinning devilishly.

When the morning sun finally made its appearance, it found two damp, warm, completely sated and totally oblivious men sleeping in a tangle of clinging limbs, ringed hands entwined, as the windchimes sang a soft melody.

The End ;-)