Control Issues
Rated ADULT
Angst Ahead!

Chapters 26-30
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TWENTY SIX
***
Simon had the blinds open in his office. It meant that every time a detective came in the doors, he had a moment of distraction from the endless parade of reports and requests and requisitions he had to process, but he needed the distraction. If he'd had any idea what his life was going to be like as a captain, he might have turned down the promotion, but at the time, he thought it was the best way to really make a difference in this town and to save his marriage. Well, he'd accomplished one of his goals.

When Ellison came through the door, followed closely by Sandburg, Simon let his eyes settle on them for more than the second it took to notice them and go back to the vacation schedule. Blair hands were going, but then they always were. The difference now was that the wide, sweeping gestures had grown smaller, the customary pokes at the air more tentative.

Ellison looked better than he had in the hospital, but that just might have been the removal of the chains. Simon hated those things just about as much as he hated the way the man who killed his brother got to walk away without ever paying for what he did. Some things just weren't fair, no matter what the law said.

No more than two seconds after the partners entered, Brown came though the doors and headed straight for Sandburg, obviously making some smart-ass comment, and Banks watched Blair flare to life, his smile brightening as he pushed his hair back with one hand and gestured wildly with the other. Just looking at the kid through the glass, Simon never would peg him as a top-notch detective, but he was.

Brown laughed before he nodded to his partner and they headed out. The whole time, Rafe had hovered at the door, not actually coming in as he focused on Jim and Jim scowled back. Great, just what he needed, detectives who couldn't work with each other. Simon sighed as he focused on the computer again, his tired eyes complaining about the glare off the screen.

The knock on the door wasn't really a surprise. "This better be good," he bellowed. If nothing else, a little aggravation in his tone would make people get to the point quicker. With Sandburg, that was a survival skill he needed.

"Hey, Simon," Blair said as he stuck his head in. "Define good, so I know whether or not I'm good."

Shit. When the kid started playing word games, Simon knew they had trouble. "What did you do?" he asked as he pushed away from his computer and focused on Blair. The detective stepped into the office with a sheepish expression, and Ellison followed close on his heels. While Blair flopped into a chair, Ellison headed for the window where he leaned against the glass and looked out on the city. Sun from the window reflected off his collar and made a little white dash shimmer against the white wall.

"Hey, I totally did not do anything except my job, and I think we may have a new lead on the Taylor case, so that's good, right?"

Simon narrowed his eyes. Sandburg sailed in here on a fairly regular basis confessing to one transgression or another, but he'd never seen the man so unsure before.

"I guess that depends on how you got the lead. You leave any witnesses or bodies behind?" Simon asked suspiciously.

Jim's eyes snapped to Simon, and Simon just looked back at the challenge in them. Hell would freeze over before he'd back down in his own office. Jim blinked after a second and went back to staring out the window. Blair shifted nervously in his seat. Oh yeah, this partnership was going great.

"Jim and I headed out to the cemetery where her body was discovered, and we found some interesting visitors had been by. And man, you should see Jim in action; it's absolutely incredible the way he…"

Blair stopped mid-rant, his hands falling to his lap, and Ellison just continued to stare out the window. Simon closed his eyes and counted to five to keep himself from exploding.

"Okay, out with the disaster part of this, because I can hear a disaster coming," Simon said carefully.

"A reporter spotted me working the case," Ellison interrupted before Blair could say anything.

"Great," Simon said sarcastically, missing the days when he was a detective and he could use the colorful language that rolled through his head. "Your first day back, Sandburg. You couldn't even give me twenty-four hours before you started making tsunamis?" he asked, referencing their old joke to Blair's inability to just make waves like everyone else.

"Oh man, we were just working the scene, but that footage…"

"So, you were playing loose with the regs."

"Hey, I have a legitimate interpretation of the regulations that is probably just not the standard one, so I didn't break regulations as much as I broke procedure," Blair obfuscated. Simon had learned that word early in Sandburg's time in Major Crimes. Now he had really warmed to the subject, and he brought his hands up in that 'I know I'm right and you know that I know that I'm right' gesture. On anyone else, it would have looked like a karate chop, but Blair made it look much more academic and significant.

"The regulations say that no Sentinel can participate in the interrogation or pursuit of a suspected pedophile. However, we were not actively pursuing a pedophile, and we totally had no reason to think a pedophile would be there, so this was more a standard search of an area than a pursuit of a pedophile, and Sentinels are always used for area searches," Blair defended himself, but Simon really focused more on the way Jim's back went stiff. The guy was mad, and Simon didn't need this. Why the hell hadn't he just said 'no' to having a Sentinel in his division?

Blair just kept right on arguing even though Simon hadn't disagreed with him yet. "So, since we weren't pursuing a pedophile, just checking out a scene, that's like total greyland there. And we found that her father had been out to the site, and we also found out that Kari spent a lot of time with the housekeeper's kids, at least we think they're the housekeeper's kids, but the point is that there's a whole part of her life I haven't even looked at."

Simon sighed and pulled off his glasses. "Please tell me you did not confront Sam Taylor."

"It's cool. I mean, he's taking the guilt trip train all the way to China, but I really don't think he had anything to do with her death. A man doesn't just wake up one day and decide to rape and kill his daughter without doing something before that, and the coroner said she didn't have any old marks and bruising, and when I asked him why he was at the scene of her death, Taylor didn't even twitch. I don't think he's our best suspect."

"So, you accused him of being involved before deciding he wasn't?! Blair, you're going to commit career suicide one of these days," Simon accused the man, slamming his palm down on the desk. Jim took a step closer, and Simon included him in the glare. "Maybe Brown should take this one."

Simon flinched at his own words as he really considered that. Brown was one of the best investigators in the department, and like Blair, he had a unique way of looking at the facts in a case. But he handled stress with humor, occasionally inappropriate humor and a lack of interpersonal skills that made families uncomfortable, and this was not a case where the department could afford bad feelings. Then again, Rafe really was smoothing over some of his partner's rough edges, so maybe it was time to let that partnership give this a try.

"Blair found the lead," Jim said as he took one more step closer so that he stood beside Sandburg. Simon glared up.

"And he did it breaking the rules."

"No way, man. I was not breaking the rules, just bending the traditional understanding of the rules, and I am so sorry that Wendy caught me mid-bend."

"Wendy Hawthorne?" Simon just about choked as he sat up and once again wished he could curse like he had back during his detective days when he didn't have to worry about hostile work environments and sensitivity training and all that other shit the commissioner was always pushing.

"Oh, yeah. I guess I left that part out," Blair blushed.

"Yeah, you did." Simon reached for a cigar and just fingered it as he tried to figure out how to manage this disaster.

"She's giving us two days to provide more interesting footage before she pulls out the tape of us at the cemetery, so all is not lost, Simon. We just need to break the case and let her get a little good footage so she has a reason to lose the other stuff."

Simon stared at Blair, his mouth open.

"Two days. Two days?!"

"We just have to work the leads," Jim interrupted, his hand coming down to rest on Blair's shoulder for a second before he jerked it away. Simon narrowed his eyes as he took in one more sign that things were seriously screwed up. Summers back in Georgia with his grandmother, he'd seen the Sentinel pairing who lived in that small, southern town with it's two and three room houses and wide porches. They'd rarely stopped touching, and in the hospital, Jim and Blair had been just as tactile as his memory of that partnership.

Once his head had cleared, Blair would type on his computer, and Jim's hand would rest on a hip or Blair's foot would snake out from under the blanket and his toes would prod Jim's thigh. Now, Jim physically backed away a step, and Blair very deliberately didn't look over.

"I don't know what the hell is going on—"

"Hey, just me with my usual total disdain for rules, and I promise I'll fix this, Simon, just give me a chance. I don’t think today would be a good day to go back and talk to the housekeeper's kids…" Blair's eyes flicked toward Jim, and Simon glowered at the tall man. "But first thing tomorrow, I'm going to be out there, promise. We just need to get Wendy her lead story, and then she'll be happy to bury the footage with Jim."

"And you don't work any more pedophilia cases," Simon said, poking his unlit cigar toward Blair, which brought Jim back to his partner's side. Simon rolled his eyes.

"Right, right, no problem," Blair agreed quickly, his hands held up in surrender.

"Rick hates me. He was always jealous that I got Major Crimes, that's why he gave you to me," Simon complained softly.

"Actually," Blair disagreed, "he said that considering how many rules you broke in your day, you deserved me."

"I probably do," Simon sighed. "But unless you want to end up suspended, you play by the rules. Do I need to remind you that Aldo is still sniffing around just looking for a reason to hang you out to dry?"

"No, no, I got it. Play by the rules, no more Sandburg zone," Blair quickly agreed.

"Why won't Aldo let this go?" Jim asked, his eyes now scanning the bull pen as though looking for the Internal Affairs officer to come bursting through any second.

"Other than Blair making him and basically his whole department look like morons by busting a dirty cop in their department? Oh, nothing."

"Oh man, I am squeaky clean, Simon. I promise."

"So, Jim is going to stay behind when you follow up on the Taylor case tomorrow?" Simon asked, crossing his arms. That made two pairs of sharp blue eyes focus on him.

A lesser man might have squirmed under the matched glares, but Simon didn't back off. He'd been one of the only black kids in his school during the year, and if that wasn't enough to toughen him up, he'd spent summers with Grandma Banks. The woman had a nasty habit of speaking the truth and a stare that would take the paint off house. Old man Winters next door used to say that if he wanted to avoid having to strip the old paint off the house, he just had to annoy Widow Banks into glaring at it. It took more than a couple of nasty looks to unsettle Simon.

"He can just wait in the car," Blair shrugged as if it didn't make a difference to him.

"Where he can listen and give Wendy Hawthorne some nice follow up footage? No chance. Jim can just stay at the station. Let him go through your old case files or something."

"Simon, come on. This isn't my only case, and I don't want to have to double back to have to pick up my partner."

"It seems like I reassigned most of your active cases. Hell, I would have reassigned the Taylor case if the Special Crimes unit wasn't working leads from their end. I assume that you've told them what you found."

"I'll give Leah the notes," Blair waved the concern off, "but I have the Dessy case, too."

"Tomas Dessy? Why pull that old case up?"

"His horoscope," Blair said. "Hold on a second."

Blair got up and just about raced out of the office, detouring around Ricardo and a cuffed suspect before he grabbed the morning paper from his desk and then reversed direction.

"And that's Blair not on caffeine," Simon said sadly.

"I'll remember to keep him away from the coffeepot," Jim half-laughed as Blair returned with a newspaper held high.

"His horoscope… Check it out."

Simon adjusted his glasses. "Which one?"

"Libra"

"Today’s planetary line-up is likely to make things seem like they're sliding off track, but take a second look. You’ll find that progress is being made if you just keep track of where you have your assets. Keep a piece of amethyst with you to help generate an optimistic approach." Simon looked up. "This is…"

"Drivel?" Blair finished for him. "Totally, man. I mean, these things. They're written so they could apply to anyone. Anyone. It's always a good bet that things will go better if you keep track of your assets, but the point here is Dessy. I'm willing to stake a month's salary that he believes in this stuff." Blair thumped the paper with his fingers.

"Why do you say that, Chief?" Jim asked as he came up beside Blair and looked down at the paper.

"It fits. The horoscope says that it's a good day to stay in, and Dessy cancelled meetings with the DeLuca family. The horoscope says that it's a good day to meet new people, and he made that deal with Bruce Jackson to run drugs down in South town."

"So, why not use the horoscope predictions to get someone in undercover?" Jim asked.

"Yeah, we never thought of an undercover officer," Simon snorted, but the suddenly cold expression on Jim's face made guilt wash through him. Jim had enough people doubting his abilities right now. Simon took the cigar out and scrubbed his face for a second.

"Dessy is good. Every officer we've tried to get in there has been ID'ed in days and sent packing. We had one woman who worked the streets, picking up undercover cops as johns for three months before we tried to work her into his organization. Delia is the best we have. After she finally gets a meet with him, he asked her how it was going through police academy with her fine ass and whether the other cops wanted to do her as much as he did. He even told her that he'd almost suspend his rule about not sleeping with cops if she'd offer him a tumble."

"Man, he is like seriously lucky or seriously connected," Blair said softly.

"I wish it was just luck." Simon leaned back in his chair. "Organized Crime has the best shot at this. They're an insulated enough unit that if there's a leak, they can contain it. Why work this now?"

"Because I have Jim now. Man, Dessy is going to be all over checking his businesses because of this horoscope, but it's nearly noon, so he's going to be getting up soon, and we have to get over there."

"Chief, I don't know that I can do all that much," Jim said slowly.

For the first time since they came in the office, Blair really looked at Jim. For a second, he smiled, but then that faded, and his fingers started working the edge of his tribal vest. "You can, Jim. Your records, your test scores… they're higher than anything I've ever seen."

"But Dessy has to know we have a Sentinel warrant out for his surveillance." Simon shook his head; the kid couldn't expect Jim to be some sort of superhero.

"But he doesn't expect someone with Jim's control or range. Man, this is our best chance to nail Dessy."

Simon sighed as he considered the kid. Blair caught most of their interdepartmental cases because he wasn't a credit hog or some alpha dog who would get in a pissing match with the lead detective from some other precinct, but the guys working Dessy might not want Sandburg in there poking around right now.

"I'll call the captain over at OC," Simon finally relented.

"Thanks, man. I'm going to dash off a quick report for Leah on the Taylor case, and then Jim and I are heading over to Dessy's place to see if we can tail him."

"I didn't give you permission yet. Organized Crimes might not want you over there," Simon warned.

"Come on, Simon. I know you'll smooth things over. You always do," Blair said with a smile and a wink before he headed out the door.

"Jim," Simon called as the largely silent Sentinel turned to follow. He stopped in the doorway, and Simon sighed, suddenly unsure of what to say that could make this any easier on anyone. Just because Blair and Jim obviously hadn't found any sort of peace in the relationship didn't mean Simon had any right to get in the middle.

"Look after him. He gets so enthusiastic that he doesn't look after himself," Simon finally settled on. Jim looked at him, a frown making his eyebrow twitch for a second before he nodded.

"Sure," he agreed. He headed out into the bullpen. Jim went straight for Blair's desk, leaning over it so that he was hovering over Blair before he turned and suddenly moved away to his own desk, sitting and leaning back away from Sandburg. Blair froze for a second, and then turned to the computer, scooting his chair as close to the keyboard as he could, which moved him away from Jim. They worked, almost straining away from each other for several minutes before Jim leaned forward, rolling his chair a couple of inches closer as he said something. Blair turned and rolled his own chair back from the computer so their arms hovered near each other. Then Blair suddenly bolted up and headed out the doors.

Simon sighed as he watched them, their dance taking them always closer until they veered away from each other suddenly, like magnets that kept turning so they first attracted and then repelled each other with equal force. Oh yeah, this was not good. Simon pulled his cigar out of his mouth and set it to the side as he returned to trying to figure out the vacation schedule. At least that was one puzzle he had an outside chance of solving.

TWENTY SEVEN
***
"Playing a bit fast with the truth there," Jim commented once they'd reached their desks. For a half second, Blair froze.

"What?" Blair asked, but his voice was a little too innocent. Jim crossed his arms and leaned back as he considered the wide blue eyes blinking back at him. The little shit had the look down, alright.

"Why exactly are we going after Dessy?" Jim kept his voice neutral, but Blair turned his back and pushed his chair as close to the computer as possible, physically withdrawing from the question.

"It's a legitimate case," Blair shrugged.

"And why go after him and not…" Jim leaned forward and scanned the tabs on the files still stacked on Blair's desk. "Why not the Carson case?" Jim reached over and grabbed the top few files and started loading them into his bottom desk drawer.

Blair flicked him a glance and then shrugged again. "Carson's wife is in total denial. Total. One hundred percent eclipse of the common sense. I might give her another try after some local station airs 'The Burning Bed' or some special on Scott Peterson beating his wife to death. But trust me, right now, that woman is going to lie to protect that son of a bitch, and Ben Carson is too damn clever to leave much else in the way of a trail. I just hope Mrs. Carson figures out that she's in danger before Mr. Carson figures out that no one will take that much abuse forever."

Blair stopped typing and turned his chair around as he stared at the pile of files as though he had committed some unforgivable sin. "I can't even get her to answer the door for me." The shift put Blair a few inches closer, and Jim could feel himself itch with a need to just reach out. Despite all Jim's anger, all his frustration, and all his pent-up indignation, he just wanted to take that guilty, pained expression off Blair's face. He wanted to let his hand rest on Blair's arm and feel the heat of it. He wanted to assure Blair that it wasn't his fault that some woman was too afraid to speak up. He crushed those feelings. Shit. Unless he wanted to play happy little slave to Blair's master, he couldn't let himself get so lost in his instincts, and if Blair fucked up with his boss, Jim had no idea where that would leave him.

"Why Dessy?" Jim repeated, focusing on the lie and not the warm scent of Blair.

Blair sighed. "Look, I went through the whole horoscope thing once. If you didn't get it, I'm not going over it again." Blair shook his head as if he were throwing off the guilt that had been clinging to him. Now he rolled his eyes at Jim like he'd said something particularly stupid.

Jim pursed his lips. "What percentage of this new-found enthusiasm for the Dessy case actually comes from the horoscope?" Jim leaned forward and stared at Blair, daring him to lie. "And what percentage of this is the fact that Kincaid mentioned his name?"

Blair huffed and leaned back away from Jim. "Oh, man. You are just like a dog with a bone. Fine! The horoscope is like ten percent and the thought that Dessy might be having meetings with Kincaid is like a good 90 percent. Happy? But that doesn't mean that I’m doing anything wrong." Blair looked furious, and Jim could feel his own aggravation rise up. How many times had he seen some stupid, young recruit pull the same damn shit? The kid was ready to go off half-cocked to get some sort of revenge, and half-cocked was not ever a safe place to be. Blair swung around to face his computer again. Jim had a nice view of the man's back.

"It's called a lie of omission," Jim said calmly, despite all his frustration. After all, he couldn't exactly order Blair to drop and give him fifty. He could go to Simon himself, but if Blair were emotionally unstable, that put Jim in a strange place… a place that just might lead to a little cell and some broken bond madness. Jim leaned back. He should want that. He should want a way to get the bond broken. He glanced over towards Simon's office. Blair's lies would be a good excuse; it wouldn't look like Jim was trying to manipulate the system and he wouldn't get put in some permanent institution as a problem case.

"Simon doesn't need me making his life difficult, and yeah, I might get a write-up, but what he doesn't know, he can't get blamed for," Blair answered, his voice thick with denial.

"You are a piece of work, Sandburg."

"Whatever," Blair dismissed him, not even turning around or interrupting his rapid-fire typing, and Jim felt an almost overwhelming urge to pop the kid upside the head, but the desire was just a little too strong. He wanted to hit the kid a little too much, so he kept his fingers curled around the arms of his chair.

"He's your boss, but if I ever had a soldier under me pull this shit…"

"Exactly," Blair snapped as he swung around again. "Simon's *my* boss."

"You don't need to remind me of that." Jim gripped the arms of his chair hard enough to feel the finger muscles complain.

"Records still has the paperwork on the Sentinel warrant and I just shot a report on the Taylor case over to Leah in Special Crimes, so let's go see if we can catch Dessy doing something stupid," Blair said as he got up and headed toward the door. For a half second, Jim considered refusing. He considered telling Blair that he wasn't going to let him go off half-cocked without telling his commanding officer what he was doing, especially when Blair was too emotionally involved in the case. He considered all that, but the fact was, Simon wasn't his boss and this wasn't his case and he wasn't Blair's partner. He was the Sentinel.

With his jaw locked tight, Jim got up and followed his guardian out the door.

"Welcome to drug central," Blair said as he rolled the car to a stop in the parking lot of a run down movie theater showing "Cheating Housewives 2" and that old classic "Debbie Does Dallas." A couple of kids were sitting on the sidewalk, at least Jim would call them kids if they'd been wearing high school letter jackets or something. Instead, they had stringy hair and dirty, torn clothes as they leaned against each other and shared a cigarette. They just looked old.

"Nice neighborhood," Jim said. He pulled the collar of his shirt up to try and hide the silver around his neck.

"Yeah, no joke. This is drug central where Dessy is king and the street kids are thick. Dessy works out of the back of that restaurant." Blair glanced in the rear view mirror, and Jim adjusted the side mirror on his side so that he could see the burger place. "Man, I hate this part of town," Blair complained as he pulled down the red ball cap he'd put on. His hair was tucked up under it, so he looked very unBlairlike. "So, can you hear anything?"

"From here?" Jim asked incredulously as he watched building in the mirror.

"Yeah," Blair quickly agreed. "Come on, man. You barely even asked me what happened with Mr. Taylor, and you sure didn't question my decision to believe him. That means that you either heard every word or you're like the most laid back man in creation. I think we both know the second sure isn't true, so your official range is not even close to your actual range."

Fuck. The kid was just a little too sharp, and Jim cursed himself for his own carelessness. So much for keeping his advantages to himself. He sighed. "So you expect me to just listen in on Dessy?" Jim looked over at Blair.

"Well, yeah."

"Doesn't work that way, Chief. I can't see in there. I don't have any sounds to follow. How do you suggest I find a focus?" Jim watched while Blair's enthusiasm slowly turned to chagrin.

"Okay, I knew that. In the class, they talked about a Sentinel using the guardian as a focus. So, you were following me into the Taylor house with your hearing?"

"Yeah, I followed you in," Jim agreed.

"No problem, I'll just go in there," Blair announced brightly as he pushed his door open. Jim reached out to grab him back, but he moved just a little too slow because Blair darted out of his reach.

Jim got out on his side and hurried to the open trunk where Blair was pulling out an old, torn coat with one sleeve that trailed threads as the seam threatened to fall apart.

"You aren't going anywhere near there," he hissed.

"Chill out. He won't even recognize me." Blair gave Jim a little wink as he buttoned the old coat so that Blair now looked like an out of work sports fan with his Cardinals cap pulled down tight.

"And if he does? You're not going in there."

"Oh man, you are not my father. I mean, Naomi may have started young, but you would have been about seven, and just no way. If I get in any trouble, you can just call for backup. Besides, even if he does recognize me, he's probably just going to throw me out on my ass, so there's nothing to worry about." Blair pulled up the collar of the coat as though trying to keep out the chill.

"Call for backup?" Jim asked incredulously. Blair looked up at him and smiled.

"Sure. I mean, a Sentinel might go charging in like a bull seeing red, but my mom's friend Jim would have the sense to call for backup before doing something really stupid, right?" Blair voice had an edge of something ugly to it, and Jim studied his face, trying to decide what Blair was hiding.

"You aren't going," Jim said, as he reached out and grabbed Blair's arm in a tight hold. Blair went still before a shiver traveled through his muscles. For a second, Blair stood staring at the open trunk of the car.

"This is my job. So either let me go and let me slip into a booth where I can order a burger without anyone looking twice, or we're going to have a scene right here, and then I'm still going in there," Blair said quietly, his voice flat of all emotion. Jim narrowed his eyes and tightened his grip.

"This isn't your job. Kincaid is someone else's job. I don't think you should go in there because you are too emotionally involved in this whole case," Jim explained logically.

Blair snorted. "Emotions. I know how to control them just as well as you do, Ellison. This *is* my job, so get your hand off me or we're going to have a fight right here, right now, with all these street kids watching. I'm sure at least one of them will run straight to Dessy and tell him that some bum is fighting with a Sentinel, and I *will* still walk in that burger place even if it's just to piss you off."

"You wouldn't."

Blair looked up with angry eyes, and Jim realized the little shit really would. Fuck. When they got back to the station, he was hauling the kid into Simon's office or the shrink's office or somewhere—even if it meant that he got shoved back in the Institute while the kid got his head screwed back on straight. Jim slowly let go of Blair's arm.

"Keep your head down," Jim growled as he stalked away and got back in the car and slammed the door.

"Sir, yes sir," Blair mocked him quietly as he slammed the trunk closed, but Jim still heard.

Slumping down in the seat, Jim watched in the rear view mirror as Blair crossed the street and headed for the brick building with the garishly painted front window that kept Jim from seeing inside. Shakes $1.99. Big Guy Meal $4.49. Jim followed the stroke marks in the paint just to try and calm the anger and fear that raged through his system. Blair's mom's friend Jim wouldn't be feeling this near overwhelming urge to go in there and stand between Blair and the criminals, so Jim tried his best to live up to Blair's expectation.

Jim eyed the police radio as he listened to Blair order a cheese burger and fries. With Blair in there, Jim could now let his hearing roam the inside of the building, locating the walls from the faint echoes as he closed his eyes and mentally mapped the space. His time in the Institute had at least taught him ways to use his senses that bordered on the amazing. Jim heard the dull sounds of voices hitting drywall and the faint reverberation of sounds echoing off glass and the sharp ricochet of sound waves off metal. From the various sounds, he got a good idea of where the kitchen was.

A woman was complaining about her husband near Blair. A man was eating with his mouth open, the sloppy wet sounds falling from his mouth. Jim let his hearing drift farther from the island of focus Blair provided.

"…on the cookie sales this week," a man's voice said, and if someone had said that in the middle of a park with his girls dressed in Girl Scout outfits, the comment might have gone unnoticed, but somehow Jim didn't think there would be many Girl Scout parents in this neighborhood.

"Will do," another man's voice answered. Jim slid farther down in the seat and closed his eyes.

"How about Southside?"

"It's all good. What's with the sudden curiosity?" voice two asked.

"It's my business. I just need to make sure I know what's going on in it," said a man with a lightly nasal voice with just a light hint of Spanish accent softening his consonants. Dessy.

"Those cookies are selling down to 6th now. Five new kids around, but you know how they come and go. Three up and vanished."

"Anyone important?"

"Nope."

"Hey," a new voice interrupted, deeper than the other two and without the hint of Spanish accent Jim could hear in the others.

"Que?"

"Something's up," the new voice said, and the others fell silent. Jim slid a little farther down in the seat so that he could only see the burger shop in the very edge of the mirror. Fuck.

The door swung open, little bells tied to the pushbar tinkled, and a large black man with dark sunglasses stood in the open door scanning the street. Jim froze, not even breathing as he watched the man's eyes slowly slide over every inch of the street. Too slowly. He stepped out into the sun, and Jim could see his dark skin pimple in the cold.

He searched the street, but his eyes didn't even pause on the old car Blair had checked out of the carpool. With the red tape over one broken taillight and a crumpled fender, the thing fit in this neighborhood.

The man stepped back into the burger place and let the door fall closed. Jim listened as he passed entirely too close to Blair on his way back to the others. Jim reached out and pulled the radio from the cradle, holding the plastic in his hand as it slowly warmed with body heat.

"Problem?" the man who was probably Dessy asked.

"Table four. It's that long-haired cop."

Silence. Jim debated about calling for backup, but Blair wasn't in trouble. They might just kick him out. Jim had an even more strenuous debate about charging in there and yanking Blair out by his long hair.

"Chingalo! That cabron just won't give up. He have backup?"

"Nope," the black guy answered. Jim brought the radio up.

"This is Jim Ellison, Sentinel assigned to Detective Blair Sandburg. We need backup outside José's Burgers and Tacos on Slate Road."

Voices continued inside the burger place. "He just won't give up. But maybe this really is an opportunity to make something good out of a situation that seems to be sliding off track." Jim didn't like that tone of voice.

"Are you an authorized officer?" the dispatcher asked over the radio after a moment of static-laced silence.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" guy number two asked.

"I'm Sandburg's Sentinel," Jim snapped into the radio, and of course that meant he wasn't authorized to use the police radio. "He's in trouble, and I'm calling for help. Get someone over here now!" Jim dropped the radio and headed across the street in a fast trot. If he charged in there, they'd just both get killed, so Jim needed another plan. A brilliant plan. Something good enough for him to short-circuit the instinct to charge into the place and just start breaking bones, although a 911 call or two from panicked diners might make the backup hurry.

"He's a loose cannon. If he's over here without even backup, what do you want to bet that no one knows he's playing Lone Ranger?"

"Dessy, this is crazy."

"Just get outside and make sure he doesn't have backup."

Jim darted toward the alley. Where the fuck was the backup? Jim gritted his teeth at the thought that it just might not be coming or maybe the operator was playing the call for her supervisor, trying to decide what to do with a Sentinel using the radio. After all, if Sandburg were in any real danger, a true Sentinel would just go charging in like a blind bull.

Okay, charge into the diner, and grab Blair. Advantages, the bystanders might mean that Dessy wouldn't fire. Disadvantages, if the bystanders bothered Dessy that much, he probably wouldn't consider taking Blair on in the first place. Option two, slip into the diner and try to quietly slip Blair a message or lure him out. Advantage, no chance of bystanders getting killed. Disadvantage, Dessy might still kill both of them, and as stubborn as Blair could be when he got a bug up his butt, the man might just refuse to go. Option three, head back to the car and curse out dispatch, which would do exactly nothing. Jim listened as the black man came out of the diner and actually started walking down the street away from the alley.

Okay, option four, give them something more interesting than Blair to worry about. Jim eyed the back of the buildings. He had the burger place on one side and a check-cashing joint on the other.

Plan made, Jim hurried back toward the car, trying to look unconcerned while still covering ground with wide loping strides. Yanking open the driver's door, Jim popped the trunk and then sat in the car and pulled open the glove box. Gloves. Good, he pulled them on. The radio was silent, so either the dispatcher was ignoring the call, or she'd tried to contact Blair and had given up. He ignored it, not expecting much help on that front.

In the trunk, Jim found pliers and a crowbar, both of which he tucked into his jacket before slamming the lid back down. Jim headed for the back of the check cashing place and scanned the area. Sensors on the windows, but they were the kind that would go off if the window sash was lifted. Two employees, both up front. Dessy's goon was coming back now, checking this side of the diner, and he was close to the end of the alley. Jim shrugged out of his jacket, wrapping it around the crowbar before he punched through the safety glass.

The shattering window screamed in his hearing, but Jim could still hear the two employees chatting at the front of the store, so he pulled his knife out of his pocket and started working at the wire cage that now protected the open space. Dessy's goon turned and headed back into the burger shop at a good speed, and Jim hurried, pulling one side of the wire free with the pliers as the goon reported in to Dessy. Oh yeah, most people wouldn't have heard the breaking glass from the street, even if it had exploded in Jim's Sentinel hearing.

A number of men, three or four, all headed for the back, and Jim hurried, yanking at the wire until it pulled free of the old wood with a dull shriek, and then he used the curved end of the crowbar to knock the shards of glass off the bottom of the window before he draped his jacket over the bottom to protect his hands and stomach from any remaining slivers.

The back door of the diner came open, and Jim just about dived into the window. Okay, Sandburg, the guys are gone, and now would be a really great time to head back for the car, Jim thought to himself as he listened to Blair order the pie.

In the back room, Jim looked around the dim space. A copier sat quietly humming in one corner, and an ancient vending machine stood against the far wall. In the center, a table looked older than Jim, and the metal chairs surrounding it had worn streaks of silver showing through the brown coating. He stepped to the side to avoid being seen from the mangled window. Okay, so now he had Dessy and his guys out of the burger place. If he just walked out into the front, they'd call the police, but Jim wasn't sure that would keep Dessy busy.

"He's in there," Dessy's goon whispered softly enough that Jim wouldn't have heard if he hadn't been a Sentinel. Of course, Dessy's goon wouldn't have known Jim was inside if he hadn't been a Sentinel, and no wonder the cops couldn't get anyone inside Dessy's operation.

"Doing what?"

"Just standing there."

Okay, that was obviously strange enough to keep them in the alley, but Jim had to do something to keep them interested. Knowing that a Sentinel was listening to every sound, Jim focused on controlling his heart beat as he approached the storeroom door and cracked it open. He didn't need the open door to hear the employees, but a non-Sentinel would. Jim needed to play this one a little smarter than he had with Sandburg.

"He's got the door open listening," the goon reported.

"Ballsy son of a bitch, isn't he?" Dessy answered. "Broad fucking daylight."

"Too ballsy. Let's get out of here," the other man added his two cents.

"No way, amigo. This is interesting."

"There's such a thing as too interesting."

"Not today, there isn't," Dessy countered, and Jim slid out into the hallway. He could hear the front door chime as a customer walked in, and Jim hurried down the hall. The first door was open, a bathroom. The second door opened easily, but it only led to a storeroom. Jim closed it as he headed for the third door. Locked. This was the office.

Jim could hear one employee typing in personal information; the second employee was making the sort of repetitive keystrokes Jim associated with an on-line video game. Backtracking, Jim slipped into the storeroom and pulled out a couple of paperclips which he bent open.

Okay, this was going to be hard. Jim sank to his knees in front of the office door and slid the ends into the lock and used his sensitive fingers to feel for the tumblers. He loved the irony of the FBI teaching him this little skill. No doubt they expected him to use it to infiltrate criminal strongholds and not to rob a check place, but Jim found that his morals were getting more flexible as he got older. Given a choice between robbing a check place to provide a little quiet distraction or letting his companion get kidnapped and killed while a police dispatcher debated policy… Jim was oddly fine with robbing the check place.

"He's picking the office lock," the goon outside said.

"Fuck. He's either one desperate cabron or one seriously good thief," Dessy said, his admiration clear. Jim could hear Blair's fork click against the china, and he whispered a curse to himself.

"Not that good. He's cursing at the lock," Dessy's Sentinel pointed out.

Jim felt the first tumbler slide into place and he concentrated on the lock and not the running report outside the broken window. Okay, if he just pretended to get stuck on the lock, he could head back. But Dessy would take one look at his collar and the jig would be well and truly up.

Jim's fingers worked the lock before he'd even manage to think through all the moves in this dangerous game of chess. The office door swung open, and Jim found himself in a room with furniture that had escaped the seventies.

"Okay, safe, safe, where would I hide a safe?" Jim muttered instead of muttering the string of curses he wanted to when he heard Blair order another cup of coffee. Yep, Jim was going to strangle either his companion or the police dispatcher. Maybe both. The Sentinel kept up a running description of Jim's actions.

"He broke in without knowing where the safe is?" the third guy demanded incredulously. "He's an idiot."

"These places have such limited imaginations. My money is on our young friend. I think he'll find the money and get out."

"Dessy, you're too much of an optimist. Besides, we have business inside."

Jim tightened his jaw at the mention of business, especially since Blair was still inside, now sweet-talking the waitress. Jim really was going to strangle him.

"Business can wait until this is resolved."

"Business may not choose to wait."

"In which case, business can go elsewhere, but this is infinitely more interesting," Dessy finished the conversation, doing something so that the other man's objection was cut off mid-word.

"What's he doing now?" Dessy asked.

"Just standing there," the Sentinel reported, and Jim cringed. Yeah, standing there listening to the debate about whether to go back and kill Sandburg, but Jim couldn't move right away, not unless he wanted to give away the fact that he had heard that.

"Something he hears, perhaps?"

"I can't hear anything, but you guys sometimes think you hear things that aren't there," the Sentinel agreed.

"Maybe losing his nerve," the objector added. "This is stupid," the man nearly whispered, but standing next to him, Dessy had to have heard.

Jim slowly started moving again, walking the perimeter of the room slowly, dragging his fingers over the walls to find the place where a temperature change gave away the presence of a chunk of steel. Almost immediately, he pulled his fingers back from the wall and silently cursed himself as he instead headed for the nearest painting and pulled at it. It didn't move. Jim felt along the frame and could tell it was simply bolted to the wall. He moved to the next painting and again, it didn't move. This one, though, had a small clasp on the side. Jim pressed it and the painting slid to the side revealing the safe.

"Bingo," Jim breathed.

"He's got it," the Sentinel outside reported.

"He's as entertaining as a good soccer match." Dessy slapped someone on the back. Jim focused on the sound of Blair pulling bills out of his wallet. About fucking time. "If he gets out without setting off the alarm, I'm giving him a job," Dessy announced. Jim paused, his gloved fingers on the combination lock.

Blair might be going about this wrong, but Jim had to agree on the need to take down both Dessy and Kincaid. Sure, other slime might ooze into the void they left, but in the mean time, how many kids wouldn't get hooked on drugs or how many might get help when their dealer disappeared or how many Sentinels would avoid Kincaid's slave auctions?

Jim closed his eyes and remembered the night he'd spent outside Kincaid's warehouse. He'd heard Blair's cries slowly fade to whimpers as the beatings continued past his vocal cords' ability to make sound. He'd also heard the men and women below, crying, sobbing, begging for an explanation, for a blanket, for a chance to call a loved one. All those Sentinels were in the Institute now, and as much as Jim hated that place, he had to admit they would get all of those things. However, how many other men and women had Kincaid sold to finance his army? And if Blair was right… if Dessy was the crack they needed to get information on Kincaid…

Jim altered the plan as he now worked as quickly as possible. The biggest obstacle would be convincing them he wasn't a Sentinel despite the collar. The safe yielded easily to him, his fingertips telling him when the tumblers slipped into place even through the gloves. Reaching in, Jim pulled out the cash and tucked it into his jacket pockets.

Moving slowly, Jim crept out of the office and slowly worked his way back to the break room with the broken window, using the time to turn down all his senses, to lower the levels until the constant awareness of Blair's presence vanished, leaving Jim just an aggravating silence that he had to force himself to endure.

Dessy and his men vanished from awareness as well, their heartbeats muffled as Jim lowered his hearing levels until even the employees out front were little more than a low buzz and he couldn't make out the words.

Ignoring the danger, Jim pulled the break room door closed and headed for the window. Okay, this was either a great idea or a horrible one, but it was too late to reconsider now. Jim stuck his head out the window and gave a cursory glance before sliding out over his coat, which was still draped over the sill. With his senses turned low, he couldn't even guess where Dessy and his men had gone, and he could only hope that his half-wit companion had finally headed back out to the car.

TWENTY EIGHT
***
Forcing himself to keep the dials low, Jim carefully slipped out the window. He had just cleared his second leg and was still facing the building when he felt the cold steel of a gun pressed into the back of his neck.

"Neat little operation," Dessy said, his voice amused, and Jim allowed his heart to pound… encouraged it with a little fast breathing, in fact.

"The money's in my front jacket pockets, just take it," Jim offered without turning around.

"How much you get?"

"I didn't stop to count," Jim grunted as the gun barrel against the back of his skull forced his head closer to the open window. He could hear it click against his Sentinel collar.

"He's a fucking sub on a leash," the other Sentinel growled, and Jim felt the back of his shirt yanked down so sharply that it choked him in front.

"I'm no fucking sub, or else I would have known you were here and kicked your ass," Jim snapped.

"What's with the collar?" A hand grabbed Jim's arm and wrenched him around so that he landed with his back to the wall next to the window, and now the Sentinel had a gun pressed to Jim's stomach. Jim held his hands out from his body and tried to look dutifully cowed. The Sentinel narrowed his eyes, and Jim quickly catalogued his features: six-three, tightly curled short hair, dark skin, white scar wandering from his left cheek to his jaw, acne scars, heavy build. Once he knew he'd recognize the man anywhere, he turned his attention to the real threat, Dessy.

"Marks see a collar, and they either don't see me, or they assume I'm Polyanna just trying to save the world. They don't connect the friendly Sentinel to the place getting robbed." Jim listened to his own heart, and carefully controlled each beat. Fast, yes, but no faster than before and just the steady pound of muscle moving blood.

Dessy looked at his Sentinel for confirmation that Jim was telling the truth, and the large man nodded back. Dessy smiled.

"Thief with a brain, and a little ingenuity. You got stones, big man." Jim could really study Dessy now. He looked more like a janitor than a drug lord. He had a receding hairline and unruly wisps of thin curls stuck out over his ears and he had a round face with the beginnings of jowls just starting to hang at his jaw. But his dark eyes studied Jim with a cold efficiency that made Jim start to sweat.

"You want the money, it's yours. This isn't worth bloodshed," Jim let a little whine into his voice and held his hands out farther from his body.

"Take the collar off," Dessy ordered. Jim hesitated, and the goon stuck the gun a little deeper into Jim's belly.

"It's not some toy, like what the kids wear. At home, I have one of those things from the hospital that unlocks the ends." Jim held his breath. This was where they either bought the story or the whole thing got entirely too ugly. Jim could only hope his idiot companion was back at the car calling for backup right now because if he came investigating this alley on his own, Jim was going to kill Blair himself. And why had it only occurred to him now that the man just might be that stupid?

"A thief with a little ingenuity and some serious stones to steal one of those. You'll get fifteen years for trafficking Sentinels if you get caught with that."

"Stupid law. You can get them off with a pneumatic cutter anyway," Jim shrugged. "I had to skip town a little faster than I expected once, and getting it off wasn't the problem. Finding a new collar was."

"I'm Tomas Dessy. These are my friends, Jake Washington," Dessy nodded toward the black Sentinel, the one who had a gun muzzle still buried in Jim's stomach. "And Daniel Inzunza. We call him Zunzi."

"Jim Lawson," Jim offered in return, but he kept his eyes on Washington and that gun.

"Let the man breathe some, Jake." Slowly, Jake stepped back, but the gun stayed out and pointed at Jim.

"I sure haven't heard about a sub working the second story game around here," Dessy leaned back against an old car parked illegally.

"If someone was talking about a Sentinel doing jobs, the collar wouldn't be a very good disguise. Besides, I just came up from Houston. That's where I had to bail before getting the collar off, but I think a couple of cops might have picked up my trail."

"So, you're not that good of a thief."

"They thought I was a runner," Jim corrected Dessy. "I had to hop a freight train south of Sugar Land." Jim carefully blended fact and fiction, controlling his heart beat so that not even Washington could separate out the two.

Dessy laughed again. The man did that a lot, and it was starting to annoy Jim. "My grandfather would call that getting hoisted by your own petard. I never did find out what a petard was, but you've been hoisted by yours, Jim."

"It's a good game. I'm not ready to give it up now," Jim shrugged, but then he froze as Washington brought the gun up so that Jim was staring right down the barrel.

"Jake?" Dessy asked. Jim didn't even breathe.

"Cops are coming." Jim couldn't hear anything with his hearing so low, but he looked toward the mouth of the alley and then back to Jake with sufficient confusion to convince them that he didn't know what was going on.

"Did you ever watch M*A*S*H?" Dessy asked. "Think of Jake as our version of Radar, just bigger and a hell of a lot more dangerous. So, I'm interested in seeing this contraption you have at home, amigo."

"No." Jim shook his head. "Look, you want the money, it's all yours," Jim started reaching for his pockets, but Jake stepped forward, the gun now inches from Jim's forehead, and Jim froze halfway through the gesture. "The money's yours," Jim repeated, "but I don't want any part of whatever you have going here." Slowly he raised his hands again.

"Dessy, let's just get back to our table," Inzunza said softly. This guy did look like a thug. Huge shoulders, a tattoo crawling up his neck, close cropped black hair. Jim might have called this one the dangerous one of the group except that he'd seen too many men like Dessy, men who would order dozens killed while they laughed. Jim ignored Inzunza whose hands curled into frustrated fists and Washington who held that gun in his dark hand and focused just on Dessy.

"I don't want trouble," Jim said quietly, trying to push things into a more manageable direction.

"I don't either," Dessy agreed amiably. "I just asked for an invite to your place, amigo. Surely you're not so unfriendly as to deny me that?"

Jim could hear the first wails of the sirens now, and his eyes darted to the mouth of the alley.

"Dessy," Inzunza hissed. Without even looking back, Jim struck out, his upraised hand sweeping Washington's arm to knock the gun off target before he spun and followed up with a solid punch to the big man's kidney. Washington gasped and fell to his knees, and Jim took off running without even glancing at the others. Hopefully Dessy and Inzunza wouldn't fire with the sound of sirens already so close.

Bullets didn't chase him down the alleyway, but Jim continued to zigzag until he reached the far end and came out on the street between a run down hotel and a liquor store. A group of teenagers clustered around a bench looked up at him strangely, but Jim just calmly started walking up the street.

Maybe it was a fantasy that Banks would let him work undercover, but for the first time since the capture, Jim wasn't just growling about mom's friend Jim, he actually felt like it. He felt like one more person doing his job, even if it was a damn dangerous job. Maybe he felt so good because it was a damn dangerous job, and Jim had grown used to that sharp edge on life. He was used to the adrenaline rush and the competition and the knowledge that one mistake could lead to death.

Jim opened his senses slowly, savoring not only the rush of a mission but also the freedom to allow himself to truly feel and see and hear. After missions, Jim was always wound tight, his whole body coiled for action even as he sat through the debriefing. Always before he'd felt a creeping sensation under his skin, which Jim now realized was his senses struggling to react to the adrenaline.

His father had fucked him up so much that most days he hadn't believed that his senses hadn't been like everyone else's. He'd shoved that part of him down, and as much as Jim had loved being a soldier, he had never been totally comfortable in his own skin. Now, Jim allowed the senses free rein. Worst case scenario, he'd zone, someone would call the Institute, and they'd use that tiny identification chip in the collar to call Sandburg who would pull him out.

However, Jim wasn't anywhere near a zone. He walked the street and catalogued a hundred smells and let his fingers trail over brick facades on buildings and cold metal railings and the glass windows of buildings painted with garish signs advertising cheap cigarettes and cheap booze and greasy food.

Dessy had bought it. Jim laughed out loud, but the strange behavior didn't even get a second glance in this neighborhood. Dessy thought he had a foolproof system with his fucking all-knowing Sentinel, but Jim had walked in and conned him. No wonder the cops couldn't get anyone in with Dessy. Washington would spot a liar a mile off… at least he'd spot anyone who wasn't at least as good as Sandburg.

Jim smiled wider. Obviously he was even better than Sandburg. As a Sentinel, Jim could hear his own body and control it in ways Washington couldn't imagine. At least, he couldn't imagine it without Institute training, and Jim didn't think Washington had ever gone through the system. He had fallen too quickly for that one punch, felt it too much. He probably couldn't control the levels, or maybe he couldn't control the levels individually. Turning up the hearing had probably turned up the tactile sensitivity, so that punch to the kidneys had felt like a car hitting him.

Jim remembered a time when his own control had been as clumsy. Jim's childhood was like the ocean, where waves would rise and block out the wide expanse until he didn't even remember his father's face or the feeling of his father's hands on his arms as he had told Jim the truth about what happened to Sentinels—about what would happen to him if anyone ever knew. And then the wave would pass and Jim could see the past shimmering around him.

Walking down the street, Jim could feel the waves around him retreat until he could almost see his bedroom, the sports trophies on the wall, his football in his hands. His father would constantly test him, stand in the hallway and whisper his name. If Jim answered, he'd find his father's angry face scowling down at him, demanding to know what the hell was wrong with him. Demanding to know why he couldn't just keep the senses to a normal level. Demanding to know if he wanted to be taken away and traded like a piece of equipment.

Fear had led Jim to keep all his senses under control. Fear of the reality his father described and fear of his father's anger. Jim had pushed them down until he felt like he was walking through life in a ball of cotton. He'd been helping Sally in the kitchen one day when he'd heard her scream. He'd stood and stared at her in confusion until she'd run over with pot holders and yanked the hot casserole dish out of his hands. Even now, Jim rubbed his hands in memory of the pain he'd felt as soon as his senses had crept back up to normal.

Controlling just one sense instead of moving them all up or down together… it was a difficult skill to truly master, one Jim hadn't mastered until the Institute. Jim smiled as he remembered the pained wheeze and the way Washington had fallen to his knees instead of striking back. The man might be able to handle most of Dessy's security, but Jim knew exactly where the man's weaknesses lay.

Jim started whistling as he headed for the bus stop. He couldn't go back and stand at Sandburg's side in front of Dessy's place, not without ending the fantasy that Banks would let him go undercover. Instead, he'd head for the precinct.

Jim leaned against the window of Simon's office and watched as the man put the cigar in his mouth and then pulled it out again only to shove it right back in. Blair sat on the very edge of the chair in front of Simon's desk, looking ready to flee, but Jim didn't feel the same itching need to get between them this time. This time, the kid deserved to have Simon rip him a new asshole.

Simon yanked the cigar out of his mouth again, and this time he slammed his free hand down on the desk.

"What were you thinking?" Simon demanded, his voice tightly controlled.

"Jim needed a focus…"

"You went in without back up!"

Jim might have objected to that, but after the dispatcher took her precious time checking with her supervisor and after her supervisor tracked Simon down to ask for his advice, Jim had to admit that he wasn't the best backup. Unarmed and unable to effectively call for help, he couldn't do a hell of a lot to back Blair up.

"I wasn't doing anything dangerous."

"Excuse me?!" Simon's voice rose as he stood up and leaned over the desk. Blair crossed his arm and glared up. "Then why did Jim pull that dumb ass stunt at the check cashing place?"

"Because he overreacted," Blair snapped as he turned to glare at Jim. Jim just smiled sweetly back. The kid knew the truth, his pounding heart made that abundantly clear, so he could obfuscate his little brains out without upsetting Jim.

"Oh, I'll get to his part in this little disaster in a second, but right now, I'm wondering what the hell I'm going to do with you. You used to have the sense god gave a goose. I used to be able to trust you to veto the stupid plans, and now you're out there pulling stunts so stupid that not even Brown would try them!"

Jim narrowed his eyes as he considered Blair. Even back when he first met the kid, he was already taking incredible risks: He'd gotten into the car with Jim even knowing that Jim had killed that guard when he'd escaped the Army. But now Simon definitely seemed to think that Blair was acting out of character. Jim watched as Blair's back went stiff.

"I was doing what I had to do to get the job done. Man, I told you we were going to check out Dessy, and it's standard operating procedure for the guardian to work as a focus for the Sentinel, so I am totally within regulations here. Totally." Blair sounded outright pissed, but Simon didn't look like he was buying it.

"Regulations don't replace common sense. You needed backup and you went in there without it. Damn it, if I can't trust you I won't have you on the streets."

"Fine!" Blair snapped as he stood up, and Jim could smell the distress.

"Blair," Simon stopped, his lips pressed tightly together. "You always pushed at the regulations, usually where they needed pushing or could at least survive a little pushing, but I have never seen you lose your common sense like this." His voice was calmer now, and the anger that practically flowed from Blair turned. Now the man squirmed a little.

"I was trying to do my job," Blair said, his own voice lower now, and for the first time, Jim could see the uncertainty pulling at Blair. Simon was right; something sure as hell wasn't right.

"Dessy mentioned Kincaid," Jim quickly said, anxious to change the direction of this conversation now that it had turned dark. Jim tore his eyes from Blair's shocked expression to Simon's even more shocked one.

"Before they started talking about getting rid of Sandburg, Dessy mentioned Kincaid," he lied. If Blair was getting in over his head because of the Kincaid shit, Jim was ending it right here, right now.

"Kincaid," Simon said slowly, his eyes opening wide.

"No fucking way," Blair hissed as his body tightened into a tight coil. Jim could almost taste the man's desire to hit him. Even though Jim had grown up with an overwhelming fear of being abused by a guardian, somehow, even at his worst, Blair wasn't exactly frightening. Jim was more worried for him than scared of him.

"Kincaid?" Simon repeated. "Welcome to the fucking Sandburg Zone."

"I would have found some other distraction if we didn't need Dessy. But if Dessy is hooked up with Kincaid, we need to know what's going on, and this gives us an in. He thinks I'm a small time thief," Jim said quietly, and then he let Simon come to his own conclusions. Soon enough, Simon started shaking his head.

"No. No way am I sending a Sentinel in under cover. The judge would order my lifeless body draped over the courthouse steps if I did something like that."

"I can handle it," Jim growled. Simon looked at him for a long second before he fell back into his chair. Rubbing his face with a hand, he sighed.

"Look, I know you can handle it. I've read your record, at least the parts that aren't blacked out, and I have a pretty good idea of what you can handle. That doesn't change the law."

"So, you'll walk away from your only chance to get an in with Dessy and your only chance to get some information on Kincaid?" Jim crossed his arms. The feeling of satisfaction slowly drained as Jim's fantasy met with reality and got its ass kicked. God, he needed to learn his lesson. Fuck, he needed to focus on the plan, not playing cops and robbers.

"It's not our only chance," Simon sighed, "just our best one since Dessy has a Sentinel working for him."

"You can't be considering this!" Blair interrupted.

"You have a problem with it?" Jim demanded. The very fact that his companion didn't want him to take the job made his guts curl into knots.

"Aldo will have a problem with it," Blair said darkly. Jim glared down, grateful for the inches that gave him at least an illusion of power.

Simon sighed. "Which is why it's not going to happen. And Jim, I understand that you could do this job. And god knows, I know the law is unfair. Peggy Anderson and I got arrested protesting Sentinel laws back in high school, but this is just too far outside the lines." Simon leaned forward. "And Sandburg is not getting anywhere near this case. Blair, you need to get your head together. I've never had to tell you to go to the shrink before, but I'm telling you now that you need to either pull your head out of your ass or make an appointment. You have three days' suspension to think about which one you're planning on doing."

"Simon," Blair protested.

"Save it." Simon held up his hand to stop any more discussion. "Special Crimes has the Taylor case, and Jim can write up a statement for the Kincaid taskforce before you two take off. And Jim, you can consider the three days your punishment for that stunt with the check cashing place. I made sure that dispatch will take your calls from now on, but that's still no excuse for putting yourself in a position where you could have gotten yourself killed."

"I knew what I was doing," Jim defended himself.

"Yeah, well, I don't know what you were doing because that stunt was so far outside both regulations and common sense that I'm shocked that someone with as much experience as you have would try it. You've worked with a team before, so you know how it's supposed to go. Next time, you don't put yourself undercover without any backup or anyone knowing where the hell you are. So, both of you: I don't want to see your faces in this station for the next three days."

Simon swung his chair around to face the computer, and Jim could hear Blair sigh. Not waiting for Blair, Jim turned and headed out of the office. He had a desk, but no computer, so he headed for Blair's desk to type up his statement, mentally editing the conversation he'd heard to include the lie about Kincaid.

"I can't believe you said that," Blair whispered, his voice little more than an angry hiss as he slid into Jim's chair and swung his chair around to face the back wall.

"I'll do what I have to do, Junior," Jim answered calmly as he hit the space bar on Blair's computer to make the screen saver go off. "So, what program do I use to type a statement?" Jim waited for a second before he turned to see Blair ignoring him, staring at the back wall. That same sharp prick of concern nagged Jim as he watched Blair. Maybe this shit with Kincaid was getting to the kid more than he thought. After all, he hadn't really known Sandburg for all that long. "Blair?" Jim asked.

Blair swung his chair around and rolled forward, pressing against the back of Jim's chair as he leaned across and pointed to an icon on the screen. "That one. The user name is 'bjsandbu' and the password is 'Irian Jaya'."

"Irian Jaya?" Jim asked.

"Long story, and I'm not really in a mood to tell it," Blair quickly cut Jim off as he rolled his chair back away. Jim gritted his teeth and focused on the work as Blair moved away, his leg nervously bouncing, and his heartbeat slowly accelerating. For every two sentences Jim wrote, his heart rate went up another four or five beats. Finally, Jim finished and saved the document before forwarding it to Simon's email.

"Okay, what the hell is wrong with you?" Jim demanded as he swung his chair to face Blair. Blair stared at him for a second, his heart beating fast enough that it sounded as though the man had been running.

"Undercover?" Blair finally asked, his voice soft, but the fury still coming through.

"Your mom's friend Jim has probably been in tighter spots, and he is perfectly capable of taking care of himself."

"My mom's friend Jim isn't an active, unbonded Sentinel," Blair snapped, his voice still low, but now it had a tremor to it that Jim couldn't quite identify… fury maybe.

"Unbonded?" Jim asked, his eyebrows going up.

"Okay, so sometimes it takes me a little longer to figure things out when they aren't in a book, but I am not an idiot. And I get why you wouldn't want to bond with me, but you can't go into some shit like that without having a guardian or a companion or whatever the hell you want to call it."

"You think…" Jim started, but Blair exploded up from this chair.

"Wait!" Jim called as he started after Blair, but Blair just headed for the door, ignoring all the strange looks they got. Jim caught him in the hall halfway to the elevator. Grabbing the kid's arm, Jim jerked him away from the elevator and into the more private hall that led to the bathrooms. A few Traffic cops looked on curiously, but they kept walking when Blair offered a weak smile and a shrug.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Jim demanded once he'd pushed Blair up against the wall and leaned his hands on either side to keep him from running again.

"I've kept the secret, and I'm not about to tell anyone, but if you go undercover without a guardian to pull you out of any zone, man, you're going to get yourself killed," Blair muttered, his fists clenched in frustration, and Jim could smell the distress now that he stood so close.

"Where's the Sentinel room?" Jim demanded. He wasn't having this conversation here, and he sure wasn't going to wait until they got home.

"What?" Blair asked, blinking in surprise at the change of topic. Jim reached out and grabbed him by the back of the neck.

"Where. Is. The. Sentinel. Room? There has to be one somewhere in this building."

"Geez, okay, okay," Blair said as he got an arm between them and shoved at Jim's chest. Jim let him escape before grabbing the kid's shoulder just hard enough to let him know that Jim was pissed and through being nice about it. "Second floor, across from booking," Blair said quickly.

"Come on," Jim said as he herded Blair ahead of him to the stairs, and the whole time, Jim struggled to figure out what the hell the kid was talking about. Either the kid believed that shit and he was possibly the dumbest person on earth, or the kid didn't and was trying to manipulate Jim, but either way, Jim's temper just wasn't up for taking a long drive in a small car to get home. They were settling this now.

TWENTY NINE
***
On the second floor, Jim followed Blair out into the hall, his hand again locked over Blair's shoulder as they hurried past the rows of small cells and smaller desks as the run-of-the mill criminals got processed through the station. A drunk guy handcuffed to a desk was shouting something, and Jim flinched from the shrill voice. They reached the back, and Jim could instantly tell the difference as the sound dampening material on the walls prevented the curses and shouts from echoing back against him.

"Blair," a woman at a small desk called out. Jim tightened his grip.

"Colleen. Hey. We just need to borrow a room for a sec. You know." Blair offered a half-excuse at they hurried by her, but she just blinked and then nodded as Jim pushed Blair right on past.

"Room three!" she called, and Blair grabbed the door below the "3" which immediately flashed from green to red. Jim gave Blair a little push into the sound-proofed room and then pulled the door closed behind them, throwing the bolt that would keep everyone out. Legally, no one could monitor a Sentinel room, but Jim still scanned the area, pacing the padded walls before he turned his attention to Blair who stood next to the low mattress in the middle of the fairly small room.

"Okay, now, what the hell are you talking about?" Jim demanded.

"Hey, I get it. Faulty bonding would totally explain how you could turn against Keith, and how you could leave your first bonded guide for that matter. Man, I know that you need to keep this quiet because they would totally put you in some permanent facility. Permanent permanent. There 'til you die permanent. I get it."

"You think…. You think I'm not bonded to you." Jim just stared.

"It's cool," Blair insisted as he held his hands up in surrender, refusing to meet Jim's gaze. "I'm not telling anyone. But if you go out there and zone, man, game over. If I can't bring you out of a zone, they're going to know."

"They'll know I'm not bonded?" Jim checked just to make sure he was following Blair's crazy logic. "I think I've been hitting you upside the head too hard. You have brain damage."

Blair narrowed his eyes. "Look, I already said I wouldn't tell them. You can trust me. And yeah, that is pretty funny considering I'm the one who lied and brought you in, but you can."

"Trust you not to tell that I'm not bonded?" Jim couldn't help it. He smiled.

"Yes. What is your malfunction?" Blair shouted, and then, like a popped balloon, he sagged and dropped onto the mattress, shoving his hair back from his face. "Look, I know this isn't easy for you, but it's not been a joy for me, either. And I'm trying here."

Jim could smell the distress now, the sour stink corrupting the air faster than the quietly whirring fans could clear it, and the smile faded. "What are you trying to do?" Jim asked quietly, suddenly feeling like he was walking over a rotting bridge and he just didn't know what he would find underneath.

"I'm trying to stay out of your way. I'm trying to keep your fucking secret. I'm trying to not fuck up your life any more than I already have, and you're not making it easy." Blair exploded up and headed for the door, but Jim got ahead of him and slipped his own body between Blair and escape. Blair stared at him for a second, and then retreated back to the side with the bed.

"Chief, let's slow down a second. Why do you think I haven't bonded?"

Blair snorted. "You mean other than leaving two different bond-mates? You mean other than not wanting me as a guardian even after claiming to bond? You mean other than you not even touching me without recoiling in horror? I'm pretty sure that right there is enough for faulty bonding syndrome."

"I didn't bond with Keith at all, and my bond to Incacha…" Jim stopped, that wasn't a part of his life he felt like sharing with Blair. "And what do you mean that I don't want you?"

Jim watched as Blair's face flushed a nice shade of toilet paper white. "Hey, it's okay. I get it. I caught you; why *would* you want me? And then there's the whole bit about saving me leading to Kincaid… you know."

"Blair," Jim said, not even sure what to say to that. They'd had this discussion in the hospital so many times that Jim couldn't summon more than a weary frustration. He didn't blame Blair; he blamed Kincaid.

"You didn't have a choice. And I offered to help you escape if you picked me, so I'm okay with that too. I just…" Blair stopped before spinning around and staring at the back wall. The room was silent as Blair took several breaths, and Jim could smell the salt of sweat and tears flavor the air.

"Okay, we're trying this again. I don't blame you for Kincaid."

"Man, you aren't even processing what Kincaid did, so how can you say that? You're still up the river De Nile!" Blair laughed, but it was a bitter sound, and he didn't turn to face Jim.

"No, Chief, I’m not. Kincaid raped me, but you can't expect me to get weepy about it. Since I was twelve years old, my old man told me that some guardian would rape me. And as a Ranger, we were trained to expect torture. No one ever mentioned rape, but when you sat in those classes listening to instructors who'd been stripped and electrocuted and beaten, you got the idea that their captors probably didn't stop at that line. I've had decades to process the idea of rape, so don't project your feelings onto me." Jim kept his voice calm and steady; he had the feeling it wouldn't take much to push Blair over some emotional edge right now, and he cursed himself for not noticing that. How could he not notice that Blair was this hurt and this… stupid was the best word Jim could come up with, although he knew that wasn't fair to Blair.

"Projecting?" Blair turned and looked at Jim. His eyes were tear-bright and he wiped at a cheek absent-mindedly. "You're psychoanalyzing me now?"

"You're the one who's going after Kincaid with no thought about your own safety. Excuse me, but that sounds like you're the one not dealing with what Kincaid did to you. I heard him that night. I heard what he said to you, and I've never heard you tell anyone what that bastard really did. You talk about the beating, but not what he threatened to do."

"See?!" Blair pointed triumphantly. "Man, if we were bonded, there's no way you could have listened to that and not gone charging in. The judge is an idiot if she bought that story about your bond to me interfering with your bond to Keith. Faulty bonding is the only thing that makes sense."

"I wasn't bonded to you at the time," Jim growled, frustrated with how the kid seemed to twist every conversation until Jim couldn't see his way to his own point. "But I still had to sit out there and I had to dig my fingers into the ground and pretend it was Kincaid's neck."

Blair just stared, but Jim could see the disbelief in the stubborn expression.

Stepping forward, Jim put himself an inch from Blair. "I would have charged in if it would have done any good. But it wouldn't have. And I didn't want to end up with a front row view of Kincaid selling you to some sadist. I'm a soldier, and I won't throw away an advantage, no matter how much I want to. You have to figure out that I'm the soldier first and the Sentinel second. I always will be."

"Faulty bonding syndrome. You feel the instincts, but they just aren't fully developed. It makes sense. And man, I'm glad you aren't bonded to me because it will make running easier for you; I get that."

"Blair," Jim started even though he didn't know what to say after that.

"But if you go after Kincaid and zone, there's no way for me to cover for you," Blair finally said, his voice steady even though Jim could hear the strained tones. Jim turned away and stared at the wall, instinct and training and fears all colliding in him until he couldn't figure out what to say, what to do. Shit, why did he have to choose such a stubborn little shit for a bond-mate?

Taking a deep breath, Jim said the first thing that came to mind. "If you go after Kincaid and get killed, there's no way for me deal with losing you," Jim admitted.

"Man, you'd be fine. I know you aren't bonded," Blair shrugged. "I know you don't want me."

Jim turned back and put his hand on Blair's shoulder, but Blair shrugged it away and darted forward into the far corner.

"You can stop fucking with me any time now," Blair said, his voice now trembling.

"I'm not fucking with you, Chief. I don't know where you got this idea that I don't want…"

"From you!" Blair practically yelled as he turned around. He took a deep breath and started again, but his voice was only marginally lower. "You make it fucking clear every time we're in the room together. Now, I'm trying to deal with this, but you're acting like an asshole, and I just want to leave right now." Blair took a step toward the door, and Jim sidestepped to cut him off.

"I never said I didn't want you," Jim quickly countered, but Blair just turned his back and returned to the corner, resting his forehead against the padded wall.

"You are a grade-A asshole," Blair whispered to the wall. "So how long are you keeping me in here?"

"I'm not… It's not like I kidnapped you," Jim snapped. Blair didn't move. "Look, I can be an asshole, but unless you start talking, I'm still not going to know what the hell you're talking about."

"You don't know?" Blair demanded as he whirled around. "You don't know? You don't remember the disgust when you thought we would share a bed? You don't remember all the little comments about how it's *my* apartment and *my* car and *my* job and *my* boss because you won't share any of it with me? You don't remember blaming me because the fucking Army wouldn't cough up your pay?" Blair might have gone on, but his voice broke, and Jim was suddenly faced with Blair, tears running down his face even while his expression was one of fury. Jim's stomach knotted and rolled as he considered all the things he had said. At the time, he'd thought they rolled off Blair, that he understood they were just frustrated jabs. Obviously not.

He reached out for Blair, but the man flinched back. "Don't fucking go there. Look, I'm dealing with this the best I can. I'm processing. I'm dealing." Blair snapped the words out as through he were trying to convince himself, but Jim ignored them as he took a slow step forward.

"Chief, I never meant…"

"You never meant to get caught. Got it. We're on the same page." Blair reached up and angrily wiped the tears away. "I fucking hate crying. I blame Naomi, you know. She raised me to express my feelings, and sometimes I just don't process them fast enough to keep from making a complete fool out of myself." Blair turned back to the wall, wiping away more tears.

"Chief, will you stop being stubborn for long enough to listen to what I'm saying? You aren't making a fool out of yourself. I think you're just pointing out that I've been a fool," Jim said as he eased forward another step and reached up to let his hand rest on Blair's back. Blair shivered like a horse trying to get rid of a fly, but then he stood silent, his arms wrapped around his own stomach.

"Chief, I didn't know you believed the shit I was saying. It was just… it was me being an asshole."

Blair shrugged but didn't answer.

"Do you really think I'm not bonded to you?" Jim asked quietly. Blair was silent for so long, that Jim was just about convinced he wouldn't answer.

"Yeah," Blair answered. "Man, it fits. And you're right… it's your life and I can't tell my mom's friend Jim how to live."

"Blair, turn around," Jim said softly, letting his hand rest on Blair's back until the man started to turn. Now Jim could see the puffiness in his eyes and hear the unsteady breaths even if the tears had dried. "You are my bond-mate and my companion, even when I act like an idiot."

Blair just shook his head. "Don't do this to me, Jim. Please, don't do this now." Blair closed his eyes, and Jim reached up and let his hand rest against Blair's cheek. The man's eyes immediately opened wide, fear and uncertainty making his gaze lock onto Jim.

Jim looked Blair right in the eye, focusing on the blue and ignoring the signs of Blair's recent tears. The blue sharpened, the solid color fading into a swirl of blue hues. Along the outside edge, the blue darkened to a thin line and a river of dark blue lay close to the black iris. But the black iris wasn't black any more. Jim could see himself reflected in it, his face distorted by the shadows of the veins on the back of Blair's eye. Ignoring that, Jim let himself focus on the blues, and the way light blue bled into a sky blue. He focused closer until the blues filled his world.

"Jim! Jim, follow my voice back. Come on. Don't do this. Whatever you're trying to prove, you're just scaring the shit out of me here. Come on. Man, and I thought you were an asshole before. No way. Now this… this is being an asshole."

"Nice, Sandburg," Jim groaned as he blinked. His head pounded and he had to squint against the bright lights of the room.

"Oh man, I'll turn those down, but if you did that on purpose, you deserve whatever headache you have. Totally deserve," Blair complained as he got up, his movement making the ground shift and tilt. That was Jim's first clue that he was laying on the mattress in the Sentinel room, his shoes off and his shirt open.

"How long?"

"Nearly fifteen minutes, and if you were trying to prove something…"

"Not trying, proving," Jim corrected him. "I proved that you could pull me out of a zone."

"You proved that you're an asshole determined to give me a heart attack," Blair argued as he turned the lights down. Jim sighed.

"If I plead guilty to being an asshole, can we have this argument later?"

"Man, just promise me you'll never do something that stupid again," Blair said, his voice now soft, and Jim cracked one eye open to look at him.

"I'll try to avoid it," Jim agreed. His head pounded and he couldn't quite control his vision which faded in and out making the whole room fade and brighten and wave in a way that made him vaguely seasick. He tried closing his eyes, and then he just got to see the veins and cells of his eyelids backlit by the dim lights in the room. Slowly that image faded as a series of colored dots chased across his vision.

"I didn't mean things the way you took them," Jim finally said as the seasickness receded.

"You didn't mean to constantly point out that this is my life, not yours, and that you'd much rather be doing anything other than being here?" Blair clarified.

Jim counted to ten before slowly opening his eyes. The kid was never going to make this easy. "Chief…"

"Hey, no, you're right. I shouldn't be putting you on the spot when you're still recovering. One of us has to be reasonable." Blair held out his hands as though in surrender, but Jim wasn't letting the conversation end here… it gave Blair too much wiggle room to assume the worst, and Jim had the feeling that Sandburg had already done too much assuming.

"Chief…"

"And whatever bug has been up your butt for the past week or so, it's obviously not that you haven't bonded."

"Chief…"

"And if I keep talking, maybe you'll just give up because I really am feeling a little raw right now. I need some processing time, you know? Burn a little sage, meditate, play some South American drums."

"Please don't. I have drums pounding in my head already," Jim commented as he let his head fall back against the pillow.

"Can I help?" Blair asked quietly. "The classes…"

"They told you that a Sentinel coming out of a zone is a clingy, emotional, strung-out-on-pain mess?" Jim finished for him.

"Hey, this is me listening to you because I'm starting to think I don't know a lot of what I thought I knew. What's that old saying, it's not what you don't know that gets you in trouble, it's what you think you do know."

"Yeah, well the Institute is half right. It is painful and touch does help, so get your ass down here," Jim suggested softly.

"Nice invitation. I've gotten better offers before," Blair quickly answered, but he just as quickly came to the edge of the bed and sat down. "Jim…"

"I'm an asshole. We've already covered this," Jim sighed. "I don't blame you and I’m not disgusted by you. I just…" Jim reached out and pulled on Blair's arm, tugging him down to the mattress so that Blair lay with his back to Jim's chest, and Jim curled an arm around Blair's waist. He could feel Blair's heart beat and smell him and feel his warmth.

"We aren't doing too well at finishing sentences, here," Blair observed after a few minutes.

"I just see myself fitting into this life too easily," Jim admitted, whispering the words into Blair's ear and watching individual wisps of hair float and tangle on the puffs of air. It was easier admitting this without those sharp eyes watching him. "I'm not cut out to be a slave, and it's just getting too easy to see myself becoming one."

"You aren't…. I don't want you to be a slave. I never wanted that for you." Blair tried to wiggle around to look at Jim, but Jim tightened his hold, keeping Blair tucked in close as he closed his eyes, seeking a sense of privacy.

"And that's why you scare the shit out of me. You see me as something more than just a Sentinel… usually," Jim amended himself, "and that makes it too easy to imagine making a life here where we could be partners."

"And that's what I want. If I ever made you feel like less than…"

"It's not you, Chief. Every time Aldo ignores me like I'm a piece of furniture or Raul thinks I'm some sort of hero just because of this collar around my neck, I remember why I hate being a Sentinel." Jim felt the headache retreat as Blair's warmth sank into him. His senses focused on his companion as they struggled to level out at 'normal.' Jim leaned forward so that he buried his nose in the curls and the dark smell of Blair.

"But helping find Kari's killer and working to bring down Kincaid, man, that has got to count for something," Blair whispered. He'd stopped squirming now, and he pressed his warmth back into Jim's embrace.

"It counts for too much," Jim admitted. "It makes it too easy to tell myself that I could live with this life. But Blair—"

"I would never see you as anything other than Jim Ellison, Army Ranger and general all-round asshole, and I know that Simon has just as much respect for you. But if you want to leave, I so totally meant what I said. I will help you any way I can. The Army should be sending your back pay, and that can open a lot of doors."

"Canada," Jim said flatly.

"Totally. Hell, you could buy some land and legally emigrate. I mean, it wouldn't be easy since most countries get a little nervous with American Sentinels coming in, but there are options."

Jim didn't answer. Options. Options that included him leaving Blair. Options that left Blair with his life here and sent Jim somewhere else where he would have respect but no companion. Jim closed his eyes and tried to just feel the pleasure of holding his companion, but all the fears and choices leeched up through his resolve. His old fantasy about throwing Blair in the trunk of the car returned, but Jim wouldn't do to Blair what others had basically done to him.

"Jim?" Blair asked in the silence.

"Yeah. I know. You're a good man, and sometimes that makes it a little too easy to take a shot at you when I'm mad at the world," Jim said as he let go of Blair. He turned away and sat up on his side of the mattress. "Headache's gone." Sitting on the edge of the mattress, he pulled his shoes back on.

"Wow. That was fast. The Institute—and I'm not going to finish that because we've already established that their batting average is like…" Blair made a whistling noise like a bomb falling and then followed up with a little mock explosion. "Yeah, not very reliable. Now that the paper on the Institute's inadvertent damage to Sentinel control is finished, I could write a paper investigating some of the other underlying assumptions. Eli is really excited about the idea of doing a series of papers. He thinks the preliminary data is really exciting, and some of the historical research is amazing. Totally amazing."

"Sounds good, Chief," Jim agreed as he stood up.

"So, you aren't, you know, miserable being stuck with me?"

"Chief, I know I'm lucky to even have you," Jim admitted. Unfortunately, he was a little too lucky to get Blair as a guardian. With luck like this, he was going to end up being a slave for the rest of his life because Canada wasn't looking that good, not without Blair there.

Blair smiled, his whole face lighting with wonder and relief.

"Come on, let's go get dinner," Jim said as he slipped an arm around Blair's shoulders. "And if Simon can get approval, I am going undercover with Dessy," Jim quickly added.

"Hey, no problem. Worst comes to worst, I'll be there to back you up and pull you out of any zone."

"I know you will, Chief," Jim nodded as he opened the door to the Sentinel room and guided Blair out into the hall. The noise of booking immediately washed over him, but he dismissed it easily as he let the sound of Blair's heart beat act as a buffer between him and the sounds of the station.

"Hey Colleen, have a great night," Blair called as they passed the desk on the way out.

"Night, Blair," she smiled back.

Jim nodded to her before they headed for the elevator and home.

THIRTY
***
Jim walked in the loft and let his senses check the perimeters automatically as Blair came in behind him and headed for the kitchen with a sack of groceries.

"Mashed potatoes or baked?" Blair asked.

"Either one is fine with me," Jim said as he finished his sensory sweep. Blair's room had a strange smell coming from it, and Jim headed for the heavy door. Pulling it the rest of the way open, he spotted the brown apple core sitting next to the bed.

"Oh man, sorry. I left my breakfast in there, didn't I?" Blair pushed past him, and Jim felt the flash of warmth across his shoulder as they connected. Then Blair was hopping over books strewn across the floor so he could grab the core. "You really should get retested because your range is way better than even your jacket said."

"Never let the enemy see your true abilities," Jim countered. "I always threw the tests off a little."

Blair looked up at him with an expression that was caught somewhere between awe and horror. "Oh man, you are something. Those tests are supposed to be designed so that a Sentinel can't obfuscate." Blair headed back toward the kitchen. The garbage had been replaced with a tall ceramic Sentinel-friendly bin guaranteed not to pick up odors from the garbage inside. Blair dropped the core through the little swinging door on the top.

"No test is fool-proof," Jim commented.

"And you're no fool," Blair finished. Jim leaned against the wall and watched as Blair bounced around the kitchen. The man wasn't the same one who'd left the loft that morning. That man had been guarded, every movement had been small and controlled. This Blair was energetic, just as likely to bounce into a turn as to just turn. Jim watched suspiciously, remembering something Incacha had once told him about companions and guides and the true path.

"Man, there are just so many assumptions when it comes to Sentinels. Eli is totally into this new paper on the Institute damaging control, and he's sure that I could do my dissertation on something related to debunking Sentinel myths. Of course, that would require a control group, and that's the problem. I mean, I can't exactly use you as a control group of one, and since you've gone through the system, you aren't even qualified for the control group. Or at least, your behavior now isn't. Eli and I were emailing about using your records and the whole incident in Houston with the METRORail hijacking as proof that some of the assumptions are totally bullshit."

"You know about that?" Jim asked as he pushed off the wall and headed for the kitchen. Blair was trying to peel potatoes, but the way he kept gesturing with the knife just made Jim a little uncomfortable. He didn't feel like having an emergency room visit tonight. "Let me do the potatoes," he asked. Blair handed over the knife and pushed the potatoes towards him before he turned to the refrigerator.

"Hey, all of Houston knows about the Avenging Sentinel," Blair snorted.

"The what?" Jim looked up sharply.

"Oh man, I'll show you the clippings, but you are the stuff of folk hero legend down there. But that's not the point. What Eli and I want to include in a paper is the fact that you continued to function at ground zero of a tear gas attack. You identified the hostage-takers and took them all out without zoning, and that so should not have been possible if the literature was right. But Eli had a friend who's from France, and she documented…"

"Folk hero?" Jim demanded. He remembered the day vividly, and at the time, he just wanted off that damn train. Yeah, he'd taken out the hijackers, but only because he didn't have a choice. "I just did what I had to."

Blair froze, half a fish minus the head hanging from one hand. He laughed. "You just don't get it, do you? Yeah, you just did what you had to, but you did what no one is supposed to be able to. A Sentinel should have been disabled by the tear gas, and a non-Sentinel wouldn't have been able to see anything through the smoke. And then the whole disappearing act was just a little too Lone Ranger. The whole city thinks you're some sort of hero."

Jim paused in the middle of peeling the potatoes and put the knife down. "I'm not really comfortable with that."

"Hey, they aren't idolizing some random Sentinel. They just idolize Jim Ellison, this man who can do what no one else can. But then again, if you're right and I can find the research subjects, I just may prove that you're just an Average Joe and any Sentinel could do the same if they weren't crippled by the system. So, if you want to play hero, we'd better vacation down there fast before I steal your thunder," Blair teased. He gave Jim a wink and then slapped the fish down on the cutting board.

"Steal away, Chief. I do not need to be a hero." Jim went back to cutting the potatoes.

"You say that now, but just you watch. I'm going to prove you're just average and then you'll be sorry you never went down there and had your parade."

"They had a parade?" Jim asked, looking up from his work. Blair looked over at him incredulously before he started smiling.

"Smartass," Jim complained, realizing the kid had been joking. Blair shrugged.

"Totally. But as much as I think the system is wrong, I'm still thinking that the whole Lone Ranger bit is probably above and beyond what most Sentinels could do. So, your cape is safe with me. But anyway, Eli and I are kinda going around with the whole idea of a control group." Blair picked up the deboning knife and promptly started gesturing with that. Jim flinched, wishing Blair had just fixed nice, safe, no-knife-required hamburgers.

"He wants to talk to runners." Jim finished with the potatoes and put the knife down as he looked at Blair. Blair nodded before going back to deboning the fish.

"Yeah, he says that an anthropologist has a duty to look at the edges of society, but being a cop, I can't do that. I mean, yeah, I'm not in the Sentinel division any more, but if Simon had a fit today, I don't even want to think what kind of kittens he'd give birth to if I tried to track down runners and then NOT bring them in. We're talking big, mutant kittens. Possibly radioactive." The deboning knife made a circle in the air.

"What makes him think you can?" Jim asked as he remembered Blair mentioning Ruby's name. Maybe Eli knew the kid had connections.

"He thinks you could make contact. He thinks with your reputation as a runner, people might be willing to talk to you." Blair paused, a rib bone half out of the fish. "He wants you to go with him on a tour of the homeless shelters. He says that if our hypothesis is right, there are probably Sentinels who function well enough to stay away from the Institute, but not well enough to keep a job. You know, they'd get headaches and sensory storms and have to call in sick too much. Hey, we can use Washington as part of the control group. I mean, that's not the best job to have, but he's definitely holding down a job. But again, you can't make research out of one subject, so Eli wants to make contact with runners."

"Which he wants me to help him find. Not happening," Jim shook his head. Blair returned to pulling fish bones.

"I told him that you wouldn't go for it, but I'd run it by you."

"And if I said yes?" Jim asked, just a little bothered by Blair answering for him.

"I'd have one more thing to hide from Simon," Blair brought the knife up and then slammed it down, chopping the fish in half.

"So, just send him to Ruby," Jim suggested. The knife came down again, but this time it went off target so that it cut a crooked, roughly one inch strip off one side of the fish. Jim looked at the mangled piece and then up to Blair who stared at him with undisguised shock. "You're getting the small part," Jim commented.

Blair glanced down. "I don't know what you're talking about," he quickly said, his heart pounding as he put the knife down and grabbed for a pen. 'Aldo-Sentinel listening?!?!' he wrote on the paper in thick letters, heavily pressed into the paper.

"He tried. He couldn't get a warrant," Jim shrugged. "I think he would have gone ahead and set up anyway except that Sentinel who came with him is actually assigned to some woman named Sheila and she had a thing or two to say to Aldo."

"Sheila Irwin," Blair said slowly. "She's an even bigger bitch than Aldo is."

Jim snorted. If this was Blair's normal personality, now he could see why Simon had been concerned. The kid had a vicious sense of humor. "Yeah, from the sounds of it, she was ready to confiscate a body part or two."

"And Sheila would, at least if she could find any on Aldo. Oh man, that woman scares me worse than Sam in forensics. We have some seriously terrifying women down there. And Carolyn in Technical Support…I'm telling you, it's death by paper cut if you screw up her department. Brown once switched file numbers trying to slip his stuff ahead of a case from Burglary and I think he's still trying to grow hair back in places."

"I'll keep that in mind," Jim laughed as he carried the potato chunks over and dropped them in the pot of boiling water waiting on the stove. Blair was still laughing wryly.

"But how do you know about Sheila and Aldo?"

"IA is just one floor up from the break room. What? Did you think I really liked stale candy bars that much?" Jim put the lid on the pan.

Blair put the frypan on the stovetop next to the potatoes, resting his hand on Jim's back as he did. Jim could feel the need build in the pressure from that hand, and Jim stepped away.

"You could hear them… from another floor?!"

"It's not like the building is soundproofed," Jim shrugged. "Once I get used to the sounds in a place, it's not that hard to filter them out and focus on what I want. So, are we through changing the subject now?" Jim backed up and leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms as he watched Blair prep the pan for the fish.

"What?" Blair asked, turning to give Jim another of those innocent looks.

"The CIA would have loved you." Jim shook his head. "You have redirection down to an art. Hell, you would have given a few operatives I've known a run for their money. However, I'm still interested in why you aren't just going to Ruby if you want to talk to runners. She's part of the underground, isn't she?"

"How? No, no, if you've been using some covert ops mojo on me, I don't want to know," Blair said as he held up a hand.

Jim smiled, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing outright. "Mojo?"

"A lot of people think mojo means magic, but no way. It's this little bag that you sew together with magical ingredients, and then you hide it. It gives you luck, charm… you know, personal magnetism. A person with good mojo just has things fall in their lap, and short of you having a little mojo bag hidden somewhere, I have no idea how you came up with that name."

"You must have been really out of it at the hospital." Jim shook his head as Blair picked up the fish and rubbed spices on it before dropping it in the hot pan.

"We talked about this? Man, how many drugs were they giving me?"

"When Aldo first came, you remember that?"

Blair paused, spatula raised. "Vaguely. It seems like he was acting like an idiot, but Aldo usually acts like an idiot, so I might just be projecting my expectations."

"No, he acted like an idiot alright. But after he left, you admitted that you tried to help those two runners."

"Oh." Blair stared at the pan. "Okay, I sorta remember that. And Jim, I did try to help them. They were just hurting so bad, and I wouldn't have tried to call Sentinel Division if they hadn't needed the help."

Jim held up his hand. "Let's have this fight another time. The point I was trying to get to was when you told me that if these guys just needed a hot meal and a shower, that Ruby would have taken care of that without calling you in the first place. So, she's in the underground."

Blair shoulders sagged. "Man, I was trying to repress that."

"What, the fact that she's in the underground, or the fact that you accidentally told me?" The potato pan started to boil over, and Jim took the lid off to let some of the heat escape.

"Both! Yeah, Ruby's in the underground, but it's not safe for me to even think about that. I hang around too many Sentinels, and most, unlike you, are all whoo-hoo Institute. It's like their alma mater. And no way am I putting her in the middle of this thing with Eli. Dr. Stoddard's just got to get used to the fact that I'm a cop and there are things I can't do without getting my ass thrown in jail for contempt."

"But an anthropologist could do them?" Jim asked as he used a fork to poke at a potato.

Blair sighed. "Maybe. Okay, it's still illegal as hell, but the courts sometimes take a scientist's ethical requirement to protect the subject into account before doing something like throwing them in jail for fifteen years for aiding a runner. But since I'm a cop…"

"They'd throw your ass under the jail?" Jim finished.

"Oh hell yeah!"

"And Eli Stoddard doesn't like that you're letting your work as a cop interfere with your work as an anthropologist."

Blair poked at the edge of the fish, lifting them to check even though they weren't anywhere near done. "I pointed out that we never would have gotten this much data if I weren't a cop. But," Blair shrugged. "Sometimes with email it’s a little hard to tell if someone is frustrated or ready-to-rip-you-a-new-one furious, but he was somewhere between those two."

Jim idly stirred the potatoes. He'd wondered how to get close to Ruby, and now this had practically fallen into his lap. He should be leaping at the opportunity, but Jim couldn't muster more than a half-hearted resignation. "Blair, I could work with Stoddard. You don't have to be involved at all."

"Jim, if anyone found out…"

"Hey, I'm just a Sentinel. If they wouldn't put me in jail for murder, which I'm still not comfortable with, they sure won't do anything about me escorting some anthropologist around."

"No, but they'll take you away and say that I'm not responsible enough to protect you. Jim, I know you want your freedom, and yeah, in a perfect world, you should be able to do this. But if they find out…"

"I'll get a new guardian," Jim finished for him. He poked a potato harder than necessary and it broke in half.

"Yeah." Blair breathed the word. Standing over the stove, the sweat had started to form at his hairline, and that intensified the scent of distress. Jim turned around and walked back to the table as he considered his options. He was going to have to break this bond eventually, either with the help of the underground or the Institute. If he got caught, the worst case scenario would be removing him from Blair's care and reassigning him.

Jim gripped the back of a chair so hard that his knuckles turned white, but logically, he knew that would get the plan back on track faster than anything. He hadn't agreed to stay any longer than it took to find Kincaid and get the help he needed to break the bond. And if Blair was willing to do more than provide him a temporary safe haven, he would have said something by now.

"You'd rather I not go with Stoddard. You'd prefer that I stick to the police work that has less of a chance of pissing someone off," Jim said, checking that he understood Blair's argument.

"Shit, you're good at police work, Jim. I know I should have said it earlier, but you saved my ass with Dessy, and thank you. You're a good cop."

"But in your application for a Sentinel, you asked for someone who could help you with both anthropological and police work."

"Yeah, but if you get caught…"

"That guy at work, the Sentinel who still works with his brother even though his wife is his legal guardian because she does the stay at home mom thing."

"Jamal?" Blair asked. He flipped the fish and then turned to focus on Jim.

"If Jamal gets in trouble at work, who catches shit from the judge?" Jim asked.

"His brother, probably."

"Exactly. So, if you loan me out to Stoddard, and we get caught, Stoddard is in trouble. And Blair," Jim stepped forward. "We aren't going to get caught."

Blair studied his face, and Jim felt a flare of resentment. Maybe Blair saw that because he held up his hands. "Fine. If you want to do this, just don't get caught. Man, I cannot believe I just said that."

"Your mom's friend Jim has gone on more dangerous missions. Besides, I don't want to hang around here for three days."

"No joke. For the first time in like forever, I’m caught up on all my school work, and three days suspension—" Blair gave an exaggerated shudder. "Not to mention just sitting around waiting for Wendy to put that footage of us on the evening news. Oh yeah, that's going to be fun. I'll email Eli tonight."

"The fish is done."

The dinner conversation faded into more trivial discussion of sports and cars and the allegorical nature of anthropomorphic folk tales, and Jim found himself enjoying the sudden flow of words from Blair. He could sit back offering an occasional biting comment, and Blair carried the rest of the conversation. With half of his mind listening to Blair's explanation of Brer Rabbit traditions that mimicked folk legends about Sentinels, Jim considered how to best use a personal connection with the underground.

Blair was right that buying land in Canada would probably provide some protection. Of course, it would also make him easier to track, but some fake papers should be able to cover his trail. If he could find the right forger, he might even get fake Canadian papers. His back pay would help with that. He doubted that he could fool Canadians, but as long as he kept control, he trusted Canadians to turn a willfully blind eye to their Sentinel neighbor. They might be more sympathetic if he claimed a country of origin other than America, considering the reputation American Sentinels had around the world, but he didn't think he could effectively fake another language. And while he knew Quetcha, he didn't think he could pass as a descendant of Incans—not with his blue eyes.

Blair finished a story about Stoddard falling in a stream after the local tribe tried to teach him to use a fishing spear, and Jim laughed. Pushing aside a thousand fears, he forced himself to just focus on now. Now he had a companion who smiled and laughed and smelled like raspberries in the sun. Now he was fed and safe. Now he'd made a choice Blair didn't like, and they were both okay with it.

"It sounds like going anywhere with Eli is about as safe as hanging out with you," Jim joked as he scooped up the last of his potatoes.

"Hey, not fair," Blair protested, but he smiled and Jim could feel the warm comfort of that smile.

"I haven't known you that long, and you've been kidnapped twice, people have plotted to kill you twice, you've been arrested, suspended, beaten up, and harassed by the local jerk from I.A. I'm thinking you're a trouble magnet, Chief."

"I was only kidnapped once," Blair protested.

"The first day I met you, I put you face down on that couch and tied you up," Jim pointed out. He remembered the feeling of Blair lying under him, and Jim shook his head as he forced his thoughts away from that bit of sensory recall.

"Oh. Yeah. But hey, you've been shot down over Peru, lost two guardians, got hijacked, kidnapped, drugged… it's not like you're doing any better," Blair pointed out.

"Raped," Jim added. Blair fell quiet. "It happened, and it's not something I want you to go around avoiding," Jim added when the silence went on for just a little too long.

"Man, I'm just a little… or a whole lot guilty and uncomfortable with that part. It doesn't do the digestion much good." Blair put his fork down and looked at his mostly empty plate before pushing it away.

"I'm going to keep saying that it wasn't your fault until you believe me," Jim sighed. "I made a choice, and quite frankly, I got what I wanted out of that choice. But what I'm saying here is that if this Stoddard can get in that much trouble fishing, it's going to feel like hanging out with you."

Blair gave him a dirty look.

"Maybe I should take out extra insurance," Jim teased.

"Maybe Simon should," Blair countered.

"Oh, Simon definitely should. Between you breaking the rules and Brown's mouth, he needs it."

"Bending. Not breaking, bending." Blair shook his finger at Jim as he picked up his plate and headed for the kitchen. Jim grabbed his own plate and glass.

"Bending? Oh, so when you got in the car with an escaped runner, that was just bending the rules?"

"You looked like you needed the company," Blair shrugged as he gave Jim a wicked looked over one shoulder. Jim could feel his cock twitch immediately, and he froze right in the middle of the kitchen. With a smile, Blair reached back and took the plate and glass from Jim's fingers, dropping them on the counter with a clatter.

Blair didn't say anything, but he returned to stand a mere inch from Jim's chest, looking up curiously, and Jim could feel the heat from Blair's body soak into him. Slowly Jim started backing up.

"Jim?" Blair asked, not following but definitely looking more than a little confused.

"Chief, there's a thin line between me keeping control and throwing you down on the closest bed, possibly the closest couch or table, and I'm sliding just a little too close to that line," Jim warned as he backed up another step.

"Man, you don't have to keep control," Blair promised.

"Yeah, Chief, I do." Jim turned his back and just prayed the Blair would keep his distance but, of course, the man just came closer.

"I get it. I know that it can't be easy to let go of control, but I trust you. Whatever you need, Jim." Blair let his hand brush over Jim's back, and Jim stepped away again.

"Junior," Jim warned. "This isn't about whether you trust me. This is about the fact that I would rather cut off my own legs than give you up. If I let myself do this, I won't be able…"

Jim didn't finish his sentence. He just headed for the stairs. He needed a little space, and he could only hope that Blair gave him that space. If the kid followed him upstairs, Jim wasn't going to be able to control himself. Luckily, when he reached the top of the stairs, he could hear Blair head for the kitchen.

Without even getting undressed, Jim lay on the bed and stared up as he listened to the water running and the sound of the scrubber sliding over the fry pan and Blair's unsteady, deep breaths. It took every bit of control Jim possessed to simply lay there until finally Blair headed for his own room under the stairs. Even with the heavy soundproofed door closed, Jim could hear Blair's stereo pounding out the sound of drums and smell the burning sage.

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