"You missed a great lecture on sexual practices and societal power," Blair said as he waggled his eyebrows. From the way the campus guard blushed as he headed toward the door, Jim guessed that wasn't a joke. "Man, most TA's avoid this class because they don't want to get into the details, but what's the fun in pretending sexual tension doesn't exist?" he asked with an innocent look as he blinked up at Jim, who still stood on the stairs near the door.

"I don't remember college being this interesting."

"Oh man, if you'd had me as a teacher, you totally would remember," Blair said as he gave his ass a bit of a wiggle. "So, is this how you see it working?" he asked the moment the door whispered closed behind the retreating guard.

"It was a simple slip of the tongue," Jim growled. The tone might have frightened a lesser man into fleeing, but Sandburg just smiled wider.

"Sure, no problem, I hear you," he answered, making it entirely too clear that he didn't believe a word of it. Brat.

"Sandburg, you're a pain in the ass."

"I prefer to receive than give, thanks," Blair said, shoving the last of a sizable stack of papers into his bag before slinging it over his shoulder. "Except, of course, with women. Well, women other than Tiffany because she has this neat little toy--"

"Sandburg," Jim barked, "I do not want to hear about it."

"I wouldn't have thought you were the jealous type."

"You're just a dog with a bone," Jim sighed. "It was a slip of the tongue."

"Shall I sew you to your sheet?" Blair asked, in the strangest turn of conversation yet.

"What?"

"Spoonerisms. Reversing letters so that 'show you to your seat' becomes 'sew you to your sheet.' Verbal slips. Freudian slips. Verbal games. I know about games; it's one of the topics anthropologists study." Blair continued to stand at the podium, looking up at Jim across the length of the aisle.

"Games, proxemics, haptics," Blair said, his voice little more than a whisper.

"If you're going for dirty talk, you should probably use words I know," Jim said as he crossed his arms over his chest. Yeah, the kid amused him, but no need to let Blair know that. He suspected Blair could get pretty out of hand with very little encouragement.

"Haptics—the use of touch in communication. Proxemics—the use of space. Games—well, I think we both know that one."

"I don't play games," Jim warned. And he didn't. Thinking back on his failed marriage, he should have warned Caro of that up front. She wanted to be able to turn the games off and on, to turn the passion up and down like a volume knob. Jim always prided himself on being an attentive lover, but he had finally been too worn down to even care, and had retreated into a coldness that had driven the woman away. Now, Jim looked down at Blair with a seriousness that he hoped Blair understood.

"And here I thought you played so well," Blair said.

"I guess you don't have me pegged as well as you assumed," Jim agreed. He couldn't get into this, not with a case hanging on his ability to control his own libido. "Now we need to head over to the station to sign some paperwork before you start pointing out which clubs I'll be investigating," Jim added, forcing himself to focus on work.

"Paperwork?" Blair asked as he started up the stairs towards Jim.

"For your ride-along status. I got you a thirty day pass for your research, so you're legal in the truck." Jim pulled out the ride-along badge he'd gotten from Karen in return for a solemn vow that Sandburg would appear within the hour to sign the paperwork and pee in the cup.

"Thirty? What?" Instead of looking grateful, Blair just looked slightly stunned--stunned and displeased. When the familiar feeling of having a gift thrown back at him crept into Jim's gut, he tossed the plastic badge at Sandburg and turned his back.

"You want to ride; you do it by the book." Jim started toward the door without another word, but behind him, Blair spluttered.

"Hey, no, I'm really... grateful."

"Save it," Jim snapped, annoyed that Blair would make such a lame attempt at covering.

"Hey, I'm just a little caught off guard here. You walk in and offer this without even asking."

"*You* asked," Jim said as he stopped at the door before heading into the river of students. "*You* asked to ride along." He dove in, using his long stride to carry him past clumps of students and out into the sunshine of the main walk that cut across the manicured lawn.

"Hey!" Blair yelled behind him, and Jim just kept walking, well aware that Sandburg's shorter legs would force him to run. It might be a petty revenge, but Jim would take what he could get.

"Hey!" Blair yelled again, and a hand tugged at Jim's arm. He stopped and looked down at the kid. Individual hairs had escaped the pony tail and curled around his face. "I'm just a little shocked at the thirty day thing. I guess I assumed that these guys would be off the street, and I'd be off your couch, before thirty days," Blair rushed to explain.

For a second, Jim stood stunned, looking down. Great. Sandburg was scared, and Jim was striking out at him like the kid was to blame for his issues. Jim felt like a world-class heel.

"Chief, I hope to have these guys in days, now that we have a composite drawing and a lead, but if you ride along on just one case, it's going to look suspicious."

"Suspicious?" Blair asked, and then the light dawned in his face, which transformed into a pixie-like smile. "You mean, like the lead detective has the hots for this witness and he's just trying to find excuses to get the man alone so he can ravish him?" Blair asked.

"Suspicious like the defense attorney could get the case tossed," Jim said without actually contradicting Blair's version. Blair smiled wider. "So, you're mine for thirty days," Jim said as he schooled his face into an evil grin.

"Woof," Blair said with a laugh as he headed toward Jim's truck, parked in a loading zone with the police light on the dash. "Man, I just didn't think I'd be spending so much time with cops. This is so going to put a crimp in my social life."

"You're researching police relationships with minority groups, and you didn't think you'd spend much time with cops?"

"Hey, that story gave me a reason to ask around, and it made my dissertation chair just about orgasm with joy, but it's not my life's work." Blair stopped at the truck and leaned against the fender as he waited for Jim to unlock it.

"So, you lied about researching the police," Jim said dryly. Somehow, he just wasn't surprised.

"Oh man, I did not lie. I just obfuscated a bit." Blair gave Jim a wink and hopped in the truck, slamming the door and ending the conversation. Walking around to the driver's side, Jim tried to figure out what he was going to do with this information. If a defence attorney got it, the jury would never buy the researcher angle Gary was selling.

"Listen, Chief," Jim said as he climbed in, shutting his own door behind him so they had privacy. "This needs to be above-board. I can't have these three walk because something is fishy with one of the primary witnesses."

"Man, I would not do that to you, and I wouldn't do that to the victims," Blair said, indignation in his voice. "I am doing research. I have field notes, I have my dissertation chair's approval, and I have the background in cultural communication and sub-group hostility. I'll even publish a paper or two because the topic is just ripe for the picking. It's just that I started researching the topic after I saw the attack, and I plan to change my dissertation topic again as soon as these guys are caught."

"Not until after the thirty-day ride is over, Junior," Jim warned. "I won't have the case compromised."

"I get that. I totally get that. My topic has been hanging around for a century or so; no problem waiting thirty days." Blair promised, holding his hands up. "My sentinels can wait."

"Sentinels?" Jim asked as he started the engine.

"Yeah, I'm researching how society interacts with people with extraordinary senses: perfume testers, professional tasters, people with synesthesia. I even have a book describing sentinels--people who have all five senses enhanced who, in tribal areas, act as guardians for the tribe. The cultural implications of a physical manifestation..."

"Got it," Jim interrupted. "I hate to say this, Darwin, but researching police relations sounds a lot more practical."

"Yeah, that's what Dr. Stoddard said when he approved the dissertation change. Hell, he didn't just approve the change, he waxed poetic about it. He told me he was proud of me for recognizing the academic unsuitability and practical difficulties of sentinel research."

"He's right."

"Yeah, well, I'm not so worried about being practical. Sometimes being impractical is so much more fun," Blair said in a throaty voice.

Jim ignored it as he focused on turning the corner and the pothole and the yellow sign announcing a sale at Home Depot. He focused on pretty much anything except the way Blair tilted his head and sounded so needy. When Jim didn't answer, the conversation lapsed into silence, the rumble of truck tires over rough road filling the cab as they passed block after block.

"So, I guess I'm yours for a month. I should warn you that I'm not exactly house-broken," Blair joked as the truck slowed for a red light.

"Chief."

"And I shed."

"Sandburg," Jim growled. It didn't work.

"I've even been known to steal slippers from time to time because, man, I get bored easy, and me and boredom are not generally a good mix."

"Chief!" Jim snapped as he got pretty desperate to stop this strange foreplay. He could just imagine one or two things to keep Blair busy, but this was a witness, his ride-along, his temporary partner. And Jim refused to consider the many meanings of the word partner.

"Serious need of a firm hand. So, is this how you see it working between us?" Blair asked as he looked over. Jim looked over with a denial on his lips, but the open expression on Blair's face made the words die. A horn honked, and Jim hit the accelerator a couple of seconds after the light had already turned green.

"Of course, maybe you prefer to use stronger discipline than just a firm hand," Blair mused.

Jim shook free of the lust as he interrupted. "Chief, we have a case to work. I've told you several times that I just misspoke, now just drop it already."

"Sure, Jim. No problem," Blair agreed with a sly smile.

Jim sighed and resolved to take advantage of the two or three minutes of silence that would give him before the kid started at it again. He was definitely like a dog with a bone. A really annoying dog with floppy ears that Jim suspected would make a mess all over the loft, and yet, even with all his father's logical reasons echoing through his memory, Jim still wanted him.

TWELVE
***
"This one," Blair said as he nodded toward a door painted the most obnoxious pink Jim had ever seen.

"Where did anyone ever come up with the stereotype that gays had more taste?" Jim asked grimly as he pushed past a group of smokers loitering on the sidewalk. Blair walked close behind, and Jim opened the door, waiting for Blair to go through.

"It's a way of marginalizing the contributions of homosexuals. I mean, most historians agree that Leonardo da Vinci and Langston Hughes had lots of connections with the homosexual community and probably had homosexual relationships, but acknowledging them as gay would mean crediting homosexuals with some of history's pivotal moments.

"And since successful homosexuals often hide their preferences, it makes it even easier to portray homosexuals as having no influence beyond the limited and largely irrelevant areas including fashion and home decorating. And you notice, those are the same areas women in the past were relegated to," Blair lectured. Jim just put a hand on the man's back to propel him across the mostly empty dance floor.

"Where do you store all this trivia?" Jim asked as he scanned the room.

"Oh man, you have no idea. I love just learning things. Like, for example, I wonder if you're circumcised. I mean, the statistics would suggest you were since three-quarters of white males in the west are circumcised, but I'm a firm believer in not over-generalizing. A researcher should observe for himself and not just apply statistics that may or may not be appropriate."

"Are you done?" Jim asked dryly. The kid had definitely taken the sexual innuendo up a few notches.

"So, is this how you see it working between us?" Blair asked with a wide innocent smile.

Jim would have explained that his words had come out wrong when he'd said that earlier, but he'd tried that several times already, and Blair's smile just got bigger each time Jim tried defending himself.

"I see a gag in your future, Sandburg," Jim threatened.

Blair shrugged. "The interesting thing would be what you did with me once you had me gagged." Blair nearly bounced as they walked across the floor toward the bar.

"Until this case is over, I wouldn't do anything except use the peace and quiet to get some work done," Jim answered. About a half second too late, he realized his mistake. Blair smiled even wider.

"No problem. I get the ethical implications of sleeping with someone involved in your case," Blair nodded. "I'm patient."

"I doubt that," Jim sighed, giving up on even trying to explain why his own mouth kept getting tangled in his words. Yeah, he enjoyed Blair's sharp humor and his enthusiasm and his obvious need to have someone hold him down and ravage him, but that didn't mean that Jim was ready to go there. Hell, Caro had only delivered the final divorce papers two weeks ago, and Jim could still feel the heavy failure of that in his chest every time he saw the woman. And yet Jim couldn't quite convince his cock that getting involved with Sandburg wasn't worth it.

But right now, he had to focus on work. After three clubs, Jim's head hurt, but so far nothing had pinged his radar as suspicious. The club smelled of the sick sweetness of marijuana and the musk of male sweat. As they approached the bar, Jim could tell which of the men behind the bar and drinkers knew Blair; they smiled widely as Blair approached.

"Oh my, it looks like Blair-baby finally found a Daddy big enough to keep him in line," whistled one leather man who leaned on the bar and raised his beer glass in salute. Blair blushed. Jim frowned at his new partner, not quite sure where the embarrassment came from considering that Blair seemed to have no shame, but Blair just walked a little faster, breaking the connection between them as he called out to several people in the bar.

A number returned whistles and appreciative looks towards Jim, who just sighed as round three of assumptions and innuendo started. The man behind the bar looked a little more suspicious, probably because he had given Jim the brush-off last time Jim had tried interviewing people in the area.

"Jim Ellison, CPD," he said without correcting the leather man's assumption. In fact, he stepped closer to Blair, putting his hand on his Blair's back again in order to move the man right up to the bar. Then Jim could stand behind him, trapping him between Jim's body and the barstool. While Blair might be off limits to him for professional reasons, Jim had no trouble letting word get around that he wasn't available to anyone else either.

The atmosphere definitely cooled, but at least no one fled.

"That so? I would have dressed up in a cop's uniform if I knew that's what did it for you, Blair," the leather man offered, leaning back and propping up his huge motorcycle boot on the seat of the stool next to him.

"Oh man, I only—"

"I have a problem," Jim interrupted. If he let Blair start in on ethical standards and ride-alongs, everyone would escape before Jim got to ask his questions. He wouldn't make that mistake a second time. So, let them assume whatever they wanted. The leather man looked up at Jim, and the bar owner wandered closer, wiping the counter as he came.

"Someone tried to push into Blair's apartment and bash his head in with a bat. I'm interested in who might have been talking about Sandburg. Someone who might have mentioned him down here stirring people up about these gay bashers."

Jim watched while several people exchanged looks, clearly trying to figure out whether it was a cop or Blair's lover who was asking.

"Blair, you okay?" the bar owner asked as he finally decided to just ignore Jim.

"Yeah, no biggie."

"Yes, it was a biggie," Jim contradicted him. "He fought off three masked intruders, and I'm assuming that someone mentioned Blair to someone, casually brought up his name and his research, complained to someone, maybe. But a rumor started somewhere."

"Blair, do you need somewhere to stay?" the bar owner asked, and his concern aggravated Jim. If someone would help him catch these guys, Blair wouldn't have to look for another place to stay.

"He's staying with me," Jim said without any further explanation. Blair rolled his eyes, but Jim didn't back off.

"Good to know he has a safe place," the man said after a moment. "Guys around here call me Pat, but I think we met before."

"When I was doing interviews," Jim confirmed as he held out his hand without moving. It meant he had to lean into Blair to reach across the bar. Jim trapped the bar owner in his best scowl, but something distracted him from the corner of his eye.

A man with jeans tight enough to cause infertility and a mesh shirt slowly slid away from the group at the bar. "So, do you know who might have talked about Blair and his research?" Jim shifted his focus to the new man.

"I don't even know the kid; I'm just drinking," the man said as he backed up. Jim might have bought that except that he could feel Blair's body tense where they pressed together. Blair remained silent, his eyes suddenly found the scratched floor interesting, and Jim could read the distress in his body even if he didn't know the exact cause.

"When we came in, you looked like you knew Blair," Jim said as he moved away from the bar and closed in on the man.

"Just appreciating a cute ass," the guy laughed nervously.

"What are you playing at, Wilfy? I've seen you and Blair at that table in the corner," the leather man said, clearly siding with Jim in this.

"Hey, who I talk to—" Blair started to object.

"Quiet, boy," the leather man ordered, and Jim contained a small smile when Blair actually did shut up with a strange, strangled noise.

"Look, I just don't feel like talking to some pig," Wilfy snapped before he calmly turned as though he had no more interest in the conversation. He took two casual steps toward the tables before he dashed for the door. Jim glanced back toward Blair, uncertain what to do with his ride-along, but after a millisecond of hesitation, Jim stormed after the man.

On the street, Jim saw a mesh-clad back running toward Third, his arms flying wildly as he ran.

"Hey!" some voice yelled when Jim knocked a body out of his way, but he ignored that as he pounded down the sidewalk. Putting one hand under his coat, he released the strap on his weapon. Something had spooked the guy, and Jim was betting that it had something to do with Blair's attack.

A streetlight turned red in Wilfy's path, but the man darted into the traffic. Horns blasted as he ended up stomach down on the hood of a red Cavalier, but he just slid off and kept running.

Jim didn't waste his breath on calling for the man to stop, he just charged into the already jammed traffic. The Cavalier's driver had opened his door, his face a mask of panic as Jim ran past. At least one person had out a cell phone. Wilfy glanced back, and then headed diagonally across Washington Avenue.

Cursing, Jim checked the traffic. Fuck and double fuck. A semi rumbled past forcing Jim to wait before he darted into the street, barely outrunning a minivan that squealed brakes as Jim reached the opposite sidewalk. Wilfy was almost at the sidewalk himself, but then he glanced over his shoulder. At the sight of Jim closing in, he reversed direction and tried to double back. A squeal of tires and a heavy thud ended the escape attempt.

Jim winced, running toward the Jeep which now sat cockeyed in the street. A Mustang hit the Jeep with a crunch of metal against metal, and the Jeep bounced forward into a parked car, setting off the alarm.

Ignoring the annoying noise, Jim looked over the hood of the Jeep, red streaks clear on the yellow paint. Wilfy's head had cracked, and Jim quickly looked away from the mess.

"Oh man. Oh shit," a familiar voice breathed. Jim turned to see Blair right behind him, his face white under the streetlight.

"Don't look," Jim said as he moved between Blair and the accident. Blair continued to blink without moving as though he could still see the dead body through Jim.

"Chief, people need help. Check the mustang's driver. Make sure he's okay," Jim said, doing the only thing he could to help distract Blair from the carnage. Slowly, Blair looked up, his eyes dark with shock. "Check the driver. See if you can help," Jim said, even though he could clearly see the Mustang's driver pushing his door open.

Blair turned without a word, wandering with uneven steps back to the Mustang.

"Are you okay?" Jim asked the driver of the Jeep who looked just as pale as Blair.

"I didn't see him. He just ran out. Oh my god. He's dead."

Jim pulled out his phone and dialed dispatch. After reporting one dead and minor injuries, he took the Jeep's driver by the arm, pulling him back to where Blair sat on the sidewalk in silence. A crowd gathered around the accident, and cars crawled past them on the road as the drivers slowed to get a good look at what was left of Wilfy.

"The ambulance is coming," Jim said as the Jeep's driver sank on to the curb next to Sandburg.

"He stopped right in front of me. What the hell is wrong with you?" the Mustang's driver demanded, his hands gesturing wildly.

"There was a fatality. Someone ran into the road," Jim said as he stepped between the two shocked men and the angry driver.

"Dead?" The anger drained from the man as he looked toward the Jeep.

"I'm a police officer. I just need you to stay at your car until units arrive. Alright?" Jim asked. The man nodded mutely as he leaned back against the side of his car.

"I seriously don't think an ambulance is going to help," Blair said, his voice rough and unsteady. Jim agreed.

"Just focus on breathing, Chief," Jim advised as he moved to stand next to Sandburg. For a professor of anthropology, the kid was witnessing entirely too many horrors these days. Unfortunately, Jim didn't know any way of protecting him except to track down the three killers and put them behind bars where they couldn't threaten Blair any more. He inched closer until his leg pressed up against Blair's side, and the man leaned into him.

"Just breathe," Jim repeated softly as he listened to Blair's labored efforts.

THIRTEEN
***
"You picked a bad day to join, huh?" Brown asked as he sat on the corner of Jim's desk. Blair had glued himself back together fairly well, and now he nodded grimly as he sat in the witnesses' chair, again.

"Oh man, no joke," he answered softly. Brown sat silent for a minute before giving a dark laugh.

"You should have seen me at my first DB. It was this huge mess, and I puked all over the crime scene. I'm surprised they let me out of uniform after that." Henri Brown gave a dark and bitter laugh. "The guys in Narc never let me live that down; they used to leave crime photos taped to my locker when I worked uniform."

Blair looked up, finally noticing Brown who just stared into space as if it didn't mean anything that he was offering the first olive branch between the department and the witness who had shocked and horrified them all into running away from their own desks. Jim finished his own reports. These were significantly longer than just a witness statement since his pursuit had ended in a dead civilian.

Blair nodded. "Lots of societies initiate members through some horrifying ritual, at least horrifying to the outside observer. It's a way of reaffirming that you can survive."

Jim wasn't sure whether it was good or bad that at least the professor side of his personality was slowly leeching through the shock. But after watching him stare into space for hours while one cup of coffee after another slowly went cold in his hands, any change was good.

"Really? That's normal?" Henri asked. Jim promised himself that he would get Brown something nice at Christmas... Jag tickets or a new fishing rod or something.

"Among aboriginal tribes, adolescent circumcision, ritualistic scarring, subincision, or even ripping the hair out of the head are ways of showing strength and gaining membership into adult society. So, from the other guys' point of view, they were probably trying to welcome you to the club."

"I'm guessing you don't want that kind of welcome?"

Blair shivered so that cold coffee slopped over onto his hand and legs, and he set the cup on the edge of Jim's desk, next to Brown, before he swiped at his jeans with a hand. Jim wished he had some way to make this easier on Blair, but police work got ugly, and the kid had certainly worked hard enough to dish himself into the middle of this mess. Jim pulled a paper towel out of a desk drawer and pushed it across.

"Thanks, man," Blair said quietly as he focused on sopping as much cold coffee as he could out of his jeans.

"Ellison!" Simon snapped as he stomped through the office without looking around.

Blair jumped again, and then gave a nervous laugh. "I'm not normally this jumpy, you know?" he asked no one in particular.

"Henri, set Blair up on the computer, would you?" Jim asked as he minimized his own report and pulled up a new form for a witness report. "He can write up his own witness statements if he's going to be on the books officially, because I've sure typed enough up for him," Jim said, trying to lighten the mood, but neither Brown nor Sandburg reacted. He stood, not wanting to leave Blair but not really having a choice considering Simon's expression.

"No problem." Brown agreed.

"Hey, Chief, keep it boring, okay?" Jim asked, trying once again to find that wicked humor Sandburg wore like armor.

"Yeah, no dog jokes." Blair smiled weakly as he took Jim's seat. For a second, Jim stood next to Blair, his hand finding Blair's shoulder as Henri leaned over and pointed at the screen.

"Just type the main explanation in that box. I'll show you the reporting fields when you're done," Brown offered.

Having no words, Jim headed for Simon's office, not really feeling any better about the night. He'd chased that guy right into the street, although the idiot could just as easily have run for an alley, and now Sandburg had retreated into some non-Sandburg zone where he was quiet. Hell, even Brown was worried, Jim realized as he looked back at the pair of them.

Brown was still perched on Jim's desk, hours after he should have gone home, and Blair typed on Jim's computer, his face missing the customary energy or vicious humor. The rest of the bull pen was as quiet as Blair. Only one of the night detectives sat at his desk, an older man named Bubba or Buck or something equally stupid, and he just kept shuffling reports from one side of his desk to the other without sparing Sandburg a second look.

Jim pushed all those worries aside as he knocked briefly on the open door to Simon's office before just going in.

"Why is every emergency call I get you and this gay-bashing case?" Simon asked tiredly as he punched at computer buttons, cursing as the tired machine slowly cranked itself to life.

"We lost a potential lead," Jim agreed. Simon looked up sharply.

"You watched a civilian throw himself in front of a moving vehicle, and I'm not happy with how you seem to be reacting to that fact," Simon said as he slowly swiveled his chair to face Jim, who waited on the far side of the desk.

"Sir?"

"Jim, this is me," Simon said softly, and Jim felt his own frustration rising through his worry for Sandburg.

"The idiot ran right into traffic," Jim sighed.

"And my best detective went running right after him. Jim, you could have gotten yourself killed."

"Right now, I'm more worried about who else is going to die if we can't connect the dots, Simon." Jim walked to the office window and looked out at the city. Rows of color outlined buildings and created patterns of squares within squares within squares. Jim studied the patterns, imagining for an insane second that he could see the lives within those windows: people who had no idea of the monsters who hunted the city. Who might be hunting right now.

"Jim!" Simon's sharp voice broke through a strange calm that had settled in over Jim as he stared at the patterns. Jim blinked and turned to face his boss. Simon looked twice as worried now.

"Wilfy took our best chance with him. He knew something; it's the only reason to run," Jim said as he silently cursed his luck.

"Jim, you know as well as I do that suspects run for a lot of reasons," Simon disagreed, but Jim shook his head.

"He was in his comfort zone in that bar, the M.E. said he wasn't carrying weapons or drugs and there weren't any warrants." The office door opened, interrupting the conversation.

"Jim, you're making me feel very needed, a little too needed, if you know what I mean." Jim turned to see Gary. His white shirt was rumpled and hanging outside his pants, but his briefcase was still in one hand. He came in and dropped the case on the small conference table in Simon's office.

"I asked Gary to sit in. This is getting just a little too messy," Simon confessed.

"So, last I knew, you just got your official ride-along for Sandburg. I take it things didn't go quite as well as planned."

Jim snorted. "That doesn't quite cover it, not by half," Jim confessed. "Let me get Sandburg." The minute the words were out of his mouth, Jim could see Simon's eyebrows rise nearly to his hairline.

"Jim?" Simon asked.

"He saw the whole thing, Simon. He probably has a better take on it than I do." Jim walked to the door and called out into the bull pen. "Sandburg, you want to join us?"

When Blair came in silently, letting Jim point him toward a chair next to Gary, Jim exchanged a look with Simon. In his captain's face, Jim could read the surprise and concern as if it were printed in block letters across his forehead. This wasn't the same Sandburg who had faced down Simon and practically challenged the man to arrest him.

"Gary Birdsell." Gary held out his hand, and Blair took it.

"Blair Sandburg."

"I've read quite a lot about you. I was picturing someone louder, based on what the officers at Mr. Espinoza's place said."

Blair seemed to blink to life for a second. "They totally needed someone to yell at them. Actually, they needed someone to kick their asses, but I'm not fond of jail so I stuck with telling them a few truths they probably didn't want to hear."

"No arguments here," Gary agreed, but then Blair just sat back, his energy seemingly drained.

"Jim, let's hear what happened. If you have anything to add, feel free, Sandburg," Simon said as he came out from behind his desk and took the fourth seat at the conference table. Jim itched to reach out to put a comforting hand on Blair's shoulder, which was the main reason he had put Blair across the table and out of reach, so now he could just repeat the cold facts as Sandburg shrank into himself.

"So, we're sure there's a link between Wilfy and the gay-bashers?" Gary asked. "If you're willing to sign off on that, his actions would certainly justify a warrant for his LUDs, his financials and his house."

"He doesn't have a house," Blair cut in. "He couch surfs... one person to the next. He isn't... *wasn't* good at keeping a job."

"Phone and financials, then," Gary said calmly.

"And we'll work his connections. Family, any short-term jobs he might have held, friends. We'll need interviews on all of them," Simon added.

"Man, this does not have the signature of a self-hater. If a self-hating gay did this, he'd work alone. He'd hit victims hard the first time out, displacing his own rage on them. Don't look at Wilfy's friends," Blair said softly.

"Sandburg, I appreciate that you're trying to help, but we have certain procedures to ensure that the case gets handled right." Simon sounded calm, using the voice he normally reserved for victims. Blair glared at his for a second.

"Look, we know these guys are late teens or early adults."

"No, Sandburg, we don't." Simon held up a hand to stop Blair’s rebuttal. "I trust your skills of observation, so I'm willing to believe that the three men who pushed into your apartment were late teens, but I'm not willing to make the assumption that we're looking for the same three guys. Assumptions like that lead to good cops missing clues."

Blair looked to Jim even though Simon had issued the order, and Jim just waited to see how the man would react. Sandburg and 'no' mixed about as well and Sandburg and boredom. Blair took a deep breath, straightened, and then started, his voice strong and steady for the first time since the accident.

"Man, I'm a researcher. I don't do assumptions. Right now, this is just a hypothesis, but think about it. The attackers left early victims who could clearly identify them. If these were adults, when they wanted to step up the attacks they would have changed MO's or maybe even changed cities. This increasing violence with no thought of hiding their tracks is classic adolescent invulnerability. They don't think they *can* get caught."

"And so far, they're right," Simon growled.

"Sometimes the stupid ones are harder to catch," Gary agreed sympathetically. "They're so dumb they don't leave tracks in their attempt to cover their tracks. So, we narrow our search to any young males Wilfy might have known?" he asked.

"No way. We need to look at every part of his life... do a full sociological map of his contacts. I mean, teens are invisible, so he might have said something to the guy who bagged his groceries or told some story to the usher who took his tickets at the movie theater. I mean, how often do you really notice the person who takes your money at Wonderburger?"

"Blair, what makes you think Wilfy would have given your name to some random person on the street?" Jim asked before Simon had a chance to. Blair glanced over, and Jim could see the black of his eyes, dilated in shock or fear or maybe excitement as his hands started moving.

"Some random guy on the street with a baseball bat in hand, no. But you did not know Wilfy; he liked to talk." Blair stopped, and Jim ached as pain flashed across Blair's face as he remembered the man. Brains spilled across the concrete was not a good introduction to the brutalities of police work, but no death was a pretty one. Blair took a deep breath and forged ahead. "If someone showed some interest in the case, he totally would have given them my name and everything he knew about me. He wasn't all that street-smart."

"What did he tell you during your first interview?" Jim asked quietly. Blair looked over at him, a refusal clearly poised to pop out, but then he shook his head.

"Nothing useful. He repeated every rumor on the streets. Some people say it's the little brother of some guy who died of AIDS; others claim it's a gang thing. He just rattled off one rumor after another without being able to say where any of them came from specifically. He would have been great if I'd been doing a study on the transmission of urban myths and legends."

"So for him to actually know something, to know that a researcher from Rainier had gotten involved in the investigation..." Gary prompted.

"Oh man, it would have been like smoking crack in front of an addict. He was probably telling everyone that story."

"So, we're back to square one," Simon sighed.

"Well, we could start by taking the composite drawing around Wilfy's normal haunts," Jim suggested.

"If this were a sociological survey, I'd follow him and map every contact he made," Blair said softly.

"Well, this is police work, Chief. We start with his credit and debit cards, looking for where he spent his money, and then we widen out to canvass the neighborhoods around his work, home and favorite play spots."

"That's a lot of businesses to cover, Jim." Simon stood up and retreated to his own desk and his computer.

"It's the best lead we've had so far."

"Yeah, but you still have the Edmundson murder and the park rapes. I'm going to ask Rafe to pitch in on the murder, but the rape victims still need you, Jim. They shouldn't have to describe what happened to another detective, and they don't deserve to have their case put on a back burner." Simon typed orders into the computer, and Jim nodded his own agreement.

"I'll canvass Wilfy's neighborhood tomorrow morning. By afternoon, the labs should be back on the latest rape victim, so I'll be back here for them before I start canvassing the park area."

"I have all day off tomorrow, so I can pitch in," Blair offered.

"Jim?" Simon asked, and Jim could practically read his captain's mind. Yeah, Jim didn't work with partners. He tended to get cranky any time another detective so much as touched one of his case files.

"It's going to be a long day of knocking on doors and getting them shut in our faces," Jim warned.

"Oh man, that's what anthropologists do for a living. I'm trained to listen, so if I can help out, be more of an active observer, I'm more than happy to," Blair nodded.

"It's alright with me," Jim shrugged as he considered having Blair for the day. After the shocks the man had endured, he really didn't want to leave him alone in the loft to obsess over Wilfy and his own near-death experience.

"They're your cases," Simon agreed, shaking his head in disbelief. Jim understood the man's confusion. Jim still wasn't sure how Blair had managed to creep in under his shields, but the aggravation he felt when people moved too close just never materialized.

"Come on, Chief. We need to finish up those reports and get home for a couple of hours sleep," Jim said as he stood up. Blair stood and smiled briefly at Gary.

"Nice to meet you."

"Same here, Blair. Anyone who can get the Ice Man to thaw some is a man worth knowing." Gary gave Blair a wink, and Jim knew the man was in shock when he just stood there without a response.

"Ice Man?" Blair finally asked, and Jim put a hand on his back, hurrying him toward the door. The last thing he needed was for the guys to start telling Blair stories. The kid had enough ammunition already.

"Ice Man?" Blair repeated as they were half way across the bull pen.

"Reports then bed," Jim ordered.

"Bed. Hell yeah, bed sounds great," Blair sighed.

Bubba/Buck, the night detective, looked up, frowning as he looked at Sandburg. Jim looked back, confused, before it occurred to him that Blair's comment--and Jim's hand on Blair's back--might be considered salacious. Well, it might be unless you'd seen Blair do salacious, and then you knew just how innocent that remark had been. Jim just smiled to himself as Blair headed to the computer, utterly unaware of the night detective still scowling at him from across the room.

FOURTEEN
***

Jim pushed open the door to the loft, breathing easier now that he had made it home. What a grade-A, class-one shitty day.

"Beer?" Jim asked as he headed for the refrigerator.

"Oh hell, yeah."

Jim grabbed two while the kid went for the couch, dropping down on it heavily. This morning, Jim had made him fold the bedding, had even stood over him frowning theatrically while Blair had called him anal-retentive, and now Jim was sorry. Blair didn't look like he had enough energy to lift a sheet. Jim opened both bottles and offered one; Blair took it without looking up.

"Want to catch some news?" Jim asked as he reached for the remote.

Blair shook his head. "I think I've reached my limit of senseless violence for the day."

"Hard damn day," Jim agreed as he sat next to Blair on the couch, drinking his beer. The silence that filled the room was comfortable, shared in a way that silences with Caro never were. Blair picked the edge of the beer bottle label and Jim stared at the blank wall, perfectly willing to just let himself mentally drift. The kitchen light made long shadows of their bodies, and the clock ticked just loudly enough to create a rhythm, as though the loft itself had a heartbeat. Jim let that lull him into a half-sleep where the stress of the day slipped away. He'd done what he could, and he wasn't arrogant enough to think he had any hope of controlling the rest.

"You heading right to bed then?" Jim finally asked. It wasn't fair to keep the kid up if he wanted to go to sleep, yet Jim was strangely reluctant to head to bed himself.

Blair shook his head. "I just need time to think this through, to process: light a candle, burn some incense, meditate, you know," Blair answered quietly before tipping the beer bottle so that he finished the last of it. Jim looked at his own half-full bottle and wondered when Sandburg had gotten so far ahead of him.

"That sounds more like the set up for seduction than thinking," Jim joked, offering Blair the perfect straight line. Blair glanced over, giving Jim a brief, wicked smile, so at least Jim knew that the mouthy sub was still in there somewhere.

"Nah, it just helps me..." Blair let his words trail off. The clock ticked. Jim took a deep breath and headed into waters he normally avoided.

"It's not your fault."

"Hey, I never said I thought it was," Blair blurted, entirely too quickly to be convincing. He might be able to obfuscate well, but he couldn't lie.

"You thought it loud enough," Jim pointed out dryly as he looked at the man. Blair wouldn't make eye contact, which just confirmed that Jim was right. "I thought it, too, at first," Jim admitted. "When someone dies, you spend all this time wondering what you could have done different, but life isn't like that. You do the right thing, and you hope that it works out the right way. When it doesn't, you have a beer, make peace with the fact that you aren't perfect and move on."

Blair silently listened. Jim flashed to Caro complaining that he wouldn't ever share his feelings about his cases. The woman would gouge out his eyes if she knew that he was sitting here with a man he'd known less than a month talking about his guilt over another man's death. She wanted his emotions, demanded them, but when he showed her his pain, she would cluck and coddle him as though he were broken, which would inevitably just drive him from the loft.

The day little Elena Haines’ father had shot her after Jim couldn't make the murder case for Mrs. Haines’ death stick... Jim remembered the pain and the fury he'd felt. He wanted to go shoot targets or get in a bar fight or drink himself into the bottom of a bottle or just sit in the dark, and Caro had been there, blocking every escape. She'd started with the sympathy that just made Jim retreat in cold fury, and then she'd turned that fury into a weapon against him. He wasn't willing to work with her. He didn't want to let her in.

"Have to move on," he repeated, not sure who he was really talking to.

Blair just nodded, either agreeing or just letting Jim know he'd heard. But the words didn't seem to shake anything loose; Blair still sat and stared into the dark. He balanced his beer bottle on his knee, bouncing it slightly as though it were a baby that needed burping.

"It's just weird. One minute he's there and looking totally freaked, and I'm really getting furious because I pretty much figured he'd done something stupid, and the next..." Blair waved a hand vaguely, but Jim knew exactly what he meant. The next minute Wilfy lay on the street with brains lay scattered across the road and his arm bent unnaturally. He'd give a lot to spare Blair even the fleeting glimpse he'd gotten.

"Life's like that," Jim agreed. One minute you were alive—the next, you were dead. One minute you were a respected soldier—the next, your country abandoned you to die in some jungle. One minute you were straight and wondering what happened to your marriage—the next, you wanted to take a hippy-boy to bed. Yeah, life was strange.

"Between the business of life and the day of death, a space ought to be interposed," Blair said in one more turn of conversation that didn't make a whole lot of sense to Jim, so he just sat in silence.

"George Herbert, the guy who wrote 'The Quip'," Blair finally explained.

"Ah yes, that George Herbert." Jim nodded knowingly as he took another drink of beer.

"Not a clue, huh?"

"Nope."

"The merry world did on a day, with his train-bands and mates agree to meet together, where I lay, and all in sport to jeer at me." From the rhythm of the words, Jim got that Blair was quoting something, but it sure didn't sound familiar. Then again, Jim was quickly becoming used to not knowing what the hell Blair was saying.

"Don't pray when it rains if you don't pray when the sun shines. Leroy Satchel Paige." Jim toasted the dark, lifting his bottle toward the ceiling before he took a drink.

"The pitcher?" Blair asked, and Jim looked over in surprise.

"You know sports too?"

"Oh man, I love baseball.... and basketball. I play a mean game of hoops."

Jim looked at Blair appraisingly as though considering his athletic potential. "I would have pegged you more for curling," he finally pronounced.

"Har-har. I hate the cold." Blair mock shivered, and then the silence was back, settling over them.

"Herbert's right, you know. I need to make space here, deal with this," Blair eventually sighed.

"Just don't start blaming yourself," Jim warned. "Life's about choices. I chose to be a cop and try to protect the city. You chose to get involved in a dangerous situation because you thought it was the right thing to do. Wilfy chose to give your name to the gay-bashers."

"He did not *choose* that," Blair insisted angrily.

"Not intentionally," Jim admitted. "But he did. And when he figured out that he might have been the source of those rumors, he chose to run rather than face you and admit that he screwed up and nearly cost you your life."

"Instead, it cost him his." Blair's head fell back against the couch, his neck arching so that Jim could see the Adam's apple in silhouette as it bobbed.

"His decision, Chief. He chose to run; he chose to go dodging through traffic instead of taking some back alley."

"He didn't choose to get hit by a car."

"No, he didn't," Jim agreed as he leaned back himself so that his body mimicked Blair's. "That was the accidental part."

"My head gets this, you know?" Blair asked helplessly.

"Yeah, I do, Darwin," Jim agreed. The head and the heart weren't always on the same page, especially in situations like this. He remembered the first time he'd known his gun had taken down an enemy soldier. The other guys in the unit had congratulated him, offering him beers now that he was officially blooded, and Jim had stood in the middle of the celebration, sickened. Of course, later he had congratulated the younger ones who joined the ranks of the disillusioned, but somehow he didn't think Blair needed that. He waited as the clock ticked off the time, but Blair didn't move.

"Do you want me to go upstairs?" he finally asked. Blair rolled his head so that he looked at Jim.

"You don't have to."

"Good, not done with my beer yet," Jim said as he held up the nearly-empty bottle. It wasn't a particularly good excuse to sit on the couch, but at least Sandburg didn't challenge it. Jim watched while Blair sighed and finally sat up. He pulled his backpack out from under the coffee table, rooting around in it.

"Shit. No candles."

"Cupboard under the sink," Jim offered. Blair got up. "And put a plate under it. I don't need candle wax on shit," Jim said as he heard the cupboard door bang shut. Blair came back with a white candle and emergency matches in one hand, and a plate in the other. Jim watched. Somehow, this seemed like such a private ceremony that he didn't even complain when Blair pulled out a small cone of incense, the kind that made an entire room smell of smoke and ash.

Quickly, Blair set the plate on the coffee table, lighting the candle before putting it in the middle and then touching the incense to the flame so that smoke curled up. He put it on the plate next to the candle and it slowly turned to white ash one millimeter at a time, giving off the scent of sandalwood and spice and smoke.

Nodding at that, Blair silently pulled a CD out of his backpack and headed for the player. Jim shifted on the couch, putting himself closer to the middle as Blair adjusted the volume so that the speakers faintly thrumped with tribal drums. If Jim closed his eyes, he could imagine a tribe far in the distance, the drums marking some grand ceremony or wedding.

Jim just drank his beer slowly, watching as Blair pushed the coffee table out some, making the candle flame dance and weave before he put a pillow in front of the couch. He dropped down and sat cross-legged not more than two inches from Jim's leg as he stared at the candle.

"Calm," Blair said softly, his voice little more than a whisper. "Calm control." Jim let his eyes drift closed as he listened to the beating drums. "The universe is; I am calm."

The words took on the cadence of a chant, echoing the beat of the music, and the scent intensified until Jim could feel his nose twitch at the smoky perfume. "The universe is; I am calm. The universe is; I am calm." Blair fell silent, a soft humming coming from him now, and Jim caught a flash of memory. A face. Red paint. Strange words.

"The universe is; I am calm," Blair whispered, chasing the dream man away so that Jim could see Blair's face even without opening his eyes. Opening his legs wider, Jim could feel the heat of Blair's body as he pressed his leg against Blair's side.

"I'm not fucking calm, but I'm trying to get there because the universe still just is," Blair said in the same lulling rhythm, and Jim's eyes popped open as he looked down at Blair. Blair still focused on the candle, his hands palm-up on his crossed knees as he fell into that soft hum again. Jim shook his head. The kid did things his own way, that's for sure.

"Calm," Blair muttered, and Jim let himself just drift. When the beer bottle started to slip from his hand, he set it on the floor and then sank back into the cushions, the heat from Blair warming his leg. Shit, he was tired. Jim let himself listen to Blair's wordless hum.

The lights seem to dim and Blair's voice didn't get louder but it got much more... well... there. It was as if his voice wrapped around Jim, blanketing him from the world, and Jim let himself float in that quiet space created by Blair's wordless hum.

"The universe is," Blair whispered. Jim slipped into that voice and disappeared.

FIFTEEN
***

Jim usually woke with a start, sleeping and waking separated by a sharp moment of surprise as the sounds of the city and the light from the skylight startled him out of some dream. This morning, Jim felt himself float slowly in that half-life between sleeping and waking. He had to piss, and something was rough under his cheek, but he couldn't wake up enough to truly care about either.

The morning light glowed blue and, for a second, Jim struggled to figure out why the angles were all wrong. Living room. He shifted a bit, and his fingers brushed against something. Blinking sleep slowly from his eyes, he squinted down to find Blair curled on the floor beside him, his hair fanned over a pillow and only his closed eyes appearing over the edge of the blanket.

Shit. Jim felt a stab of guilt that he'd gone and fallen asleep on the couch, but then the stubborn little shit could have just slept in Jim's bed or woken him up. He didn't have to sleep on the floor.

Jim's fingers reached out and brushed curls back from Blair's face. Morning stubble rasped against Jim's thumb as he traced Sandburg's strong jaw. The man wasn't feminine at all with his square face and prominent Adam's apple, and yet Jim would describe him as beautiful. He pulled the blanket down to the shoulder so he could see more of Blair. For a moment, Blair shifted in his sleep, and then he stilled again.

In sleep, Blair had a peacefulness he never had in life, but Jim imagined that the young man could find it in subbing. Tied to a bed so that his muscles stretched tightly, he wouldn't have to focus that energy that seemed to pour off Blair in erratic waves. Forced to his knees, he wouldn't feel the need to come back with the sharp retort.

Picking up a curl, Jim let his fingers slide through the strands. He truly was a beautiful man. In the army, Jim had known plenty of men who had experimented with each other in the dark behind the barracks. One lieutenant with grey eyes had even tempted Jim once, going to his knees and sucking Jim's cock while Jim clung to a chain-link fence to keep his balance. Even though Jim had enjoyed the attention, he'd never even tried to find the man again. It happened. Jim enjoyed it. The end.

But now, stroking Blair's hair, Jim realized that not even the one-month ride along would be the end here, not if he had anything to say about it. Hell, even before the kid had called him with that tip, he had taken out the slip of paper with Blair’s information and had fingered it until the edges wore soft. Now, seeing Blair curled up at his side, Jim didn't know if he could walk away.

Jim let his fingers trail down Blair's neck. So strong. So strong and yet so lost, Jim realized. He'd switched his dissertation topic on a whim. He'd thrown a few things in a backpack the night of the attack and yet he'd shown no interest in going back to his apartment. School, home, work... things that gave other people roots just didn't hold Blair.

Jim groaned as he thought of Blair under him, writhing, begging, desperate. Jim would be more than willing to give the kid the anchor he seemed to lack. Jim smiled as he thought of Blair as the puppy bounding from one interesting smell to the next. Yeah, the kid fit the bill. But Jim couldn't resist putting himself in that picture, holding the leash, pulling the puppy back when it got too excited. Caro might have enjoyed playing that game from time to time, but when she'd felt the leash actually pull tight, she'd cut the game off quickly enough. Jim suspected Blair wouldn't react the same way.

Hell, the kid was doing everything he could to get Jim's dominant side to come out to play, and Jim recognized that, too. But even knowing that Blair was trying to push his buttons, Jim couldn't feel anything other than amusement. Everything the kid did... the teasing, the energy, the hidden pain and need for something more... called to Jim like a siren. Of course, if he let down his control right now, if he did what he wanted and pinned Blair to the ground, he'd destroy his case and his career as quickly as the sirens destroyed the men who heard them. So, control. Jim looked down at the man who, even asleep, challenged his ability to keep his own dominance in check. Right now, curled on the floor beside Jim, the man was a greater temptation than ever.

With one more stroke of a knuckle down that exposed throat, Jim forced himself to push off the blanket Blair must have thrown over him. He had a job to do, and right now doing that job meant getting away from Sandburg and taking care of his morning business.

The resolve to ignore his desire lasted until the shower. Standing under the beat of the warm water, Jim imagined he could feel each drop of water as it slid down his body, tangling in the hairs of his body and teasing his skin to life. Jim groaned and let his eyes fall shut as he wallowed in the fantasy of Blair slipping into the room, his eyes mischievous as he slid out of his clothing.

Jim's hand slowly worked the washcloth down over his chest and to his abs where the soap made his skin tingle and warm. Dropping the cloth, Jim let his fingers run over his slicked body while the water drummed against his back. Shit. The thought of Blair slipping in behind him made his cock swell as his fingers brushed the coarse hair surrounding it.

Jim let his fingers dip lower, brushing the shaft of his cock, and now the fantasy shifted. Blair slid to his knees, his hands brushing Jim's body, one resting on Jim's hip for balance as he lowered himself to the floor of the shower. Looking up from under his lashes with that look that promised submission and devilry at the same time, Blair would reach out and run a single finger over Jim's cock reverently. Jim imagined seeing Blair's own cock, hard and aching. Not having to guess if Blair really wanted it or if he was trying to humor Jim. No, the man's desire would hang heavy between his legs as he slid forward.

"Please," he would whisper, his eyes sliding down Jim's body until they found Jim's hard cock and remained there. "Please." Jim would put a hand on Blair's head and stroke the hair. The curls would be just damp since Jim's body blocked most of the water, and Blair would look up for permission. Jim nodded to his dream Blair, who took Jim's cock in his mouth.

Grabbing his cock, Jim struggled not to come. He wanted this fantasy to last long enough to dull the sharp edge of need he could feel every time Blair stood too close. His cock throbbed, and Jim held on mercilessly, squeezing the base to force the orgasm back painfully. His fantasy-Blair ran hands up Jim's thighs and begged prettily. Licking his lips, he pleaded with Jim to let him finish this. Jim couldn't resist the expression and he loosened his hold. Turning so that he faced the spray, Jim imagined the warm water was Blair moving closer, teasing with a wicked smile right before swallowing Jim.

Jim pulled on his cock twice and came. Weeks of denial exploded, and Jim grabbed at the handrail as his knees trembled. Panting, Jim slowly reassembled the pieces of his self control, grabbing the shampoo and finishing his shower.

Jim came out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam, and Blair was leaning against the wall, scrubbing his face with a hand and yawning. Jim still wanted him.

"Hey, you leave any hot water?" he asked as he drifted closer to the open door, his eyes not really open.

"A cold shower will wake you up," Jim answered. He doubted he'd left much.

"Is that what you took? A cold shower?" Blair asked, and as he passed Jim, he sent his shoulder into Jim's, a little friendly bump that you might see on the basketball court between two guys, but Jim could feel his desire rise like a Phoenix from the ashes of his orgasm.

"You think I need a cold shower?"

"Oh man, if you don't, I'm not working it hard enough," Blair said, the teasing not quite as sharp as yesterday, but definitely back.

"Chief, we're partners."

"Oh yeah," Blair agreed with a wiggle.

"Work partners," Jim corrected himself. "We have a case to work on, unless you've changed your mind about helping."

"No way," Blair quickly said, the sleep vanishing from his eyes as he looked up at Jim. "But does this mean that we've now postponed this thing," Blair waved his hand between them, "until after the ride along is over? Oh man, that totally sucks."

Jim agreed. Unfortunately, the truth was even worse. "Blair, when we take these guys to trial, the defense lawyer is going to ask why I had a lead witness staying at my house."

"Because you're a bully who threatened to throw me in jail if I slept on the streets," Blair quickly answered with a smile. Jim shook his head.

"Yeah, but I wouldn't call that being a bully, Sandburg. I didn't exactly steal your lunch money. But he's going to ask what our relationship was and he'll ask what it is as of that point."

"Oh fuck," Blair breathed, and he fell back against the wall with a thump. "No, no, no, no, no. Listen, I am not good with self-denial."

"Chief, until the last conviction comes in, we are co-workers and friends."

"As in *just* friends," Blair groaned. "So, how fast can you guys get those convictions?"

"Gary's good... the best. Maybe four months," Jim said thoughtfully. Blair thumped his head against the wall several times.

"I'm going to be dead of frustration by then," Blair said to the ceiling, keeping his eyes focused up there so that Jim couldn't see the emotion behind them. "Man, there isn't enough cold water in the world. Just tell me that I'm imagining this whole connection we have, and I'll go out and get myself some therapy and a big, buff client with a penchant for bullying."

Jim tightened his jaw, fear and anger rising up: fear that the kid would go find someone else, and anger at the idea of someone else touching Blair, tying him down and feeling him writhe helplessly. Not going to happen.

"I mean, it wouldn't be easy after you staked your claim on me in those bars. God knows none of the tops in those places would touch me after you did your pre-civilized growl of 'mine' over me, but what are we doing here?" Blair sounded emotionless, the teasing of earlier gone, and Jim recognized the confusion.

Reaching out, he pulled Blair to him, holding him tight and letting his chin rest on the top of Blair's head. At first, Blair stood tense in his arms, his muscles shaking slightly, but as Jim just held on, Blair slowly sagged into the embrace, his own hands coming up to Jim's waist.

"This case is really fucking us up, huh?" Blair asked, his words muffled by Jim's chest.

"Yeah, Chief, it is. I can't let these guys walk, but I don't want you to walk away."

"And you don't want me to go somewhere else," Blair added softly.

Jim hesitated. "I don't have a right to tell you what to do, not now," Jim said softly. "Just not around me, okay, Junior?"

"Yeah, and when exactly am I not around you?" Blair asked as he poked Jim in the stomach. Jim dreaded the answer. As soon as these guys were behind bars, Blair would go back to his apartment[,] and Jim would sit home, wondering whether Blair had a client, or even worse, a lover that night. Months of legal wrangling and pre-trial hearings would give Blair a chance to go back to his old life.

Blair started squirming, and Jim let him go.

"Man, I have to piss. And your floor is none too comfortable. You could get carpeting, you know," he complained as he headed for the bathroom.

"You didn't have to sleep on the floor."

"Yeah, like I could shift your ass. You were out to the world, man. I couldn't get you to do more than grunt."

"That still didn't mean you had to sleep on the floor," Jim pointed out. Blair hesitated just inside the bathroom door.

"I just didn't want to be alone, you know?" he asked without turning around. Then he closed the door.

Jim headed for the kitchen. He just needed to focus on making breakfast and not on the way he could still feel the warmth in his body from where they'd touched. Fuck. What the hell was wrong with him? A ghost touch still shimmered across his skin as he searched the kitchen for something edible.

SIXTEEN
***
"Here's the list," Jim said as he handed over Wilfy's bank records, the businesses highlighted in yellow. The truck took a pothole larger than most and papers started slipping from his hand, but Blair grabbed quickly enough to make the save. "When we go around these places, don't mention that we're looking for the gay-bashers. Make up something creative; you should be good at that."

"Man, that's manipulative," Blair complained.

"Look who's complaining about manipulation," Jim pointed out dryly.

"Hey, I manipulate for the greater good. The light side of the force, you know? Have to keep you anal-retentive types from dying from stick-up-your-butt-itis. But police manipulation is a whole different game."

"I'm not the one who has stuff up his butt," Jim said with a straight face. For a second, he only got silence from the passenger side seat, and Jim basked in the success of being the one to throw Sandburg for a loop--for once.

"I happen to love having my ass stuffed, but at least I don't have a stick that's filed for permanent citizenship up there," Blair eventually recovered enough to shoot back.

"But you'd like to." Jim smiled as he turned the corner.

"And here I thought you had something more interesting than a stick to offer," Blair said in exaggerated disappointment. "But maybe you just think I'd be happier with a stick."

"All good little puppies need a stick to be happy. If I have to share you with a stick, I can live with that."

Blair sucked in a breath and Jim glanced over, catching Blair mid-blush. The young man turned to the window where he watched the passing traffic, his hair hiding his face.

"Man, I'm thinking we shouldn't start something we can't finish. So, back on the subject of you unfairly manipulating people—"

Jim forced his thoughts back to the case. God, they had just agreed to keep hands off. Hell, he'd demanded it, and here he was baiting Blair. Jim silently cursed himself and focused on Blair's complaints about procedure. "Sometimes manipulation is the only way to deal with people," Jim explained. He was proud of himself for NOT pointing out that he and Blair had spent much of their time together trying to manipulate each other.

"You are, like, *way* too cynical," Blair declared.

"Just realistic."

"Maybe if your reality was some dark dystopian world with a society crumbling into chaos." Blair still watched the traffic, and the banter had lost the sharp edge, but at least Jim could focus on it and not the increasing frustration of working next to Blair without touching him.

"I live in this reality. The fact is that no one wants to think of their neighbor, their co-worker or their brother as a criminal. If we say this is the gay-basher, people aren't going to be able to see little brother Johnny in the composite drawing," Jim pointed out.

"Oh," Blair said softly. "Okay, I might be able to get that, but I'm still not okay with the bigger picture of manipulation."

"This coming from the man who changed his dissertation and wormed his way into my case."

"That was not manipulation. That was more... obfuscation."

"Ob-- What?" Jim pulled into the parking lot of the store where Wilfy had spent most of his money on cigarettes and Pepsi.

"Obfuscation… muddying the waters a bit, confusing things."

"Well, consider this muddying the water," Jim said as he tapped the composite drawing of the suspect. "In fact, the muddier the better. If he's a potential witness, people might just see the kid next door.”

"Man, I know that people have different 'faces'-- I totally know that since I don't exactly pull out the puppy gear on campus-- but I have trouble thinking of these guys as beating someone to death and then going home to a roast beef dinner with mom and dad."

"Priests, teachers, soccer moms--I've seen them all go bad," Jim said.

"Am I going to have any idealism left by the time I've done a month with you?" Blair asked plaintively.

Jim didn't answer as he got out of the truck, but he sure hoped so. He liked Blair enthusiastic and idealistic and very much like the puppy running from one new thing to the next.

"I'm going to find the manager," Jim said as he headed into the store. "Wait here and if you see someone who looks older than 16, hang on to them," Jim said as he looked around the store. As always, the lights were almost unbearably bright, threatening to give him a headache as they glared down. Tired women stood in line, a baby screamed somewhere in the store, and cashiers who looked like extras from Peter Pan flung food down the cashier islands toward pimply-faced baggers. Only one cashier looked old enough to drive, and she was ancient, her wrinkles clinging to her skin like folds of extra cloth draped around her neck.

Jim headed toward the customer service desk, looking for anyone with a tie. Ignoring the two people in line, he flashed his badge at the young woman behind the counter. The girl had been frowning, clearly about to give Jim a piece of her mind about cutting in line, but the badge made her shut her mouth with an audible click.

"I'm looking for the manager." Jim tilted his badge so that the customer next to him could see it before she sicced her two year old on him.

"He's not... I mean, we just have the assistant here. I could get the assistant," the girl said nervously as she picked up the phone next to her register.

"Please do," Jim encouraged her.

"Right, I can do that," she repeated before she spoke into the phone, paging the assistant manager to the front. "I'm sure he'll be right here," she said apologetically, as though her failure to make the manager instantly appear would somehow anger Jim. He just smiled at her.

"I'll just wait; you can help these people," Jim finally prompted her. She didn't move for a second, caught somewhere between apprehension and curiosity, and then she turned to the next lady in line.

Jim turned back toward Blair. The man was chatting with a long-haired bagger while a cashier bagged her customer's groceries and glared murder at the two of them. He pulled out the composite drawing and as he talked, his hand gestured enthusiastically. Jim wondered what obfuscation Blair was using, but the bagger nodded knowingly. Kid might not be so bad to have around.

Jim moved to the wall, leaning against it as he watched Blair thank the guy and turn to someone else. Blair wore that same wide smile, his hands dancing in the air as he turned to the next guy, this one a customer. Blair didn't do as well with him, barely spending even a few seconds talking before the guy blew him off.

The third guy seemed willing to listen to Blair, but Blair quickly backed away, holding his hand out palm up as he shook his head. The guy turned away, and Blair desperately started pointing, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet as he jabbed his finger toward the bagger he'd just blown off.

Before Jim's brain could process Blair's sudden fit, the kid turned around and spotted Blair's wild antics. He froze for a millisecond, and then took off running for the door.

"HEY!" one of the cashiers yelled.

"That's him. Man, that's his voice. That's him," Blair cried out desperately, but Jim had already figured that part out. He ran out of the store, pushing a woman aside as he crashed out the door. Ignoring her curses, he sprinted after the disappearing blue shirt just turning the corner.

Jim took the corner so fast that he slammed into a blue dumpster parked just inside the alley. The force made him stumble and hands found his back, helping him catch his balance before he charged down the alley, slipping on the layer of slime that had grown between the grocery store and the restaurant next door.

The kid was already out of sight, but Jim clambered over the chain link fence that separated the alley from the side street. Sitting on the top, he looked first in one direction and then the other as he struggled to find any glimpse of the boy. Nothing.

"Shit," Jim breathed.

"No sign?"

Jim glanced down to see Blair looking up at him. "Nothing at all?" he asked again when Jim just sat there.

Okay, he was fairly sure he'd covered the whole don't get in the middle of trouble thing with the kid, Jim thought, and chasing a perp was trouble. Then again, Blair didn't seem to have a good sense for trouble, the way he kept stumbling into it.

"He's gone," Jim said as he dropped back to the ground. There were too many doors to try them all. "We'll go back and see if we can't get a name on him. And you are not to go chasing suspects."

"I wasn't. I was chasing you," Blair said without a hint of humor.

"Chief."

"I was totally behind you, and I'm betting that you're a safe person to be behind, so I was safe. But I can't believe I tipped him off like that."

"How did you recognize him?" Jim asked, wondering that for the first time. Usually he was a little more skeptical of witness statements, but he had charged after the boy without doubting that he was the gay-basher, not even in his own mind.

"The voice. Oh man, I would know that voice anywhere."

"Good job, Chief."

"Good job," Blair snorted, obviously not believing it. "Oh man, I can't believe I did that."

"You were just startled, Chief. Don't beat yourself up about it."

"But, I warned him. Man, I can't believe I did that."

"Chief," Jim said sharply, and Blair looked up at him, guilt written all over his face. The expression made Jim stop mid-stride. "Chief, you reacted the way anyone would have. You heard the man who attacked you, and you had an emotional reaction."

"But now he's—" Blair waved toward the apartments where the kid had disappeared.

"Yeah, but now we have a good idea who we're looking for, we can get a name. But Blair, next time, just put an elbow in my ribs or something." Jim reached over and ruffled Blair's hair, tangling his fingers in the curls until Blair back-pedalled, his hands pushing at Jim's arms in self defense.

"Hey, do you have any idea how hard it is to get knots out of this hair?!" Blair complained as he playfully struck out at Jim's stomach. Jim took the hit with an oomph as he started for the store again. Life was starting to look good again. Behind him, Blair grumbled, and Jim smiled as he headed for the manager's office.

Ten minutes later, Jim came back out of the office with a grin, his phone already out as he dialed Simon's office.

"Got a name, Chief," Jim offered. Blair leaned against one of the cashier's islands, smiling as he focused on a waif-faced girl who blushed and watched Blair out of the corner of her eye. Jim felt his jealousy rear up, and he gripped his phone hard enough that he could feel the hard edge dig into his fingers.

"Hey, Jim, this is Amanda," Blair said as he turned to face Jim. For a second, his smile faltered and he fell silent.

Cursing himself, Jim forced his face into a smile as he turned his gaze to Amanda. Her earlier flirty expression had disappeared and instead she looked at him with wide eyes and a weak smile.

"Hey," she said softly.

"Nice to meet you," Jim said in his most controlled voice. "Chief, we have a name, so we need to leave."

"Oh man, yeah. Carl Holt."

Jim just blinked.

"He's a freak." Amanda nodded as she focused on Blair. "Him and Dan and Terry are these total freaks."

"Dan and Terry?" Jim stepped forward, and Amanda's eyes flitted back toward him.

"Dan Swanson and Terry Selmer. They do the whole Goth thing, but most Goths are usually pretty open about alternative lifestyles, if you know what I mean. Those three are always doggin' on these guys at school who hang out together. They're just mean."

"Cascade High?" Jim asked.

"Yeah, Juniors. Terry should be a senior, but he keeps failing classes."

"Thanks, Amanda, I really appreciate all your help." Blair smiled at her, and instantly the nervousness she'd shown with Jim disappeared as she flushed and ducked her head.

"No problem."

"Maybe not, but you're incredibly sweet for spending so much time with me. Are you going to get in trouble, you know, for not checking more people?"

"Nah, my supervisor is pretty cool, and I'll just tell her that I was helping the police."

"You did, you totally helped," Blair agreed. Jim put his hand on Blair's shoulder before the man accidentally over-charmed the girl and ended up the Pied Piper with a teenager trotting after him. Jim was fairly sure the girl was way too young for Sandburg, and even if she wasn't, Jim was completely sure he didn't want anyone chasing Sandburg's ass.

"If you need anything else—"

"We'll call. Thanks, Amanda, and I hope you do okay on that math test." Blair turned to Jim with a wide smile and Jim nodded to Amanda, who totally ignored him before switching the light on over her register.

"Good job, Chief," Jim said as he slipped his free hand to Blair's back. The smile Blair gave him made Jim's other hand freeze on the phone and he lost Simon's phone number as his brain detoured.

"Thanks. I just thought that maybe I could help," Blair said, a little bounce back in his step, and Jim shook his head as he freed his brain from Blair lust and dialed Simon.

Blair waited until Jim was off the phone and they were nearly back to the truck before he continued. "I'm all kinds of helpful."

"Yeah, Chief, I know," Jim said, not catching the playful tone at first.

"Fetch the paper, keep feet warm, and I do a great job treating frustration."

Jim fumbled his truck keys. Oh, he could imagine just how helpful Blair could be.

"I can't believe how exciting this is. I mean, we're really going to stop these guys. Do you know there's a huge link between adrenaline and sexual attraction?"

"You don't say," Jim said dryly. Personally, adrenaline had never affected him that way… at least not before.

"So, what's up now?" Blair asked as Jim opened the truck door.

"Now we go sit outside Carl Holt's house until Simon shows up with a search warrant. He's sending teams to the other two houses, so we'll have them covered."

"Oh man, we so have them nailed," Blair said triumphantly. Jim walked around the front of the truck. As good as it felt to nail these three, he just wished he could nail one other man hard enough to make him forget everyone else. A little part of Jim whispered horrible little truths. After today, Blair would go back to his apartment. He'd go back to his old life, and when he didn't need Jim's protection any more, he'd slowly forget the weird connection that pulled them together.

Connection. Jim felt the connection, but for all he knew, the kid was just getting horny. After all, he doubted Blair had ever gone this long without sex, at least since he'd perfected that pout of his, and he sure didn't expect him to wait four months until this whole mess went to trial.

Return to Test Index

Return to Graphics Index

Send Feedback