Title: JUST REMEMBER I LOVE YOU
Author/pseudonym: Candy Apple
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: J/B

Status: Complete
Date: 4/25/99
Archive email address: blair_lady@yahoo.com
Series/Sequel: Yes, Sequel to "Shadows of the Past"
Category: Drama
Series: These Two Hearts

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

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

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

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



JUST REMEMBER I LOVE YOU

by 

Candy Apple

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "It's your turn to cook."

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

     "How about that new chicken place?"

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

     "Great."

     "Everything okay?"

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

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

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

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

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

     "Happens when you take out the mortgage together."

     "Ah."  Blair nodded.

     "Something's wrong."

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "Yeah, I will.  Hey."

     "What?"

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

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

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

     "Let me know if anything else happens."

     "I will."

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

********

     The shower was a more than welcome end to a long, miserable
day of yard work.  Blair was, however, fairly pleased with himself for
sticking with it until all the rosebushes were planted.  Though they were
all just leafy and a bit scrawny at the moment, he hoped that in another
month or two, the garden would boast at least a few flowers here and
there.    
     
     Flushing off the sweat and grime of the afternoon, he closed his
eyes and moved directly under the spray.  He lurched back with a yelp
as the water turned ice cold, turning the feeling of refreshment into an
unwelcome chill to warm skin.  

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

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

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

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

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

     "What happened with the water?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "Yeah, that's true."

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

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

     "Hey, Chief?"

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

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

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

********

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

     "Hello?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "Did it come in on your line?"

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

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

     "I'll think of something."

     "Got anything on under that robe?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "Well, the word does sort of spread."

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

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

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

     "How's she feeling?"

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

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

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

********

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

     "Feels good," Blair said softly.

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

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

     "Feeling better, baby?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "I do my best," Blair retorted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "That's a good thing?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "Like what, honey?  Tell me?"

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

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

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

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

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

     "I know.  It's Wa--"

     "Don't say his name."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "Too much of a good thing, huh?"

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

     "Jim--listen."

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "No wind."

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "Nothing like that."

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

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

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

     "Just like earlier."

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

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

     "I wish I knew."

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

     "You're convinced it's Michael?"

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

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

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

     "Part of the Shaman package, Chief."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "The time he hurt you the worst."

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "What?"

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

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

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

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

********

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

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

     "It's windy outside."

     "So?"

     "Don't you notice anything unusual?"

     "No."

     "No windchimes."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "I'm coming too."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "What do you think's happening?"

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

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

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

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

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

     "I kinda figured that too."

     "Good.  Say goodnight, Blair."

     "Goodnight, Blair."

********

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

     "Hello?"

     "Kelli?"

     "Yes?"

     "Hi, it's Blair Sandburg."

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

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

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

     "Actually, I called to talk to you."

     "Me?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "He told you."

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

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

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

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

     "Great.  Give her my love, huh?"

     "Sure thing.  Take care, Kelli."

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

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

     "What's up?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "I'll be there."

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

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

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

     "Yeah, later."

********

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

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

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

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

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

     "I thought someone was out here."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "Mae, things are happening again."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "Go to him, Blair.  Go now."

     "What?  What's wrong?"

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "Where?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "You wait here.  Don't move."

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

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

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

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

     "Thank God no one was hurt inside."

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

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

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

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

     "Vaguely."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "I would have saved your life."

     "You might have been killed."  

     "Better me than you."

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

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

     "Like what?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "But you said it was a dream."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "Are you family?"  she asked.

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

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

     "Do you know about what time?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "How did she die?"  Blair asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

********

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

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

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

     "What about the restraining order?"

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

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

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

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

     "I suppose," she said, looking confused.

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

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

     "Wendy--may I call you that?"

     "Of course."

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

     "I know that."

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

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

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

     "He's my husband."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "How long do you think?"

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

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

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

     "I'll think about it."

     "Don't think too long, please?"

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

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

     "Yes."

     "You can reach me at the same number."

     "You two live together?"

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

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

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

     "All right."

     "All right?"

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

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

********

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "And then what?"

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

     "Did you sit down at all?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "You think Wendy'll be all right?"

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

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

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

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

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

     "Yeah, I'd like that."

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

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

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

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

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

     "Deal."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "Yeah, I liked that pretty well too."

     "Think we better move?"

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

     "Okay?"  Jim asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "I love you."

     "I love you too."

********

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

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

     "What happened?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "How would he know about the warrant?"

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

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

     "Let's just stay calm."

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

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

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

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

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

     "No arguments, sweetheart."

     "What if--"

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

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

     "Wait here."

     "Jim--"

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

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

     "Dammit.  Paramedics are with her?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "Maybe not."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "I might as well have."

     "Did you?"

     "Jim, don't patronize me."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     Without further comment, the other man left the room.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "Make him get some rest."

     "I will."  

********

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

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

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

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

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

     "But she's dead, Jim."

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

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

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

     "But I pushed her."

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

     "Not if someone had been there!"

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

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

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

     "No."

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

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

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

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

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

     "How about you?"

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

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

     "Your heartbeat, dummy."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

********

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

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

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

     "Or microwaved."

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

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

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

     "Once the funeral process gets underway, they'll probably be
pretty tied up."
     
     "Maybe we can just have them come over tonight."

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

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

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

     "Where 'out back'?"

     "*Way* out back."

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

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

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

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

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

     "It's okay, Chief."

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

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

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

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

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

     "Blair, look at me."

     "How come you never get mad at me?"

     "I get mad at you."

     "You almost never yell."

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

     "Well, yeah."

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

     "Habit?"

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

     "I'm not that freaked out now."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "What about the Evans house?"

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

     "We know who killed her."

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

     "I'll behave myself."

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "He was playing a *trick*?"

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

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

     "How else do you explain it?"

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

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

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

********

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

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

     "What doorbell?"

     "We have company coming, remember?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     Dearest Blair,
          Still thinking of you...  See you soon.
                         Love, Vince

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

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

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

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

     "You what?"

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

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

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

     "Who would know about it though?"

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

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

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

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

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

     "What does the note say?"

     "I thought you read it."

     "I never picked the thing up, Jim."

     "It's signed from Vince."

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

     "Basically."

     "Jim."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "You didn't cut yourself?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "Not so great."

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "I learned from the best, Chief."  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     "Dreams are weird that way sometimes."  

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

     "You want some water or anything?"

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

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

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

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

     "Yeah, I hope so."

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

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

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

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

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

     "*Peach tart*?"  

     "That's right, sugar lips."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

********