Title: The Secret Life of J.J. Rush 
Author/pseudonym: Candy Apple 
Rating: NC-17 
Pairings: J/B

Status: NEW, complete
Series/Sequel: Part Seven of The Diary Series

Disclaimers: Pet Fly owns the guys and The Sentinel.  No money being
made.  

Notes: I felt this story would be most powerful taking place in The
Diary Series universe.  I realize the theme may be one some readers
don't care for or wish to skip over.  Rest assured, if you aren't
comfortable with this theme or this story, it won't interfere with future
installments in this series to the extent that you can't enjoy those
without reading this one.

Song lyrics are taken from (in order of appearance): "Wish You Were
Here", by Blackmore's Night, from the album "Shadow of the Moon"; 
"The Gift", by Jim Brickman with Susan Ashton and Collin Raye, from
Brickman's album, "The Gift"; "Timeless Love" by Saraya, from the
soundtrack to the movie "Shocker"; and "Never Thought That I Could
Love", by Dan Hill.

Thanks to my superb beta reader, Em Brunson.  You're a peach, Em! 

Summary: Jim's dangerous undercover assignment ends in disaster, and
both Jim and Blair struggle to cope with the aftermath and rebuild their
life together.

Warnings: Rape, violence, language and explicit m/m.  If you've read
my stories before, you know I don't enjoy gratuitous, graphic violence. 
I've done my best to handle the subject as tastefully as possible.

I'll also issue my standard romance, love name and smarm warning. :-)



THE SECRET LIFE OF J.J. RUSH

by 

Candy Apple

*********
//I wish you were here,
Don't you know the snow is getting colder,
And I miss you like hell,
And I'm feeling blue...

I miss your laugh, I miss your smile
I miss everything about you,
Every second's like a minute,
Every minute like a day,
When you're far away...//
*********

     He wasn't sure what to focus on--the pain/pleasure of his
throbbing shaft rubbing against the bed or the steady strokes to his
prostate that were dragging shameless cries of ecstasy from the pit of
his throat.  Or maybe the relief of not having to look at the raw pain in
Blair's eyes for just this few moments while they made love.

     Jim felt the wave of his orgasm rushing over him, and he knew
the contractions of his body would push Blair over the edge to join
him.  A sudden increase in the pace of the strokes told him he was
right, and soon their cries were mingling as Blair filled his lover with
his seed.

     Sweaty and boneless, Blair lay plastered to Jim's back, keeping
them joined.

     "I don't want to move," he whispered in the darkness, his breath
coming out in hot puffs against Jim's damp back.

     "Stay where you are, baby."  Jim tried to catalog every sensation
of Blair once again--his scents, the textures of his hair and skin, the
pattern of his breathing and heartbeat as he cooled down after making
love...and the sound of his tears.  "Blair...please..."  Jim hadn't meant
for it to come out exasperated, but it did nonetheless.  

     This would be their last night together for possibly a few weeks,
or maybe a few months.  Jim was going into deep cover beginning the
following morning, and no contact would be permitted with the outside
world.  Blair was not to be part of this operation, partly because there
was no real place for him in it, and partly because it was sufficiently
dangerous that Jim had asked Simon to be damned sure there was no
place in it for Blair.  

     To call J.J. Rush a dirtbag was to be charitable.  A 40-year-old
man who had been on the streets in one capacity or another since he
was fifteen, Rush had aligned himself with various underworld
characters on the East Coast until he reached a level of wealth and
success dealing in the vices of others.  Breaking out on his own, Rush
had moved his operation first to L.A.  Finding the criminal hierarchy
there unreceptive to a new power player such as himself, and the
competition a bit stringent, he was en route to Cascade to join the
Bernardi Family's extensive crime organization, running their porno
and prostitution ventures.  During the trip, he'd died a fiery death when
his motorcycle hit a patch of ice during the season's last freezing rain
storm and hurtled down an embankment, exploding into flames. 

     Rush had no family, and this left the Cascade PD virtually
dancing in the corridors as they plotted to slip someone into J.J.'s
identity to keep the appointment, albeit a few days late.  The notice
was short, so they needed someone about the same age, similar in
physical appearance and with a good working knowledge of
motorcycles.  Jim Ellison was born to play the part, and despite
lingering strained relations between Vice and Major Crime, the two
departments joined forces to launch one of the most aggressive, high-risk
 undercover operations in the history of the Cascade PD.  

     Numerous Vice cops already had "ins" in the organization.  The
veteran policewoman chosen to be Jim's working partner in the
operation had started out undercover as a hooker, and now acted as a
sort of "field supervisor" over most of Bernardi's "girls".  J.J. Rush was
to be her immediate boss.  Jim would now be filling that position.

     Blair had pleaded with Jim not to take the assignment, insisting
he had a bad feeling about it.  Jim had been unnerved by Blair's
reaction, which was nothing short of hysterical and unstable
considering the length of the proposed separation.  Sure, weeks or
possibly even a few *months* apart ripped Jim's heart out, but still, it
was part of his job, and it would be over soon enough.  Blair
approached everything since Jim's decision to take the assignment as if
Jim had just been told he was terminal.  It should have come as no
surprise that Blair was crying again, after what he no doubt viewed as
the last time he'd ever be inside Jim.  Blair wasn't must unhappy at the
impending separation, he was already grieving.  To him, Jim's demise
was a given now, a bitter reality that would dawn with the first rays of
sun the next morning.

     "Move, sweetheart."  Jim flexed his body gently, but Blair
grabbed hold of his arms and kept himself buried in Jim's body.  "Baby,
I want to talk to you."  Seeing that Blair wasn't about to move willingly,
Jim left him there and spoke to the pillow instead.  "Please don't cry,
sweetheart.  It's only temporary, and we'll be back together--"

     "I'm sorry," Blair managed, finally withdrawing from Jim and
moving over to the other side of the bed where he curled on his side,
facing away from his lover, and proceeded to sob miserably into his
pillow.

     "Blair, come on, baby, look at me."  Jim pulled himself up on
an elbow, running his hand from Blair's shoulder down his arm and
back up again.  "The worst case scenario is a few months, and it
probably won't take that long.  Simon and Cameron both think it'll be
wrapped up in a few weeks with someone that close to Bernardi
himself."  Jim had been encouraged that both Simon and the Vice
Department captain had opined that Bernardi would go down fast with
someone from their team in J.J.'s place.  Provided, of course, that Jim's
cover wasn't blown.

     "Please don't go, Jim.  Please.  I have a bad feeling about this, I
have all along," Blair managed through his tears.  "If you go...If you go
now, I don't think I'll ever see you again."
     
     "Look, Blair," Jim began in a firmer tone, but drawing the
shaking body back against him, spooning protectively around it, "I've
been in situations a lot more dangerous than this one with a hell of a lot
less back-up, and I'm still alive.  I will survive this too, and we'll get on
with our lives."  

     "I wish...I could...believe that."

     "Please, baby.  You know I can't stand to see you cry.  We don't
have much more time--" Jim cursed himself for that choice of words as
the body in his arms shook even more fiercely at the reminder.  "I
promise I'll come back home to you, angel.  I love you so much, baby. 
I won't leave you for good, you know that."  Jim indulged in a litany of
promises no one can truly make, rubbing Blair's stomach soothingly
and pulling the sweaty curls away from his face with his other hand.  

     "You can't promise me that."

     "What do you want from me, Chief?"  Jim's tone had a bit of an
edge in it, more from his frustration at not being able to say or do
anything to ease Blair's pain.  His very presence seemed to shatter the
other man's fragile control, as if every touch reminded Blair that it was
one of their last.

     "I want you to stay with me," came the pathetic, sob-strained
reply.

     Jim withdrew from holding Blair and sat up in the bed, pulling
his pillows behind his back.  Silence reigned for a while, only Blair's
choking sounds and sniffles echoing in the dark apartment while Jim
waited for him to cry it out.  He was getting frustrated to the point of
being angry, and if he'd pursued the subject any further with Blair at
that moment, he'd have probably started bawling him out for acting like
the worst example of a simpering cop's wife.

     Blair finally struggled his way to sit up, reduced now to just a
few hiccups and finding a tissue on the nightstand to blow his nose.

     "Are you asking me to choose between you and this
assignment?"  Jim asked simply, watching Blair's back as it was kept in
motion by the uneven respiration that followed a violent jag of tears.

     "No!"  Blair turned around to sit on the bed facing Jim.  Even in
the moonlight and shadows, Jim could easily discern the misery in his
lover's face.  

     "Then what do you want me to do really?  You know I have to
do this.  I'm the only one who has all the skills and experience and
background to step into this role on this kind of short notice.  Beyond
that, you know I *want* to do this.  Why are you throwing these...fits
every five minutes?  I want you to lay your cards on the table.  If this is
a you-or-the-job ultimatum, then have the balls to say it that way."

     "That kind of ultimatum would be useless.  You'd hate me for it
and I'd never back it up," Blair said softly.  "I won't ever leave you, Jim. 
I can't.  You know that.  So what would be the point of my trying to use
some sort of leverage on you about this?"

     "If you tell me it's over--that you won't be here when I'm done--I'll call 
Simon right now and refuse the assignment."  Jim knew it was a
hateful thing to do to Blair, especially as he watched new tears slide
down the flushed face from eyes that were nearly puffed shut that Jim
hadn't thought could produce any more moisture.  But Blair had to
move past arguing and pleading with him to stay, accept he was
leaving, and start saying goodbye.  It was midnight now, and by six in
the morning, Jim would be leaving.  The time to argue had passed.

     "I'm too selfish to do that."

     "You want to run that one by me again?"

     "I don't want you to go because I have a terrible feeling about
this assignment.  So if I truly loved you, I'd use whatever I had to keep
you from going, even if it meant you grew to hate me and we broke up. 
But see, I can't stand losing you.  So I'm in a no-win situation, caught
between two ways to go through the one thing in this world I fear most. 
I can either say good-bye to you now, or I can live with you while you
slowly grow to hate me for ruining your career."

     "I would never hate you, sweetheart."

     "Yes, you would.  You're already mad at me because I can't pull
myself together.  How much angrier are you going to be when you look
back on 'the big case' you should have been part of and realize I'm the
reason you weren't?"  Blair shook his head.  "I'm not trying to make you
stay anymore, Jim.  But I'm in a lot of pain right now, so I guess if you
want to spend the night with me, you'll just have to put up with me if I
can't hold it together."  Blair reached up and brushed away the fresh
tears.  Jim felt a stab of regret at getting stern with Blair at all over this. 
Even if his reaction could be annoying at times, his pain was more than
real.

     "Come here, baby."  Jim held out his arms and Blair scooted
into them immediately.  "You know how much I love you, right?" 
Blair nodded.  "I didn't mean to chew you out for feeling bad,
sweetheart.  You get weepy, I get mean, I guess.  I don't want to leave
you at all.  You know that.  But this is something I have to do.  We're
talking about one of the most significant potential busts in local
history."

     "It's hard for me to get excited about that because all I care
about is you.  Your life is worth more to me than all the busts in the
world."

     "I know, baby.  I know."  Jim held him tightly, and felt no
impatience, only love, at the new tears he could feel trickling out of
Blair's eyes again.

     "I'm sorry I'm acting this way.  I can't help it."

     "I know.  It's okay, sweetheart.  I'm sorry I came down so hard
on you.  I feel as lousy about leaving as you do about seeing me go."

     "I don't think that's possible, because I don't feel like I can make
it through this."

     "You can, baby.  You'll be fine.  Finals week is next week--you'll be 
stressed to the max just trying to get everything done.  Then
you can get caught up on your dissertation--hey, I'll probably be home
before you get chapter five finished," Jim opined, kissing the top of
Blair's head.  The notorious chapter five had been giving Blair fits for
weeks.

     "What if..."  Blair took a deep breath.  "What if you...  I can't
say it."

     "I will come home, sweetheart.  I give you my word--"

     "But you can't promise me that.  Not really."

     "Not really, no."  Jim let out a long breath.

     "How long have we got?"  Blair asked quietly.

     "Forever.  This is just going to be a brief, painful-as-hell break
in that time."

     "I mean until you go," Blair persisted, as Jim felt the new tears
still running onto his chest from Blair's cheek.

     "About five and half hours."

     "Make love to me?  I know I'm not exactly sexy right now
because I probably look like someone just punched me in both eyes and
my nose is running, but I want to feel you inside me.  I want you to
mark me and then come home to me before they all disappear."

     Jim pulled Blair up until his body was a warm, damp blanket on
top of the larger man.  Sliding his hands into the silky curls that fell
over Blair's shoulders, Jim brought their mouths together in a
prolonged, passionate kiss.  He trailed hungry lips down Blair's jaw to
his throat, and began working on a series of passion marks on the
sensitive skin that would no doubt have some lasting power.  In his
heart, he knew they'd be long faded before he was back to make new
ones.

     He kissed and nibbled at every bit of the sweet flesh presented
to him, torturing Blair's nipples to a painful hardness, his hands sliding
down the smooth back to cup the soft mounds of Blair's ass.   Feeling
his partner's insistent arousal poking his stomach and the frenzied
humping that just his fingers caused by wandering to the cleft and
brushing the little pucker there, Jim groped for the lube, and gently but
efficiently prepared his partner, and then himself.  

     Blair raised up on his knees a bit, straddling Jim, and impaled
himself to the hilt in one long stroke, letting out a groan when they
were fully joined.  He collapsed against Jim's chest again as the other
man reclined against his pillows, and Jim enfolded him in his arms
tightly, beginning a gentle thrusting that soon became passionate,
goaded by Blair's broken pleas for Jim to do it harder and faster, for
him to do it hard enough that Blair would still feel it when he was left
alone the next day.

     Coherent words eluded both men and Jim obeyed the
commands, thrusting wildly and rapidly into the willing body that
raised up a bit from his own, seeking the deepest penetration.  Blair
was screaming from the vigorous stimulation of his prostate and yet
angling his body to increase the sensations, finally lacing fingers with
Jim and literally riding his lover, adding his own motion to Jim's
thrusts.  Blair wouldn't let his lover's hands free--he wanted to prolong
the sweet torture, to come only from the thorough loving he was
getting, not to hasten it with any attention to his own weeping shaft.

     Nonetheless, it was Blair who came first, screaming Jim's name
in a long wail as his seed spurted over the other man's chest and
stomach, as well as his own.  Jim rode the tide of his own approaching
climax, thrusting rapidly into his sagging lover as the clenching
internal muscles finished him, milked him and completed him.

     An exhausted Blair dropped onto his chest in a barely coherent
heap.  Jim spent a long time just holding him, nose buried in all those
curls, then whispered hotly in his ear.

     "I love you, baby."

     "Love you too, mine.  Don't forget...you're still mine, always. 
No matter how long...you're gone."  Blair was dozing, and Jim was
relieved in one way, heartbroken in another.  Neither of them had the
energy to make love again this fast, and Jim knew he had to leave
while Blair was sleeping.  The best way to ensure that was to let him
fall into the dead sleep of the fully sated, and leave a bit earlier than
planned.  Now that leaving Blair was becoming a reality, Jim felt some
small part of the anguish his more emotive partner had been wrestling
with for the last twenty-four hours, and gave in to a few tears of his
own.

     Blair was sound asleep, clinging to him, when Jim finally eased
out of him.  After the smaller man stirred and grumbled a little, he slid
back into heavy sleep.  Jim spent a few more hours just holding that
precious body close, memorizing every little noise and smell and
texture.

     Then, at four-thirty, he gently moved Blair aside, giving the
groping arms one of his body-warmed pillows to hold, and slid out of
bed.  He stood there watching the love of his life sleeping, wanting to
be sure he could slip out undetected.  Clinging to the pillow, Blair
frowned a bit, and Jim noticed a tear trickling out of the corner of
Blair's eye.  He wasn't awake, that much Jim knew from tuning into his
vitals.  But somehow he knew he was alone in their bed, and the
spasmodic squeezing of the pillow wasn't satisfying him like
encountering the firm resistance of Jim's well-toned body.

     Swallowing his inclination to dive back into bed and ravage
Blair one last time before he left, Jim tore himself away, gathering his
clothes and slipping downstairs to change and use the facilities.  Blair
was still sleeping when he finished, and with a stifled sob of his own,
Jim reined in his emotions and picked up the bag he'd packed the night
before from its resting place by the coat rack, and quietly left the loft.

********

     "Jim?"  Blair shot up in the bed, which was now bathed in
sunlight.  The clock on the night stand read eight thirty.  "Jim!"  Blair
scrambled to the railing and looked down on the empty apartment. 
"JIM!!!"  he screamed uselessly, knowing the other man was well out
of earshot.  With a strangled sob, he slid back down into the mass of
pillows and tangled sheets and finding the spot that most smelled like
his lover, curled up there and cried.  The nightmare was beginning.

     When he next raised his head, it was ten o'clock.  Outside, the
sounds of the city were going on as normal, as if this were any other
Tuesday morning and not the end of the world.  It was then that Blair
spotted the large manilla envelope on the nightstand, bearing his name
in Jim's handwriting.  Sniffling, he pulled himself up to sit, groaning a
little at the tenderness he encountered.  He closed his eyes a moment,
and prayed it was enough discomfort to last a while, to keep the
memory of their last lovemaking physically alive. 

     With a shaky hand, he opened the envelope and found nine
business-sized white envelopes each bearing his name in black ink with
a date beneath it, and a small white box containing Jim's wedding ring
and the four leaf clover--neither of which he could wear when he was
"in character".  He opened the one dated that morning.

"Dearest Chief,

You'll never know how much it hurts to leave you.  I don't know which
one of us I was sparing by slipping away, but I knew I couldn't say
goodbye for real.  Wherever I am right now, know that my heart is as
broken as yours, and my ache for you is as tangible and real as if
someone stuck a knife in my chest.  And I know what I'm talking about
there--remind me to tell you that story when I get home."

     Blair paused to laugh a little at that, despite the tears that
burned his painfully abused, puffed eyes.

     "You look like an angel when you sleep.  When I go to bed at
night in *his* apartment, that's the vision I'll see.  Any other time I've
gone under, I've been able to *become* my cover character with no
problem.  This time, he's just a part I'm playing, because becoming him
would mean we didn't exist...I can't do that anymore.  Having you torn
away from me is like losing my heart and soul.  I could more easily live
without oxygen.

     "I know you're crying now, and I'd give everything I own to be
there, to hold you, to kiss those poor sore eyes of yours and make the
pain go away.  But don't spend all your time hurting, baby.  Go on with
the routine, your schedule, the U, all the stuff you barely have time to
do most of the time when I'm around.  I'll be home soon, and I give you
my word, I will *never* do this again.  Really.  What I feel at the
thought of leaving you--nothing is worth that.  More than that, nothing
is worth seeing you cry for nearly twenty-four hours straight.  I'm
married now, and I want this marriage more than anything I've ever
had, or ever longed for.  Maybe it took coming to the point of leaving
you to make me understand that."

     "I've written you eight letters--I don't want to be gone more than
two months, and if we do our job right, I won't be.  Read one each
week.  I was going to do one for every day, but you and I both know I'd
never have the patience to write sixty letters, even for you, sweetheart. 
Take care of my ring and my clover.  I feel almost as much pain parting
with them as I do parting with you."

     "I LOVE YOU.  Remember that.  And I WILL COME BACK
TO YOU.  This will be the longest few weeks of my life too,
sweetheart.

                         All my love forever, 
                         Jim"   


     Blair clung to the letter, pressing it against his chest as he lay
back down on the bed and found enough strength to sob again.

********

     Blair's life seemed to move from one letter to the next.  He had
no taste for food, and he only slept when he passed out on the couch
grading papers.  His pain seemed to run deeper now than tears, because
they somehow seemed far too inadequate to ease his pain.  Nothing but
seeing Jim again could do that.

     The envelope containing the second letter instructed Blair to
wait until midnight to open it.  He settled on their bed at the appointed
time and tore into the letter, already feeling a lump in his throat before
he ever opened it to read Jim's words.

"Lover,

     I'm lying in bed right now, naked, thinking about what it would
be like to have your beautiful body blanketing me, what it would feel
like to be inside you...  Please, baby, touch yourself for me.  I'm
imagining making love to you right now...and this is what my hands are
doing: I'm stroking your nipples, watching them harden, cataloging
every texture of them as they turn into little pebbles of flesh on your
chest.  If I were really there, I'd be kissing every part of your body,
devouring you, tasting you...  Imagine that, because I am too...  My
hands are moving down your body, and gently playing with your balls. 
I know you like that.  You're moaning a little now, spreading your legs
wide.  Finally, I'm taking a hold of your cock and pumping, making you
gasp, stroking hard to make you come fast for me.  I'm loving watching
your beautiful face while you thrust into my hand, and then finally
scream out my name while your body stiffens out, and you cover us
both with come.  Then I'm going to hold you, letting us get hopelessly
stuck together, kissing you until you can't breathe.  I'm there with you,
baby.  I can feel you, smell you, taste you...you're so beautiful, lover. 
And if you feel badly and you cry, it's okay, because I miss you so
much every minute...I'm crying now too, just at the ache of being away
from you.  Hang on for me, angel.  I'm coming home as soon as I can.

                              Love,

                              Jim"


     Despite what was probably Jim's hope to somehow touch Blair
by remote control, all it did was reinforce to the younger man that his
lover wasn't there to touch him, so he had to do it himself.  Blair didn't
blame Jim's letter or his idea.  He was just too miserable to enjoy
anything.

********

     The third letter reminisced about their relationship, how they
met, their first reactions to each other, and how they made it to where
they were.  It was long--almost ten hand-written pages.  Jim was not a
letter-writer by nature, and his efforts in putting this together warmed
Blair's soul more than the words.  Curled up in the chaise lounger on
the balcony, wrapped in a quilt and still far too susceptible to the cool
air of springtime, Blair read the letter over several times until he had
spent most of his day that way.  Reliving their relationship had helped a
little, but at the same time, it felt like a wake service--remembering the
good times in a past era.  

     It wasn't until it was too dark to read more and Blair's food-deprived body 
was shivering from the cool evening air that he moved
inside, built a fire and curled up on the couch with the letter and Jim's
robe, praying that the dream that had tortured his sleep for three weeks
solid would leave him in peace: a majestic black jaguar caught in a
trap, howling its anguish in an unholy wail, struggling to get away...

********

"Dearest Blair,

     It's been four weeks.  A month.  I thought it would be over by
now, but apparently things aren't going to wrap up as quickly as I
thought.  

     By now, the pain of being away from you is almost unbearable. 
Surviving a month without the other half of myself, without my heart
and soul, is tearing me apart as much as it is you.  I think about you all
the time and the nights are hell missing you. 

     By now, finals are over, and you're probably making some
impressive progress on that dissertation--you'll never know how proud I
am of you.  Of my genius lover.  So what makes you hang around with
a dumb cop, huh?  Oh, right.  It's my giant throbbing rod of manhood.  I
keep forgetting."

     Blair chuckled a little weakly at the old joke between them,
wiping at the tears that always fell when he read Jim's letters.

     "You're my whole life, Blair.  I'm so sorry I've hurt you like this,
left you and made you wait for me.  We fought so damned hard to be
together.  But in a way, being put in charge of what is essentially a
Vice operation is like a confirmation that we're okay.  That we
succeeded and life is still normal professionally.  But even that isn't
worth the pain this is causing both ways.  I love you with all my heart
and soul, sweetheart.  I won't put anything above that, ever again.  If I
were there, I would hold you and kiss away the tears and make love to
you until we were both exhausted.  I'll be home soon.  I promise you,
angel.  Take good care of yourself--you're the most precious thing in
my world.

                         All my love,
                         Jim"

     The Blair that read the fourth letter was a pale ghost of the Blair
that Jim had left behind a month earlier.  Four weeks of subsistence
eating, very little sleep, and constant worry had left dark circles under a
very dull imitation of normally sparkling blue eyes.  Blair had rebuffed
most of Simon's attempts to get together with him or "look after him",
as he was sure Jim had asked.  Simon became the symbol for Jim's
leaving, and Blair could barely stand to share the same space with him
for more than a few minutes.  On top of that, the only hope Blair had of
retaining his sanity at all was to submerge himself in his university life,
and try to pretend he'd never done anything else.  Simon shattered that
necessary fantasy just by his presence.

     Night after night, the black jaguar howled out its agony and
writhed in its trap, tormenting Blair's beleaguered mind nearly to the
breaking point every time he passed out in the empty bed from sheer
exhaustion and sleep-deprivation.

********

     The fifth letter was upbeat, though artificially so.  Jim didn't do
"bouncy" well, and the letter fell flat as a pancake in its attempts to
raise what Jim correctly predicted would be low morale.  Blair was
fighting off a miserable cold that he couldn't resist in his run-down
state, and reading anything from Jim made him cry, and that made his
congestion worse, which meant he ended up taking another shower just
so he didn't suffocate, relying on the steam to give him some relief.

     Teaching a summer session of a freshman-level course wasn't
exactly mentally challenging, and Blair fell back on his old lecture
notes from prior semesters to guide him through it.  That was not his
style.  He liked to approach each new class fresh and original.  But
even Rainier and its various commitments and activities held little
importance for him now.   If he could get through one night without the
recurring nightmare of the trapped, obviously injured panther and one
day keeping his mind on anything but what that symbolism suggested,
he considered himself fortunate.

********

"Sweetheart,

     Every day I'm gone, the days get a little longer and the whole
job gets a little less important.  All I see when I close my eyes is your
face, your beautiful blue eyes, your smile...

     At night I feel the softness of your skin, the hair on your body
tickling my skin, your curls falling like silk against my shoulder when
you come into my arms.  I remember the wonderful taste and smell of
you as we kiss, then make love, then talk about something--our days,
the meaning of life, the price of the bagels they sell downstairs.

     I know I won't be sleeping well without my angel in my arms. 
You're everything to me, Blair.  You're the image that keeps me
elevated above the slime I'm in the middle of everyday, and the thought
of loving you again is what I live for.  

     Remember to eat once in a while, get enough sleep, and take
care of yourself, baby.  Don't give Simon too much grief about trying to
reach me.  It's for my protection that he's holding to that rule.  If there
were any way to break it and not get myself killed, I'd be with you right
now instead of letting written words touch you in place of my
hands...my lips.  But I'll be with you soon, sweetheart.  Keep the faith. 
We're in the home stretch now.

                              Love always,

                              Jim"


     Blair felt such pain in his chest at the mere thought that it had
been six weeks, and that he only had two letters left, that it was all he
could do to open it at all.  But he did, reading it curled up on the bed
wrapped in one of Jim's old sweaters, and fell asleep with it pressed
against his heart.  Jim knew him too well.  All this letter was was a
prolonged, mushy profession of love and detailing of all the things
about Blair that Jim would be missing as he came into the "home
stretch" of his assignment.  The words were what Blair needed, painful
as they were in a way.  They lulled the gaunt, pale, exhausted Blair that
had lived through six weeks of emotional hell and constant fear into his
first decent sleep since Jim left.

********

     Blair sighed as he tossed the salad and added a little more
dressing.  Eating alone had never been one of his favorite things to do,
and since he'd moved in with Jim.  Now that they were lovers, he
downright hated it. //Six weeks in deep cover.  Probably hasn't eaten a
decent meal since his last night home,// Blair thought, shaking his head
and smiling a little.  Jim could still smell a glazed buttermilk donut a
mile away, and his propensity for either eating nothing or eating
something greasy while in motion could go unchecked now that his
guide, partner and other half was separated from him.

     Carrying his solitary meal over to the table, Blair felt the
tangible lump of pain in his chest at sitting there without Jim.
//Separation sucks.  It doesn't make the heart grow fonder because that
isn't possible here.  God, I miss him so much...// Blair pushed the
lettuce around with his fork, then took a drink of the bottled water he'd
set out for himself.

     Thinking back on that night and morning was like re-opening a
raw wound, despite leaving the letters filled with all the beautiful
words of love Jim knew his deserted lover would need to hear.  Blair
had felt the whole thing had sounded chillingly like an eight-step letter
program to say goodbye...an "in case I don't make it back" souvenir for
Blair to have and to hold, as if that could ever ease the pain of losing
Jim.  As if anything could. 

     Blair finally carried the uneaten salad back to the sink and
ground it up in the disposal.  There wasn't much point in fixing meals
anymore.  They all ended up in the sewer system of Cascade.  What
Jim was doing was valuable, there was no denying that.  The last
alleged victim of the Bernardi family was a sixteen-year-old girl who
was found beaten and stabbed in a dumpster.  She was suspected of
being one of their underage stable of girls, and was a runaway from
Tacoma.  Her mangled face had inspired Jim to suggest a more
aggressive approach, and now he was in the middle of that horrible,
dark, violent world.  Alone.

     The ringing of the telephone was actually a welcome intrusion
on what was to be another solitary evening of working on what was
hopefully one of the final drafts of his dissertation.

     "Hello," Blair replied, lackluster.  He knew it was never Jim on
the other end of the line, as he had so fervently hoped in the first
couple of weeks, despite the fact it was against every rule.  That had
never stopped Jim before.

     "Blair, it's Simon."

     "Is Jim all right?"  Blair didn't like the sedate, kindly sound in
Simon's voice.  It was a precursor to a body blow of some kind, Blair
was sure.

     "I'm not sure yet.  This could be nothing, but there *is* a chance
his cover was blown."

     "Oh, God," Blair responded, dropping into the couch he was
glad was behind him.  His legs wouldn't have held up anyway.  "What
happened?"

     "Tina saw him get into a car with four other guys--a black limo. 
She said it looked like some of the organization's top muscle."  Tina
was the experienced policewoman who had been Jim's back-up
throughout most of the operation.  "He was meeting with Mick
Bernardi, setting up the particulars of a major drug buy--it was
supposed to be our chance to close in.  Instead of coming out and
getting into his own car, he left with the four goons."

     "So what are you guys doing to find him?"  Blair demanded,
taking the path of anger, since the other path was collapsing in a heap
on the couch and sobbing uncontrollably.  That wouldn't do Jim any
good.

     "Take it easy, Sandburg.  Jim's a good cop.  He's experienced. 
He knows how to handle himself even in a tight spot like this.  As far
as what we're doing--we're doing everything we can without blowing
his cover for sure.  We don't know it was blown, and we also don't
know if he might be able to do enough damage control to get himself
out alive, and preserve his cover.  If we storm in there now, and his
cover wasn't completely blown before, we could get him killed."

     "You have to do *something*!"  Blair insisted, running a hand
back through his hair.  Even that gesture tore at his heart, because the
tug of his own hand at the back of his head was too much like the tug
of Jim's hand tangled in his hair while they were making love.

     "We are.  I'm waiting to hear back from our other undercover
operatives.  Our only hope here is that if Jim's cover was blown that all
the others aren't at the same time."

     "You know he'll die before he'll sell them out, Simon."

     "I know that.  But if they made one cop, they might have made
them all, or at least more than one."

     "So when will you know?"

     "Soon, I hope."

     "You *hope*?"  Blair repeated incredulously.

     "I can't blow their covers and get them killed by carelessly
contacting them.  We're talking multiple lives here, Sandburg.  I know
how you feel about this but--"

     "With all due respect, Simon, you have no fucking idea how I
feel," Blair shouted back, tears straining his voice.  "I didn't want him
to do this.  I begged you *both* not to do this.  I *knew* something
awful was going to happen!  And now it has and you're sitting there
telling me about how careful you have to be with everyone else!  How
about Jim?  How careful were you with him?  Maybe to you he's just
another cop on your team, but to me, he's everything.  So I don't think
you have a single goddamned idea how I feel right now."

     "That isn't fair and you know it.  Jim is a friend, and beyond
that, I'd never carelessly endanger the lives of one of my men.  You're
acting like I consider Jim expendable somehow, and that's not the
case."

     "But he's expendable to protect your operation!  Dammit,
Simon, *shut it down*!  Get Jim out of there even if it means scrapping
this whole thing.  His life is more important that busting the Bernardi
family! *That's* what's making me angry here, man.  You're being so
fucking careful of everyone's cover because you don't want to blow the
operation."

     "I don't want to blow Jim's cover if it isn't already, or if he can
talk his way out of it."

     "But be honest with yourself, if not with me.  You want this
operation to go on--to leave those whose covers aren't blown, in place." 
Blair waited through a long silence.

     "These people run stables of underage kids selling their bodies
on the street, push dope in schoolyards, and kill people who don't fall
in line--"

     "I don't care.  See, that's the liberating thing here.  I don't give a
shit about any of that right now.  I want Jim back alive, and that's all
that matters to me.  Not a drug bust, not a murder conviction, not all
the sad stories of runaways walking the streets--shit, Simon, even *I*
know they'd be in someone else's stable if not Bernardi's.  All that
matters to me in this operation is Jim."

     "Well, Sandburg, unfortunately I have four other undercover
cops I have to worry about just as much as I do Jim, and if I pull the
plug and drag them all back in, and we've misread this situation, we'll
get Jim killed for sure.  I know you're upset, so I'm going to take this
outburst for what it's worth, and I'll call you back when we know
something."  And with that, Simon hung up the phone.

     "Fuck you!"  Blair yelled into the phone to the dead line and
then the dial tone.  He sat on the couch, breathing heavily, wiping at his
tears, and reached a decision.  There was one way to find Jim, and that
was to go looking for him.

********

     Blair checked his look in the mirror one more time.  Putting the
jeans through the dryer with plenty of heat had done the trick.  He had
ended up on his back on the bed, holding his breath to get them closed
at all.  The tight white briefs he'd worn to protect himself from zipper
torture did nothing to detract from the rear view or the showcased
family jewels up front.  It was warm outside, another muggy June night
in a series of many.  The black tank shirt he wore would be adequate
for the temperature, and displayed enough of the merchandise to make
him believable as a party boy looking for a good time.  

     He groaned a little as he tried to sit to pull on black boots he'd
never actually worn before.  Between the asphyxiation of the dryer-shrunk 
jeans and the pinching of his feet in the new boots, he wondered
if he'd die from a lack of oxygen before he ever made it downtown.

     A last look at himself confirmed that he looked as hot and
trashy as he could manage.  He smiled when he thought of the fact that
he never worried too much about looking sexy anymore, except to
impress Jim.  He always kept up his appearance, but he'd ceased to care
what the opposite sex--or even interested members of the same sex--
thought of him in terms of sex appeal.
     
     "As soon as you're home, I'll have to wear this outfit for you,
Big Guy," Blair said to the picture of the two of them Simon had taken
at their wedding reception.  It was a candid shot, one they weren't even
aware was being taken until it showed up framed as a "wedding
present" from Simon and Daryl.  They were slow dancing, looking into
each other's eyes, such a concentration and communication between
them that the roof could have caved in, and as long as it took them out
together, they wouldn't have noticed.  Just then, the doorbell rang and a
knock resounded in the silence of the apartment.

     Blair hurried downstairs and opened the door, to find Simon
standing on the other side of it.  The captain's eyes scanned Blair up
and down once, registering surprise, not only at his choice of clothing
but at the gauntness of the body in the clothes and the pallor about his
face.

     "Going out?"  he asked.

     "He's dead, isn't he?"  Blair backed away from the door, what
trace of color he still had draining out of his face.  "Otherwise, you
wouldn't--"

     "He's not dead, Blair.  On the contrary.  He's alive, down at
Cascade General.  He sent me to pick you up because he didn't want
you driving like a chihuahua on speed to get there."

     "Oh, man!  Thank God!"  Blair started out the door but Simon
grabbed him by the arm and hauled him back inside the apartment. 

     "Go change your clothes, Blair.  I don't even want to know what
you were doing in this get-up, but you look like one of Bernardi's party
boys."

     "I do?"  Blair seemed almost pleased at that assessment.  "How
is he?  I don't want him to have to wait--"

     "He's banged up, bruised.  He took a nasty blow on the head, so
they're keeping him overnight.  But he should be fine.  Probably can go
home tomorrow if all goes well."

     "What happened?"

     "I'll tell you on the way.  Now go change into something that
isn't going to embarrass Jim."  There was a tone of accusation in
Simon's voice, as if he thought Blair had been up to something.  

     "Be right back."  Blair fled up the steps, and Simon could hear
drawers opening and zippers ripping and even watched as the black
tank shirt flew up in the air over the railing and landed on the floor of
the living room.  Yes, Sandburg was moving with his usual speed now.

     Once in Simon's car, the captain began to explain as much as he
knew about Jim's arrival at the hospital.

     "Apparently, one of Bernardi's guys recognized Jim from a
newspaper article--ironically, he had some old newspapers piled up in
his house to recycle--I just love it when the underworld cares about the
environment."  Simon shook his head.  "Anyway, he saw Jim's photo,
and tipped off Mick Bernardi, so when Jim showed up for their
meeting, he was hauled off by the muscle for a little Q&A session."

     "But you said he's gonna be okay--how bad is it?"

     "He took a pretty good beating.  He's banged up, has a few
cracked ribs, and a concussion from a blow to the back of the head."

     "If he was knocked out, how did he get away?"

     "He was rescued--though I guess he was conscious at the time,
he could have never moved fast enough to get away on his own.  Tina
made contact with the rest of the undercover team, and between all
four of them, they figured out where he was likely to be taken, called
for some unofficial off-duty back up and their instincts were 100%.  He
was in an old warehouse on the waterfront, a spot Bernardi often uses
for his...personnel management activities, if you catch my drift.  He
drifted in and out of consciousness in the ambulance.  According to
Tina, who rode with him, the first thing he said was 'Chief'."  Simon
snorted a little laugh.  "Of course the 'love you, sweetheart' that
followed threw her a little."

     "She doesn't know about me, huh?"  Blair asked, still reeling a
little from the shock and relief of knowing Jim was not only all right,
but that the operation was over.  He'd be taking his life partner back
home where he belonged, probably within the next 24 hours.

     "She knew he was married, but she didn't know he called his
spouse 'Chief'--or that he was married to a man.  I guess she asked him
once how long he'd been married when she saw his ring, and she said
he just smiled and said about nine months.  When she asked about kids,
he just laughed and said 'not likely'."

     "Nine months...he remembered," Blair said, more to himself
than Simon.  He was thinking of the night they made love, then, still
joined, exchanged their private marriage vows.  

     "I was thinking his timetable was a little screwy," Simon
responded, turning into the parking lot of the hospital.

     "We promised each other forever about nine months ago--well,
almost ten months ago now.  That happened before the party at
Valentine's Day."  Blair paused, swallowing hard on the flood of
emotions that were threatening his tenuous control.  "So the operation's
over?"

     "Shot to hell.  I wish Tina had called in her idea, but she just
rounded up the other Vice cops plus their 'back-up'-- Rafe and 
Brown--and I need to have a talk with those two adventurers--and took it upon
herself to go in and get Jim out.  She told me she was worried her
captain wouldn't approve blowing their covers if she put it through
channels."

     "Was she wrong?"  Blair asked as Simon pulled into a parking
spot.  

     "Partly.  I would have been behind her if there was good reason
to believe Jim was in there.  But I don't think Cameron would have. 
Working with Vice has been...a bit strained at times, after the whole
mess with Walker and his buddies last year."  Simon turned off the
engine and the two men hurried up to the hospital entrance.  "He's
probably settled in his room by now.  They were taking him up to the
fourth floor," Simon explained as they entered the elevator.

     Jim had been settled in a private room at the end of a long
corridor.  As Blair approached the door, Simon fell back a bit.

     "I'll be in the waiting room down the hall."

     "Thanks, Simon.  Look, I'm sorry about what I said earlier.  I
was--"

     "No apology necessary, Blair.  I understood."

     "I'm glad," Blair smiled slightly and nodded, then headed for
Jim's door.

     As soon as he pushed it open and saw the familiar form in the
bed, Blair felt all his controls falling away.  When Jim turned his head
and smiled tiredly toward him, Blair flew over to the bed and landed as
lightly as he could on the edge of it, a hand on either side of Jim's
bruised face.

     "I love you, mine.  I missed you so much," Blair blurted, resting
his forehead against Jim's, wanting to kiss him but not sure if the
pressure would be welcome on the swollen mouth.  Tears ran down his
cheeks and landed on Jim's as the other man's hands slid up into Blair's
hair, pulling him in for a gentle but prolonged kiss.

     "God, Chief, you're a bag of bones," Jim said in a husky voice,
still stroking his lover's damp face.  Blair hadn't eaten more than a few
bites here and there when he felt light-headed since Jim left.  His
insides hurt with the separation, and his spirit was so thoroughly
crushed that he really couldn't find it within himself to care.

     "I can put it back on fast enough," Blair responded, smiling
through tears.  "When Simon told me your cover was blown, I
thought..."  Blair shook his head and bit his lip.  

     "I know, baby.  I know.  I thought so too.  Come here.  You
won't break anything."  Jim pulled the smaller body into his arms, Blair
knowing enough to avoid the cracked ribs on the opposite side of his
lover's body.  It was awkward, but Jim's living warmth and the strength
in those big arms encircling him was just what Blair needed most to
feel, and Jim knew it.   "Blair, did you eat at all while I was gone?" 
Jim was running his hand over the knobby spine that seemed to
protrude through Blair's skin.

     "I didn't care," Blair said honestly, his breath caressing Jim's
neck.  "Every time I tried, I felt sick inside."

     "But you knew I'd be coming home, sweetheart.  It was hard
being apart, but--"

     "I knew you'd come home, but I didn't know if it would be like
this, or...or if the next time I saw you you'd be on Dan Wolf's table,"
Blair sobbed into Jim's neck.  "I had...such a bad feeling...about this
whole...thing."  Blair shuddered at the thought of his portentous
nightmare, and thanked every deity he'd ever learned about that it
hadn't been the harbinger of a more horrendous outcome.

     "I know you did, baby.  Shit, I should have listened to you." 
Jim sighed as Blair cried quietly against his neck.  "This whole thing
was a fucking disaster.  Now the whole operation's dead in the water."

     "Fuck the operation!"  Blair shot into a sitting position.  "I don't
care anything about that!  I'm so sick of hearing about what an
important operation this was.  It wasn't worth the risk!"

     "No, you're right," Jim responded in a tired, sad voice, stroking
Blair's cheek.

     "How badly are you hurt?"  Blair asked, trying to shift the focus
off himself, and onto the patient.

     "I'll live.  Won't be running any marathons for a while, but I'll
make it."

     "What'd the doctor say?  Simon said you had a concussion."

     "A mild one.  They're going to monitor me tonight and then let
me out of here."

     "It's gonna be so good to have you home again."  Blair grinned,
happily for the first time in many long weeks.  

     "I'd really like you to stick around...if you don't mind.  I mean,
tonight," Jim said, almost in a whisper.

     "Try and get rid of me," Blair replied, delighted with Jim's open
request for him to stay, and a little unnerved by the neediness in his
voice at the same time.  

     "So you must be Jim's other half," a female voice from the door
caught both men's attention.  A tall blonde in jeans and a grey
sweatshirt stood there, smiling pleasantly.  "Tina Merriweather," she
said, walking across the room to shake hands with Blair, who stood up
and hugged her instead.

     "Thank you for going after him."  He stepped back, smiling a
little self-consciously.  "I'm sorry.  I'm just...so grateful for what you
did."

     "I had the sinking feeling that Cameron would drag his feet, so I
figured we better move in while we still could.  How're you doing,
Jim?"  Tina was attractive, about Jim's age, and obviously a very good
cop.  In days past, Blair might have been threatened by her.  Now, he
just smiled and relaxed, happy when Jim's colleagues accepted their
relationship and when they treated Jim with the kindness and respect
he deserved.

     "I've been better," he responded, forcing a smile.  "Thanks for
bringing in the troops."  Something significant seemed to pass between
them then, almost like the conspiring look that passes between two
friends with a secret.

     "You'd have done the same for me.  I was going to say 'take care
of yourself', but I think you'll have plenty of help in that department." 
She smiled at Blair and began moving toward the door.

     "Thanks for stopping by, Tina," Jim added.

     "Thanks for everything," Blair concurred, taking a hold of Jim's
hand and grinning brightly.

     "Anytime.  Get some rest.  You look like hell, Ellison."  She
laughed a little and exited, pulling the door shut behind her.  

     "I like her," Blair said, still holding Jim's hand.  "Well, I mean,
sure I like her because she orchestrated getting you out of that mess
alive, but she seems really nice."

     "She's a damn good cop, too.  She actually got promoted to a
sort of supervisory position in Bernardi's prostitution operation, which
is quite an accomplishment considering she only got picked up by
undercover cops."

     "I brought you something," Blair said, pulling the small white
box out of the pocket of his jacket.  He opened it, and as Jim held out
his hand, carefully slipped the wedding band back into place.

     "Feels like being home, sweetheart."

     "Then there's this guy.  I really wish I could have sent this with
you--for luck."  Blair clasped the clover pendant around Jim's neck and
tucked it under the neck of the hospital gown."

     "I love you, Blair.  God how I missed you."  Jim reached up and
stroked Blair's face gently.  The younger man's eyes drifted shut and he
kissed Jim's palm, holding the hand against his cheek.

     "I'm glad you're home, lover."

     The two men talked about the case a while, until Jim's head
started bothering him and fatigue got the better of him.  He finally
dozed off to sleep with Blair still holding his hand.

********

     When Simon returned to Jim's room, he had to smile at the
sight that greeted him.  Ellison was dead to the world, with Sandburg
having managed to insinuate himself onto the narrow bed on the side of
Jim's body that did not sport cracked ribs.  His head was pillowed on
Ellison's shoulder, their joined hands resting on the broad chest, fingers
entwined.  Blair's respiration was as deep and even as his lover's.  

     Smiling when he realized the skinny, pale, jittery character he
picked up at the loft probably hadn't slept anymore than he'd eaten in
the last six weeks, Simon backed out of the room and left his star
detective to his rest and the TLC of his partner.

     Riding down in the elevator, alone there at this late hour, Simon
replayed in his mind his terse conversations with Blair, and Blair's
accusations that he was putting the operation above Jim's life.  The
thought nagged at him, hounded him, and made him re-evaluate his
entire reaction to the news of Ellison's potential kidnapping earlier that
day.  What had his first thought really been?  

     //My first thought was that I hoped he wasn't in a landfill with a
bullet in his head like the last guy the Bernardi family were suspected
of killing.// Excusing himself somewhat, since he honestly could say
he'd been worried about Ellison first, and then the operation, he wearily
made his way out to the parking lot and then drove back to
headquarters.  The slight ease in the pounding in his head was short-lived.  
As soon as he walked into the bullpen, he spotted Cameron
pacing angrily outside the door of his office.  Squaring his shoulders
and preparing for battle, Simon strode across the room and walked
briskly past the other man.

     "Waiting for me, Cameron?"  he asked abruptly, entering his
office and tossing his keys on the desk.
     
     "You're damn right I'm waiting for you, Banks.  Where the hell
is Ellison?"

     "He's still hospitalized.  He has a concussion."

     "I knew this would be a disaster from the outset--putting that
loose cannon at the head of a major undercover operation."

     "What's that supposed to mean?  Ellison was recognized from
an old newspaper photo.  If anyone's to blame here, it's us--for not
thinking of that and being better prepared for it."

     "I should have known after the way things went down last year
that you'd cover his ass no matter how bad he fucked up this
operation."

     "First of all, what happened last year was an abomination. 
We're still fortunate Sandburg didn't choose to go to the press with his
story.  As it was, your three stooges caused this department more bad
press with that incident than we've had in years."

     "Since the last time your department fucked up and worked
hand in hand with David Lash, possibly."

     "Is this all there is to this meeting?  If so, I have better things to
do with my time than trade insults."  Simon took a seat behind his desk
and began ostentatiously sorting the paperwork on top of it.  A beefy
hand slapped down on top of the papers to still the movement.

     "We're not finished, Banks," Cameron growled.  Simon was
silent a moment.  Without looking up, his voice came out in a deep,
ominous tone.

     "Get your hand off my desk and back off."  Simon finally glared
up at the other man, who complied and began pacing again.

     "At least I have your attention now."

     "Look, an operation went belly up because one of our people
was recognized.  We managed to get everyone out alive.  Operations
fall apart sometimes.  It's a hell of a lot harder to dismiss it and chalk it
up to experience when you have dead cops to show for it.  We were
lucky.  All our people are intact--thanks to Merriweather."

     "That arrogant bitch is going to be lucky to hold down a meter
maid job when I get through with her!  She went against every rule in
the book.  She circumvented any kind of proper protocol and took it
upon herself to pull the plug on the operation to save Ellison's sorry
ass."

     "What is your problem with Ellison, anyway?  Is this still some
ridiculous prejudice or some kind of grudge from last year?"

     "I told you from the outset that one of my guys should be at the
head of this operation.  You put some love-struck faggot in charge and
then wonder why it collapses."

     "Get out of my office.  Now."  Simon rose from his chair, eyes
blazing and nostrils flaring.  

     "Don't worry.  I'm leaving your office.  My next stop is the
commissioner."

     "To tell him what?  That you can't handle working in the same
department with Ellison because one of your men is dead and two
others in prison because of their criminal behavior with Ellison's
partner--among other things?"

     "Possibly to tell him that Ellison managing to get himself in the
middle of a kidnapping situation and needing rescuing cost us our
case."

     "You do what you have to do, Cameron.  But I am behind my
people and their actions in this situation 100%."

     "I haven't even begun to deal with the issue of Rafe and Brown
joining Merriweather's little rescue party."

     "Don't bother dealing with it.  No reprimands are coming
through this office for those men for helping to save a colleague, any
more than I'm going to reprimand Ellison for being recognized.  We
knew this was a risky situation at the outset.  We also knew the chances
of placing and keeping this many undercover operatives and not having
one of them be made were slim.  It only lasted as long as it did because
we had the very best on that team, including Jim Ellison."

     "I think the commissioner might have other ideas," Cameron
headed for the door. 

     "You might not get the reaction you're looking for, Cameron. 
Think well before you go on a crusade upstairs."  Simon went back to
his paperwork as if they had been discussing the weather.  The door
slammed decisively.

     Simon looked up at the closed door and watched as the venetian
blinds finished swaying from the impact.  He had wondered how long it
would be before Ellison's flagrant openness about his relationship with
Sandburg came back to bite him on the ass.  There were some good,
broad-minded people on the team at the Cascade PD, but there were a
good number of bigoted jerks like Cameron who would love nothing
more than to get rid of a gay cop, not to mention his long-haired
boyfriend.

     Most disturbing of all, Simon couldn't shake the feeling that
something was going on he didn't know about--that Ellison knew more
than he was saying.  

********

     Blair felt his back make sudden contact with the safety rail on
the side of Jim's bed.  He had raised it when he first slipped into bed
with his lover, figuring the narrow confines of the bed made rolling
onto the floor a very real possibility.  He forced his eyes open and
focused on Jim.  He was out of breath, holding onto his ribs, looking
almost green.  Not taking time out to question why Jim looked the way
he did, Blair grabbed the handy beige plastic dish on the nightstand and
stuck it under Jim's chin just in time to catch the results of a violent
bout of vomiting. 

     "Try to relax, babe.  I've got you," Blair murmured soothingly,
not even able to imagine what kind of pain the heaving had caused Jim,
given his injuries from the beating.  Satisfied the vomiting was over,
Blair set the dish on the table again and turned his attentions to
cuddling closer to Jim and stroking his face and hair until the worst of
the ragged breathing evened out.

     "Get that away from me, please, Blair," Jim groaned, indicating
the dish on the night stand.  Realizing it was ten times as offensive to
Jim's heightened sense of smell as it was to Blair, he carefully eased
out of the bed and cleaned up the mess.

     "You want me to call the nurse?"  Blair offered, returning to
Jim's bedside with a cool cloth.  He perched on the side he had
occupied before and bathed Jim's face gently.  

     "No.  I need the bathroom."  Jim started to get up but Blair put a
gentle hand on his shoulder.  

     "We've got one of those handy dandy portable pissers right
here," Blair announced, waving the plastic bottle at Jim, who,
surprisingly, chuckled a little, holding onto his tormented ribs.

     "I can always count on you to phrase things delicately, Chief." 
Jim was still smiling a bit as Blair shrugged, grinning, and helped Jim
with his needs.  Blair was glad his lover seemed relaxed with letting
him help, but then wouldn't have had any idea why he wouldn't be. 
Since they'd been roommates, they'd been through several significant
injuries with each other, and a couple of rather unpleasant flu bugs. 
They had always helped each other out, to whatever extent the other
allowed it, and since they'd become lovers, the marginal inhibitions
that were there before had disappeared.

     "Jim, there's blood..."  Blair trailed off as he headed for the
bathroom with the bottle, then stopped dead in his tracks to look back
at his lover.

     "Don't sweat it, sweetheart.  The doctor said I'd probably pass
blood for a couple days.  I took a couple pretty healthy kicks."

     "Shit," Blair mumbled, disappearing into the bathroom to empty
the bottle and wash his hands.  

     "Not my finest moment," Jim said softly, shifting to make it
clear he wanted Blair back where he had been before, nestled against
him in the bed.  "Barfing in a bowl and pissing in a bottle."

     "You're alive to do both things, that's all I care," Blair
responded bluntly, crawling back into Jim's bed and pulling the side
rail up behind him.  "Are you sure you're comfortable with me here?"

     "Oh yeah.  You're like a human metronome, only a hell of a lot
warmer."  Jim shivered a little then.  "I can't seem to get warm."

     "I'll get you another blanket."  Blair was up and in motion again,
and Jim just smiled at the smaller man's easy willingness to serve, and
utter lack of concern for his own comfort or rest.  Blair located a
blanket on the shelf in the closet and returned, spreading it solicitously
over Jim in a double thickness, then returned to his sleeping spot.

     "Better.  Thanks, Chief."  Jim kissed his lover's forehead and let
his eyes drift shut.

     "Were you having a nightmare before?  I was wondering if one
of the pain meds was giving you a reaction.  You know, I was worried
about them pumping that stuff into you--"

     "It was just a nightmare, baby.  Nothing for you to worry about. 
I'm okay now."

     "You want to talk about it?"

     "No.  Too tired," Jim responded, knowing fatigue had nothing
to do with his silence.  Relieved that Blair wasn't the one with
heightened senses, he hid behind that story, and Blair believed him,
settling down and letting his body relax.

     Blair soon drifted off to sleep again, curled up against Jim.  The
older man looked down at him, and wondered how long their
relationship would survive now that he would be a dysfunctional mess
in the bedroom.  How long could even Blair be so magnanimous as to
stay devoted exclusively to him when there was nothing physical
binding them together?  He knew he had a loyal friend for life in Blair,
but the only difference between their friendship and their marriage
were some verbalized vows...and sex.

     And the closeness.  That wonderful closeness Jim had never
experienced with anyone else.  Seeing someone's face light up every
time he entered a room.  Feeling the most precious thing in the world
breathing against him at night.  Sitting cuddled on the couch, watching
TV and joking around like they always did, only sharing the same
personal space.  So would he have to give that up now?  That had come
as a by-product of their love changing to romantic and physical love. 
When that was gone, what would happen to the closeness?

     Jim was relieved that his exhausted lover, boneless with the
relief of sleeping in Jim's embrace again, was too deeply asleep to feel
the tremors of tears coursing through his body.


********

     "Look, Chief, I'm not interested in eating this crap.  I just threw
up three hours ago."  Jim pushed the table with the breakfast tray on it
away from him.

     "I'll fix you something later."  Blair took the tray into the
bathroom and flushed most of the food, then put it back on the table
and wheeled it away from the bed, so the smell wasn't nagging at Jim
constantly.  The cleared plate would make the hospital staff happy, and
Jim was relieved that his lover wasn't making a federal issue out of it.

     "Morning, gentlemen," Simon greeted as he walked in the door. 
"I figured you wouldn't be up to filling out reports this morning, so I
thought I could get your story on tape and handle the paperwork."

     "Hey, Simon," Blair greeted pleasantly, returning to his seat at
the foot of Jim's bed.   "That's great.  I was worried he was gonna go
back to work as soon as they released him."  Blair smiled affectionately
at his somewhat subdued partner.

     "Have you eaten yet this morning, Sandburg?"  Simon asked. 
Jim silently scolded himself for being so damned insensitive to Blair's
needs.  It was obvious he hadn't been eating most of the time he was
alone, and the tray of cold breakfast food he scraped down the toilet
probably would have fed him pretty well when it was warm.

     "I'll grab something later."

     "Why don't you take a break?  I'll keep an eye on him for you," 
Simon nodded toward Jim.

     "Actually, I do want to go home and get Jim some fresh clothes
and stuff.  Could you stick around a while?"

     "I don't need a sitter, Chief," Jim spoke up.

     "No, but a guard maybe."  Blair shared a moment of prolonged
eye contact with his lover, then leaned down for a brief kiss good-bye
before heading toward the door. 

     "Hey, Sandburg," Simon caught Blair's attention and tossed him
a set of keys.  "You don't have a car downstairs, remember?  I'll be
staying with Jim anyway while you're gone, so take mine."

     "Wow.  Thanks, Simon.  I'll be back in an hour, tops," he
directed at Jim.

     "Make it two, Blair.  I'll be here a while yet, and I want you to
eat something and not drive like a lunatic," Jim responded.

     "Not in *my* car, anyway," Simon added, smiling a little.

     "Okay.  Call me on the cell phone if you need me."

     "I think I'll be okay," Jim added with an affectionate smile. 
Blair blushed a little and nodded, heading out the door.

     "You're going to have to have a little talk with him, Jim."

     "What do you mean?"  Jim frowned at the seriousness in
Simon's voice. 

     "When he knew there was a problem, that your cover might be
blown, I think he was getting ready to go after you himself."

     "He knows better, Simon."

     "Have you looked at him lately?  He's a skeleton.  A zombie. 
Picture the man you see now, only without any of the life in him.  He's
different around you--more like the old Blair now that you're back.  But
he didn't handle this well, and when I went to the loft to get him, he
was...well, quite frankly, dressed like one of Bernardi's male whores
ready to cruise the clubs."

     "Oh great."  Jim rolled his eyes.

     "I just want you to be sure to line him out about this, Jim.  I
don't want him getting killed the next time you go undercover." 

     Jim let Simon's admonition pass, not mentioning that it would
be a cold day in hell when he ever went undercover again.  Instead, he
began spinning the tale of his ordeal--or at least the "for publication"
version, as Simon sat with his tape recorder rolling, asking a few
clarifying questions.  

********

     Blair's first stop was the McDonald's near the hospital.  He'd
never been so ravenous in his life, and he devoured the Egg McMuffin
and hash browns, gulping down the large juice.  He sat at a small table
near the window, figuring that eating in Simon's car was tempting fate. 
All he needed was to take the captain's pristine car back to him with a
big orange juice stain on the front seat.

     As he sipped the last of the juice, he contemplated whether or
not to order two more of the sandwiches, six orders of hash browns, a
couple Big Macs and a few pies, just to catch up for the last few weeks
of starvation.  Laughing at the food fantasy, his thoughts soon became
serious again as he revisited the previous night in his memory.  Jim's
nightmare and attendant bout of vomiting seemed extreme under the
circumstances.  Jim had been in tight spots before, and given his
Covert Ops background, he'd probably seen--hell, maybe even *done*--
things that were a hell of a lot worse than getting beaten up in an old
warehouse.  

     Blair never asked about Jim's military background, nor did he
put his lover on the spot to explain things he may have done in the past. 
It was just that--in the past--and the Jim Ellison that Blair knew and
loved was kind, gentle and ethical.  If he was ever anything else, it was
in another lifetime.  One thing was true though--if Jim had seen some
horrible action in Covert Ops, what exactly happened that had affected
him so profoundly this time?

     Finishing his drink, Blair massaged his temples.  He was tired,
and now that he'd eaten, the easiest thing in the world to do would be to
go home and sleep for a week.  That wouldn't be easy, though, until he
could curl around Jim while he did it.  On that thought, he regained his
old energy and disposed of his trash, then hurried out to Simon's car
and drove to the loft.

     As he fumbled with the keys to unlock the front door, a voice
startled him.

     "Blair!  Hey, how's Jim?"  Blair turned to see Stan, their
neighbor, just arriving at his own front door, dressed as if he'd been out
jogging.  It was a nice morning, June sunshine bathing everything in
what was a rare golden glow for an otherwise gray Cascade.

     "He'll be fine.  I'm bringing him home from the hospital later." 
Blair finished unlocking the door.  "Why do you ask?"  Blair looked up,
puzzled, realizing that while Stan knew Jim was working on a case, he
hadn't told the other man that Jim had run into any problems.

     "It's in the paper this morning.  Well, I mean, they didn't give
the guy's name, but when they said an 'undercover operation gone bad'
and said that the lead investigator on the case had been identified and
abducted...and that he was in the hospital but they couldn't get any
information on his condition,  I kind of put two and two together." 
Stan ran a hand back through his thick sandy hair.  He was slightly
shorter and a few years younger than Jim, with hazel eyes and a
pleasant smile.

     "Yeah, well, he's gonna be okay.  Got roughed up."  

     "If there's anything I can do to help out--"

     "Thanks, Stan, but I'm taking some time off from the U, so I
think we'll have it covered."  Blair smiled, hoping he wasn't being
unnecessarily rude.  He also realized he'd let his guard down around
Stan in Jim's absence, since their neighbor was friendly, seemed
sensitive to how miserable Blair really was during that time, and was a
good listener.  The most intense contact they'd had was riding down in
the elevator together and getting a bagel from the bakery a couple
mornings, but Jim still wouldn't appreciate the stepped up
fraternization with this man he was sure wanted to share more than a
bagel with Blair.  So now would have to be the time to start putting up
a few more barriers again.

     "I hope that Jim being home doesn't mean I won't be seeing you
around anymore.  I've really enjoyed getting to know you, Blair."

     "We're not going anywhere."  Blair smiled what he hoped was a
friendly smile, but not too much so.

     "I know damn well Jim doesn't like me."

     "That's not true."

     "Come on, Blair.  He bristles if I say 'good morning'.  When you
had the flu this winter and I asked how you were doing, he said you
were fine--which is a crock of shit when you're in the middle of the flu. 
When I asked a couple other questions, he asked me why I was so
interested.  He's got a major jealousy thing going on."

     "Look, Stan, I really appreciated your moral support and
everything, but I have to get going.  As far as Jim's concerned, I'm with
him.  Permanently.  And if my talking to you or spending time with you
makes him uncomfortable in any way...that's gotta be my first concern."

     "Oh, so it's like that," Stan nodded, grinning knowingly.

     "Like what?"

     "You're the submissive, huh?  I never wouldn't have pictured
you guys being into that."

     "Not only are you way out of the ball park, but it's none of your
damn business what goes on between Jim and me.  Now if you'll
excuse me."  Blair stormed into the loft and slammed the front door
decisively behind him.  Checking his watch, he rolled his eyes at the
time he'd wasted and hurried upstairs.

     He found the jeans he'd discarded the night before in favor of
the less form-fitting pair he was now wearing.  He smiled at the
thought of putting his party boy outfit together for Jim's benefit when
he was feeling better, and folded up the faded jeans.  He quickly
changed the bed and tidied up the bedroom until it looked as orderly as
it always did when Jim was home.  Checking the time again, he dug out
a pair of Jim's favorite old jeans and a grey t-shirt, then laughed at his
choice and instead pulled out a navy t-shirt.  Blair was already wearing
jeans and a grey t-shirt. //Matching outfits--yeah, Jim'd love that idea!!//
Blair was still smiling as he packed a gym bag with the clothes, Jim's
shaving kit, fresh underwear and socks.  Groaning, he moved all of it
around to fit Jim's shoes in the bottom of it, then neatly arranged
everything again, having corrected the oversight.

     He was on his way downstairs when there was a knock at the
door.  Setting the bag on the table, he opened it.  Stan was on the other
side.

     "Look, Blair, I was really out of line with what I said, and I'd
like to apologize.  It's really no big secret that I'd like us to be friends,
and I don't like the fact that there's no chance of that once Jim's back on
the scene.  I just felt sorry to see that possibility go up in smoke.  I had
no right to say a thing like that."

     "Let's just forget it happened.  I really have to go, Stan."

     "Right.  Do you need a lift or anything?"

     "No.  I have a friend's car.  Thanks anyway."  Blair ducked back
into the apartment and grabbed the bag.  "I'm late already, man.  See
you later."

     "Yeah, later."  

********

     Blair pulled into the parking lot about fifteen minutes past the
two-hour mark, amazed at how much better he felt even after the small
breakfast he'd had.  His mind was already processing possibilities for
lunch, and he'd decided to fix them soup and make sandwiches out of
the chicken he'd baked and then put back in the refrigerator almost
untouched the night before last.  He was surprised to see Simon pacing
around in front of the hospital entrance, smoking a cigar.

     "Hey, Simon, sorry I'm late."  He handed the captain back his
keys.  "I ran into a neighbor, and he asked about Jim.  Is everything
okay?"

     "Fine.  Jim just needed a little time to himself, so I came down
here."

     "Doesn't he need a guard?"

     "There's a uniformed man outside his room."

     "Oh."  Blair was still a little puzzled, but he knew Jim didn't
feel well, and it wasn't all that unusual that he'd want some time to
himself.  "Thanks for the car loan.  Only thing is, now I'm stuck here
again."

     "I'll drive you both back to the loft.  Go on up and see how long
before you can round him up.  Call me on my cell phone."

     "Sure.  Thanks again."

     "Anytime."  Simon smiled slightly, and Blair hurried into the
building and finally made it to Jim's room in record time.

     "Sandburg wardrobe service has arrived," Blair announced
cheerily, but noticed that Jim's gaze didn't move from the window. 
"Jim?"  Blair asked cautiously, afraid for a moment that Jim had
reverted back to his old zone-out problem.

     "Yeah, Chief.  Just resting."

     "I brought your clothes and stuff.  How long before you can get
out of here."

     "Anytime.  I signed all the forms about a half hour ago."

     "Sorry I'm late.  I stopped to get something to eat, and I wanted
to change the bed and fix things up a little."  Blair put the railing down
and sat on the edge of the bed.  "Jim, is everything okay?"  Blair
reached up to caress his lover's cheek with the backs of his fingers.

     "Just tired, sweetheart."  Jim captured the hand with his own
and kissed it.  "Guess I better get dressed so we can get out of here." 
Jim shifted painfully in the bed and sat up with a groan that Blair
chalked up to the painful movement of cracked ribs.  

     Moving out of Jim's way, Blair was instantly in a crouch on the
floor, pulling socks on Jim's feet before they had to hit the cold floor. 
It was a warm day, but somehow, bare feet hitting cold linoleum was
never a nice sensation.

     "Just relax, lover.  Let me help you."  Blair sprang up and began
working on the ties at the back of Jim's hospital gown.  He bit his lip to
avoid saying anything about the panorama of blue and purplish bruises
that peppered Jim's back and shoulders.  "I brought jeans and your navy
Jags t-shirt.  I hope that's okay," Blair said conversationally, pretending
that seeing Jim's body in this pummeled condition wasn't tearing his
heart out by the roots.

     "Anything's fine."  Jim cooperated with Blair's determination to
dress him.  Twisting and turning couldn't be comfortable under the
circumstances, but Blair was still surprised and relieved his normally
fiercely independent lover was letting him help.  With the shirt in
place, Blair pulled the underwear and slacks out of the bag.   "I'll take
care of this part myself, Chief.  Why don't you go find Simon and tell
him we'll be ready in five, huh?"

     "He told me to call him on his cell phone.  He's outside sucking
down one of those ten foot long cancer logs."

     "I seem to recall someone else I know sucking one of those
down."

     "Once, at the track, after you got your award that night.  I
smelled that stuff for, like, days.  Once was enough."

     "*You* smelled it for days," Jim added, rolling his eyes.

     "Oh, yeah, I guess you smelled it too, huh?"  Blair smiled a little
guiltily and took a hold of Jim's arm on his good side.  "Come on, babe. 
Just stand up and step out of those and into these, huh?  No point in
you stooping and messing up your ribs."

     "All right."  Jim followed the directive, too tired to fight.
Within moments, the fresh underwear was in place, the old stuff tossed
in with the pile of tangled sheets left for the hospital laundry as Blair
recognized it wasn't Jim's own, and disposed.  Jim felt some relief that
Blair didn't appear to see any type of blood or other evidence of Jim's
as yet hidden injuries.  

     Shortly thereafter, Jim was fastening his own belt while Blair
pulled out his shaving kit.

     "You want to shave before we go?"

     "I guess I should."

     "Not necessarily.  I can deal with the rugged look."  Blair
smiled brightly, and Jim returned it to the best of his ability.

     "I don't care about doing it now, sweetheart."

     "No problem.  Just have a seat while I tie your shoes."

     "I'm fine like this.  I'll just step into them.  I don't want to pull
myself up and down many more times," Jim explained.  Blair again
finished his task quickly, then tidied things up.  

     "I'll go get the nurse with the wheelchair."

     "No.  Let's just get out of here."

     "But that's their rule, man.  Besides, you need to take it easy."

     "Walking to the elevator and the car won't kill me."

     "Let me warn Simon then so he can bring the car around."

     "All right." Jim began to pace slowly, and Blair watched him
worriedly as he made the call to Simon.  The other man's usually
smooth gait was slow and almost unsteady.  Jim was in a great deal of
pain, that much was obvious.  But it seemed like more than just his
side, or a bad headache.  

     "Simon'll be out front in about five, so we can start--"

     "Mr. Ellison, I thought you might be getting ready to leave."  A
young nurse in a turquoise smock entered the room, smiling brightly
and wheeling an empty chair in front of her.  

     "That won't be necessary," Jim snapped, making a gesture
toward the chair with one hand.

     "It's hospital policy," she replied, still smiling.  

     "I said it won't be necessary," he repeated, in a much more
menacing tone.

     "Mr. Ellison--"

     "Get that fucking thing out of here now!  I said *no* and that's
what I mean!"  he shouted at the startled girl, who made a hasty retreat
out of the room before Blair could get his mouth open to apologize to
her for Jim's outburst.

     "Jim, come on man, she's just doing her job."

     "You put a sock in it, Sandburg.  I'm not riding out of here in
any goddamned wheelchair.  Is that clear?  I still have a few rights left
here."

     "Nobody's trying to take away your rights.  Everyone leaves the
hospital in a wheelchair.  It's no big thing."

     "I'm walking out of here under my own power."  Jim started for
the door, his gait still too slow but distinctly improved with his own
determination to move unassisted.

     "Look, it's just--"

     "Are you going to stand there and keep bitching or are you
coming with me?  I'm leaving."

     "Right behind you, lover," Blair responded softly, picking up
the bag and following Jim.  When they were out in the hall, Jim draped
an arm over Blair's shoulders, in a gesture that spoke more of a need
for support than affection.  Blair still mirrored it, putting his arm
loosely around Jim's waist.

     "I didn't mean to yell at you, baby," Jim finally said quietly as
they boarded the elevator, both men relieved to be its sole occupants.

     "It's okay, love.  I know it's been an ugly coupla days and you
feel like shit right now."  Blair carefully stroked Jim's back, mindful of
the bruising there.  "Things'll look better when you've had time to rest a
little, and when you feel better."  Blair didn't say anything else for a
few moments, but finally let his head rest against Jim's shoulder
briefly.  "I'm so glad you're back," he murmured in a strained voice.

     "So am I, baby."  Jim tangled his hand in Blair's hair a moment
and kissed the top of his head.  Not only did he love Blair with all his
heart, but he needed a reason to be happy he'd survived his ordeal, and
that reason was standing right by his side.  

********

     The ride to the loft was characterized by strained small talk,
mostly between Blair and Simon.  This was even more awkward since
Jim had been loaded into the passenger seat in front in deference to his
long legs and the difficulty he would have folding up in a back seat
given his injuries.  Jim missed most comments that were directed to
him, so both of the other men soon took the hint and let him ride in
silence.  Blair ended up sharing an anecdote about trying to help Stan
corral one of his escaped pigeons in the other man's apartment, which
got plenty of laughs out of Simon, but stony silence out of Jim.  

     Blair cursed himself for bringing the neighbor into the
conversation, but he honestly hadn't thought much about it upsetting
Jim until he was halfway into the story.  There was such a complete
lack of interest in anything sexual or romantic for Blair where Stan was
concerned that it barely crossed his mind that it could be problematic
to talk about him until he noted the icy expression on Jim's face in the
rearview mirror.  But then again, his expression hadn't changed a great
deal since they left the hospital.

     "Give me a call if you need anything," Simon said as Jim made
his way out of the car, with Blair hovering in attendance.

     "Will do.  Thanks again, Simon," Blair responded, satisfied now
that Jim was not planning to say anything.

     The captain pulled away from the curb, leaving Blair with his
zombie-like partner and the duffle bag in front of the building. 
Unnerved at Jim's silence, Blair didn't try to prod him out of it. 
Instead, he simply moved toward the door of the building and assumed
Jim would follow like a well-trained zombie.  He did, and they were
soon riding the elevator upstairs.

     "Hungry yet?"  Blair asked.  After a long pause, Jim shook his
head slightly.  "Maybe you need sleep more than anything else.  You
didn't get a lot of undisturbed rest last night.  Probably not for a long
time, huh?"  Blair asked sympathetically.

     "Yeah, I'm tired," Jim replied, staring at the wall of the elevator.

     "The bed's all made up with fresh sheets, so you can just flop
there and sleep for a week if you want."  Blair led the way down the
hall, and was more than displeased to see Stan just coming out of his
apartment. //How fucking convenient,// Blair thought, annoyed.

     "Jim!  Great to see you again.  Hey--what'd the other guy look
like?"  Stan's attempt at humor was obviously lost on Jim.  Blair found
it to be in poor taste, but chalked it up to the awkwardness of the
moment and didn't take great offense at it.  Jim's response was more
stony silence.

     "Well, uh, glad to see you back again," Stan added, still hanging
around his door.

     "Thanks, Stan," Blair finally jumped in as it was clear Jim was
only going to stare menacingly at the other man.  He put the key in the
lock, and wrinkled his brow when he found it open already.  Jim didn't
seem to notice, and the last thing Blair needed was a good scolding on
his negligence in leaving the door unlocked.  So he opened it, and
satisfied nothing looked out of place, set the duffle bag inside.  "See
you later, Stan.  Come on, partner, you need some rest."  Blair got a
hold of Jim's arm and was relieved when the other man followed the
slight pull into the apartment.  Blair locked the door behind them this
time.  

     "Does he always hang around like that?"  Jim asked as he made
his way toward the bathroom.

     "No.  But being a sculptor, you know, he doesn't have regular
hours."  Blair stuck his head in the other areas of the loft to be sure
nothing had been disturbed and that the unlocked door was just the
result of his own forgetfulness while being tracked by Stan.

     "Maybe he should get a job," Jim shot back from the bathroom
before closing the door.

     Blair completed his scan of the loft, and went upstairs to turn
back the bed.  Jim had started the shower shortly after his parting
comment about Stan. //Oh, yeah, this is going to be a *lot* of fun,//
Blair mused, shaking his head as he opened the bed and drew the
blinds to keep out the bright sunshine.  He found one of Jim's favorite
CDS of relaxation music and popped it in the small portable player on
the night stand, turning it on so the volume was almost too low for his
ears, but should be just right for background music for Jim's sensitive
hearing.

********

     Jim stripped off his clothes and stepped into the shower. 
Feeling some relief at the flow of hot water over his battered body, he
leaned his forehead against the damp tiles and let it run down his back. 
The doctor's words kept replaying in his mind:

     //The damage is minimal.  You'll be fine in a few weeks.  There
is no trace of seminal fluid, and the bruising and tearing were caused
by a cylindrical object, somewhat larger than a human penis.  Your risk
of disease is slim to none.  If there is a way to be lucky in a situation
like this, you are.//

     //You survived, Ellison.  That's the bottom line.  You're alive,
you're going to be fine.  You don't even have to worry about infecting
Blair with anything because you don't get AIDS or STDs from an
object.  You're going to be fine.  Get over yourself.  It was a bad
experience but it's *over*.  Life goes on.  Get a hold of yourself.//

     Jim couldn't hold back the choking sobs that seemed to bubble
up inside him, and he let them go, grateful that he was the sentinel in
the household, and the shower running would be sufficient to protect
his privacy.  The pain and humiliation of his experience seemed to
overwhelm him then, and all the tough, self-motivating pep talks he
was trying to give his beleaguered psyche weren't taking.

     They had taken something that was special--hell, sacred--between Blair 
and him and associated with it something so hideous that
he couldn't picture ever letting Blair near him that way again.  Nor
could he envision ramming himself into Blair with wild abandon,
stretching and straining those delicate tissues, topping him and
dominating him.

     "You okay in there, lover?"  Blair was calling from a crack in
between the door and the door frame.  Jim had no idea how long he'd
been immobile under the spray of water, but it was turning cold
quickly.

     "Almost done," he managed.  

     "Okay.  I put clean boxers on the hamper for you.  Want me to
dry your hair when you come out?"

     "No thanks.  I can get it."

     "All right.  Yell if you need me."  Blair closed the door again,
and Jim heard his steps retreat to the kitchen.

     Jim dried off somewhat awkwardly, trying not to notice the
pain that seemed to assail him from all sides.  The worst pain was in
his memory, the sensation of being split open, brutalized...

     He swiped off the mirror with his arm and looked at the
colorful assortment of bruises and scrapes on his face.  A particularly
large scrape on his left cheek was a vivid reminder of the rough texture
of the old cement floor under his face...the taunting...and oh, God, the
pain...

********

     Blair stopped his stirring of the tea and listened a moment.  The
muffled, choking sounds were what he thought they were--Jim was
crying.  Not sniffling, not shedding a few tears--but sobbing.  He stood
frozen at the counter a moment, not sure if he'd be welcome if he went
to Jim.  Another one of the painful sounds decided him.  Welcome or
not, he was going to his lover.

     He opened the door, loudly enough so that even in his distracted
state, Jim would know he was coming in.  The larger man was standing
in front of the mirror, leaning heavily on the sink, a towel wrapped
around his waist, one arm clutched over ribs that had to be pure agony
with all this uneven breathing.  The whole system of considerable
muscles tensed at Blair's arrival.

     "It's okay, lover.  Let me help, huh?"  Blair said gently, resting
his hand on a large shoulder, pressing his cheek against Jim's biceps. 
"You don't have to explain anything.  Just let me hold you."  Jim turned
shakily and pulled Blair into as firm an embrace as he could endure
against his injuries.  "It's going to be okay, babe.  Whatever's wrong,
we'll face it together.  Don't be afraid."  Blair fought his own tears,
gently stroking Jim's back.  "I love you so much, mine.  I'm here.  We'll
get through this."  He felt Jim's hand tangle in his hair and take an
almost painfully tight hold of it, as if he thought Blair would get away
from him.  "That's it, just let out.  There's nothing wrong with letting it
go, love.  You'll feel so much better."  Blair kept up a litany of soft-voiced 
assurances and light strokes of his lover's bruised back.

     "I'm sorry," Jim managed, finally pulling back and stroking
Blair's hair a bit, seeming distressed at having grabbed a fistful of it as
forcefully as he had.

     "No.  Don't be sorry.  We're life partners, mine.  That means we
share the shit as well as the good stuff.   Just share it with me.  I won't
make you say or do anything that you don't want to.  Just don't shut me
out, please."

     "I...I can't," Jim responded, still breathless and trying to get his
full composure back.   "God, I'm so tired, Chief."

     "I know, love.  I know."  Blair reached up to brush away a few
tears.   "I made you some tea.  I know you don't love it, but it'll relax
you, and this one's supposed to help aches and pains."

     "Sounds good," Jim managed, smiling a little.

     "Let's get you into bed, and I'll bring it up."

     "You're the doctor," Jim replied, grinning again, a bit more
steadily this time.

     With Jim finally tucked in, sipping the herbal tea, propped on a
mountain of pillows, Blair collapsed onto the other side of the bed.

     "Want company?"  he asked belatedly.  Jim just smiled and
reached over to toy with a stray curl.  

     "You look so worn out, baby."

     "I think it all just caught up with me," Blair said honestly,
yawning until his jaws stretched.

     "Need another pillow?"  Jim asked, starting to lean forward.

     "Stay put.  One's plenty.  The floor would work right about
now."  Blair curled onto his side facing Jim, letting his eyes drift shut.

     "Why don't you get undressed first, Chief?  You're not going to
be very com--" Jim cut himself off short when he realized that Blair
was already dozing off to sleep.  He took another sip of tea and took in
every minute characteristic of Blair's face.  It was the face that had
saved his sanity, made him want to live, even through the worst
torment he could imagine.  The picture of Blair crying over his grave
was enough to make him hang in there, and even enough to make him
glad he had lived.   He wasn't glad for himself.  Living with the
memories of what they had done...not to mention with the disgrace at
the PD for the blown operation...none of that shit was worth coming
back to.  

     Blair moaned a little and stirred, then started to look a bit
perplexed.  Jim was about to reach out and caress the tumble of curls
on the pillow when a single word stopped him.

     "Stan," Blair muttered in his sleep, grumbling and turning over
on his other side, facing the wall.

     //Stan...  No, he wouldn't do that.  Not while I was undercover... 
But when else would he cheat on you, genius?  You'd smell another
man on him a mile away.  And what about the sexy outfit Simon
claimed Blair had been wearing the night you ended up at the hospital? 
But Blair wouldn't cheat.// Jim almost smiled as he shook his head and
finished the tea. //Why not?  Have you looked at Stan the man lately? 
All that sandy hair, nice build, Mr. Creative-Cerebral-Artsy Fartsy. 
Probably can actually talk about some of the things Blair's interested in,
and he's a good five years younger than you are, you old fart.// Jim
looked back at the peaceful form on the other side of the bed. //The son
of a bitch probably makes little naked Blair statues in his spare time. 
Obsessed bastard.//

     Jim stared at the ceiling, listening to Blair sleeping soundly next
to him, oblivious to the riot going on in his partner's mind. //All he said
was "Stan".  He didn't scream the guy's name and come all over
himself.  He said a name.  Get a grip, Ellison.  Probably was just one of
those stupid stray thoughts going on in that poor overworked brain of
his.// Jim reached over and touched a couple of soft curls on the pillow.
//Poor guy's so exhausted he can't stand up and he's lost plenty of
weight he really couldn't afford to while you've been gone.  That's not
the result of a steamy, satisfying affair.  That's the result of a long,
stressful, painful time.//

     Satisfied that he'd gotten over his little flare of irrational
jealousy, Jim set the empty cup aside and carefully maneuvered
himself into position to sleep.

********

     ''You like to hang around leather bars.  You oughtto enjoy this,
cop.  Most guys like you who hang around places like that have one
thing on their minds.  They wanna get fucked.  Is that what you want,
pig?  You wanna get fucked?"  The breath was nearly as foul as the
words.  The ropes were impossibly taut, keeping his arms and legs in
exactly the positions the bastards wanted.  The beating had left his
body screaming out in pain, and the strain of the position was as
uncomfortable as it was humiliating.

     "Take a look at this!"  A voice from behind called out
cheerfully.  It was another one of the goons, and whatever he had with
him, he was very proud of it.

     "Whoa-ho.  You think his boyfriend's dick is that big?"

     "Not unless he's been fucking with King Kong," the bearer of
the unseen prize retorted, and all four men were laughing again.  

     "Not gonna fit, man," another voice opined.  "Get real."

     "Oh, it's gonna fit," the other man responded menacingly.  "I'm
gonna make it fit."

********

     Blair stirred and jolted awake to Jim's moans and wild thrashing
about next to him in the bed.

     "Jim, it's a nightmare, buddy.  You're at home, you're safe,"
Blair soothed, trying to calm the worst of the violence of the flailing
arms to save himself an unwanted slug in the face.  "Jim, lover, it's me,
it's Blair.  Come on, I know you're scared but what you're seeing isn't
real, babe.  It's safe to open your eyes.  If you open your eyes, it'll go
away and you'll be safe.  Come on, lover, come back to me, huh?" 
Blair eased himself over closer as a little of the restlessness settled
slightly.  He ventured to touch Jim's hair gingerly, and found the other
man leaning into the contact, as if in the throes of his nightmare, he
knew with every fiber of his being that it was Blair touching him. 
Fueled by that realization, Blair grasped one of Jim's hands and laced
their fingers.  "Jim, wake up, right now."  His voice was firm and
commanding, but not loud, and certainly not hostile.

     "Blair," Jim muttered, opening his eyes and finally looking over
at his lover.

     "Right here, mine.  Right here."  Blair raised the hand he held
up to his mouth and kissed it, then held it against his face.  "You want
to talk about the dream?"  Blair wasn't surprised by the shake of the
head he got for a response.  "It's okay, you don't have to, love."

     "It was so damned real," Jim murmured, wiping at his eyes.

     "Some of them are.  Like reliving whatever it was over and over
again.  Jim, I'm not going to pressure you to talk to me, but you know I
want to help.  If you feel like you don't want to talk to me, I'll be behind
you 100% if you want to see somebody else to deal with--"

     "I have to see the police shrink anyway before I go back on the
job."

     "I wasn't talking about a few mandatory sessions where you
close off and don't tell him anything and he initials a form and then you
go back to work.  I was talking about seeing someone who could really
help you."

     "I've had a couple bad dreams, Sandburg.  I don't think I need to
be committed just yet."

     "No one's suggesting that, man.  I didn't say you were crazy.  I
don't think that at all.  But I know you'd eat ground glass before you'd
volunteer to see a counselor or therapist, even if you needed help."

     "I don't need anything but a couple days' rest."

     "Okay."  Blair was quiet a moment, then rested his head on
Jim's shoulder.  "I love you, you know."

     "I know.  I love you too."
     
     "What time is it, lover?"

     "Four," Jim reported, glancing at the digital readout on the CD
player.

     "How about I cook us some dinner?  Nothing heavy.  Soup and
sandwiches, or we could order pizza if you want."

     "I don't care about dinner right now."

     "Jim, you've got to eat, man.  I know it's not high on your
priority list right now, but I don't want you passing out on me."

     "All right.  Whatever you want is okay with me."

     "Jim?"  Blair looked up to have eye contact with the man he
loved.  "I just want you to know, whatever it is about this case that's
upset you so much--or whatever's giving you nightmares--there's
nothing you can tell me, or that can happen that'll make me not love
you.  You're my whole life.  You know that."

     "I know."  Jim gathered the smaller body into his arms and held
Blair close.  "I lived for this."

     "If you hadn't come back to me...Jim...I couldn't have dealt with
it.  I know you're gonna tell me now all about how I'd move on and how
I'd get on with my life...but it wouldn't happen.  I love you so much it
scares the hell out of me sometimes.  I used to lie here at night and
hold your robe or one of your favorite sweaters--anything that still
smelled like you.  And I still couldn't sleep.  I haven't slept four hours
straight like this since before you left."  Blair shuddered a little, and
Jim's arms tightened around him.  "I swore I'd never do anything like
this, but please, Jim, keep the promise to me you made in your letter--
don't leave me and go on a case like this again.  I can't handle it.  I
thought I could, and I know I sound worse than a whining cop's wife,
but I can't help it.  I couldn't sleep, I couldn't eat, and I didn't want to
get up in the morning.  I was so scared all through this case that
something was gonna go wrong, and when Simon showed up at the
door, I just about died right there.  I thought he was coming over in
person to...to give me the news.  Jim, I know now that I couldn't have
survived hearing that."

     "You could--"

     "Dammit, no, don't tell me I could.  I know I couldn't.  I wanted
to die when I saw Simon out there in the hall.  I wanted to die before I
had to hear those words come out of his mouth," Blair concluded, his
voice breaking pitifully on the last words.  "I know I should be able to
handle this, and I shouldn't lay this on you, but I can't go through this
again, Jim.  You're so much a part of me now that I can't make it
without you."

     "I promise," Jim said softly, kissing Blair's hair.  "I promise,
angel.  Never again."

     "I'm sorry."

     "No, don't be.  My undercover days died with J.J. Rush."  Jim
found a measure of relief in putting the rape on J.J. and taking it away
from himself.  It had happened to J.J., not to him.  J.J. had been tied
spread-eagled and raped with something that felt like a tree trunk.  J.J.
had been beaten and ridiculed and taunted and humiliated.  He was Jim
Ellison now.  J.J. was dead.  He had died after the rape.  He had taken
his last breath the moment the warm bundle of love in Jim's arms had
burst through the door of his hospital room.

     "I know how much you love that kind of work--"

     "It's over, baby.  And I don't even care.   As a matter of fact, I've
been thinking hard about resigning altogether."

     "Why?"  Blair moved away from Jim, sitting up on the bed so
they were facing each other.

     "Because...I came so damned close to dying...horribly...and I
wondered what the hell it would solve.  Bernardi isn't going to be
brought down by this, the goons that roughed me up are in lock-up, but
they're paid fall guys.  They'll take this rap and then get monster pay
offs when they get out--hell, they'll get more than my goddamned
pension for what they did to me."

     "Jim, I know something awful happened on this case.  I don't
know what, but I know it's something that was terrible for you.  I just
want you to know that I understand that, and I want to be there for you
however you want me to be."

     "You're doing just fine, baby."  Jim reached over and patted a
denim-clad leg.  "You look better since you got a little sleep."

     "I feel better," Blair replied, smiling and gracefully accepting
Jim's change of subjects.  "Man, I just passed out as soon as I hit the
bed.  I was kinda worried I was going to do that."
     
     "I'm glad you 'passed out', Chief.  You needed the rest.  You
still do.  Shit, you're so damned skinny."  Jim measured a thin wrist,
unhappy to be able to get his fingers so far around it.  

     "Yeah, well, after we have something to eat, we can read or
watch TV up here if you want."

     "The TV's downstairs."

     "The *big* TV's downstairs."  Blair scrambled out of the bed
and heaved a carton onto a small wood stand Jim hadn't really noticed
before, located at an angle from the foot of the bed.  "I got us a present
while you were gone."  Blair stepped away from the box so Jim could
see that it was a 19" TV/VCR combo.  "I figured we could either catch
the news or watch movies or whatever.  Instead of falling asleep on the
couch and staggering up here at two in the morning."

     "Good idea, sweetheart," Jim responded, trying to get his mind
off his own misery for a moment and concentrating on Blair's surprise. 
When Blair planned a surprise, it always meant everything to him that
Jim liked it.  "Nothing better I can think of than lying around in bed
with you and channel surfing at the same time."  Jim smiled as Blair
laughed a little.

     "I'll fix dinner.  You don't have to come down--"

     "I do unless you brought the plastic urinal from the hospital."

     "Well, actually--"

     "No way, man," Jim replied, holding up a hand and laughing a
little.  "My days of bottling it are over."

     "Take the steps slowly."  Blair was at his side in a moment,
pacing their descent to the first floor with great care.  Once Jim headed
into the bathroom, Blair went about fixing their meal.  

     Blair found he was ravenous now.  Jim was home and safe,
even if there was something seriously wrong.  But they could handle
anything together, Blair reasoned, and sated his emptiness on a helpless
cold chicken leg before he started a pan of chicken noodle soup on the
stove.

     As Blair was stirring the soup, there was a knock at the door. 
Bracing himself for another encounter with Stan, he swung the door
open and was surprised to see Tina Merriweather standing there with a
potted plant in hand.

     "Smells like I caught you right at dinner time," she said,
grimacing slightly.

     "I'm just fixing some soup.  Come on in."  Blair stepped back
and she entered.  Dressed in a navy blue tailored business suit, with her
blonde hair swirled up on her head, she looked more like an executive
than a Vice cop.

     "I was summoned to the holy temple today, so I thought I better
dress the part," she said, as if noticing Blair's appraisal of her
appearance.

     "You look nice."

     "Thanks.  I had to meet with Cameron, Banks and the
Commissioner this afternoon."

     "Yikes.  Want me to take that for you?"  Blair indicated the
plant.

     "Oh, yeah.  I suppose Jim really doesn't need a plant, but I
wasn't sure what else to bring him.  I heard he was allergic to flowers."

     "The plant's great.  I'm sure he'll like it."  Blair set the robust-looking 
philodendron on the kitchen table.  "Have a seat.  Jim's in the
other room--he'll probably be joining us pretty soon.  You want
something to drink?"

     "No, thanks, I'm fine.  I don't want to keep you two from eating
dinner.  I just wanted to see how Jim was doing."

     "You know you're always welcome to stop in.  If it weren't for
you..."  Blair shuddered.  "I don't want to go there."

     "I don't think the others would have let Jim down either."

     "But no one did anything--you took the initiative.  And that's
what saved Jim's life."

     "Amen to that, Chief," Jim spoke up as he exited the bathroom,
wearing his gray robe and looking a little more refreshed.  "Good to see
you, Tina."

     "You look like you're feeling better," she commented, though
Jim just snorted a little laugh.

     "I don't know about that, but I'm mobile anyway."  Jim eased
himself down into the cushions of the couch opposite the one where
Tina sat.

     "We're out of fresh bread for the sandwiches," Blair said from
the kitchen where he was turning down the soup.  "Would you guys
excuse me while I run down to the bakery and pick some up?"

     "I'll keep an eye on the patient," Tina quipped.  Blair smiled as
he headed for the doors, grabbing his keys out of the basket.

     "Thanks.  I won't be long."  Blair pulled the front door shut
behind him.

     "He's a great guy, Jim.  You're lucky."

     "I agree with you there."  Jim felt the uneasiness growing.  Tina
knew the score.  She had been the first to find him, and it had only
been with her help that he'd been able to get himself together before the
others arrived.  She had released his bonds, found his discarded pants
and helped him get back into them before the guys caught up to them. 
He wanted to hide it, and she helped.  But she knew.

     "How are you *really*?"

     "I'm all right," Jim answered, forcing a steadiness and
conviction into his voice that he didn't really feel.

     "Are you?  Jim, I still wish you weren't insisting on keeping this
a secret.  I think it's a potentially destructive decision."

     "I appreciate your help, Tina--so please don't take this the
wrong way, but I think I know what's best for me, and having
something like this as the topic of conversation in the PD lunchroom
isn't it."

     "A lot of your colleagues would be behind you 100%."

     "Yeah, I'm sure some of them would.  But not only am I already
bucking the system with a male lover, not only am I the lead cop of a
botched undercover operation that just cost the PD thousands of dollars
and yielded nothing, but I'm now supposed to describe how...what
happened?  No.  That's a route I won't go.  Not an option."

     Blair made his way down the hall with the bag of fresh bread
from the bakery in hand.  He stopped outside the door to the loft when
he heard loud, animated voices.

     "You haven't told him yet?"  Tina demanded in disbelief.  
"When were you planning on getting around to that?"

     "When I'm ready," Jim snapped back.  "You said you'd keep this
under your hat."

     "Well, yes, I will.  I told you I wouldn't say anything at the PD. 
But, Jim, you're living with him--sleeping with him.  He has a right to
know."

     "I have every intention of telling him.  This just isn't the right
time!  Look, we agreed to keep this between us and all of a sudden,
you're pushing me to take out an ad in the paper and announce it to the
world."

     Blair leaned against the wall near the door.  This conversation
couldn't be what it sounded like.  He closed his eyes and prayed. //God,
please, don't let it be what I think it is.//

     "Jim, you can't keep him in the dark forever.  He's just going to
be more hurt when he finds out how long you've been deceiving him. 
It's going to be hard whenever you tell him."

     "He's had a rough six weeks too.  I can't drop this on him right
now."

     "Blair seems pretty resilient.  I think you're selling him short."

     "I'm not questioning Blair's strength or his coping mechanisms. 
I just don't feel the need to test all of them right now.  I'll tell him when
the time is right."

     "It isn't going to get easier, Jim.  Believe me.  The longer you
wait--"

     "Tina, I owe you my life, and for that, I'm grateful.  But--"

     "I know.  I'm pushing.  I'm sorry.  I just feel so strongly that you
should be at least talking this over with Blair."

     "I'm back," Blair announced, walking in the door and closing it
behind him, trying to act nonchalant, as if he hadn't heard what they'd
been saying.  His hands shook as he pulled the loaf of bread out of the
white bakery bag.  "Would you like to stay for dinner, Tina?  It's not
much, but we've got enough."

     "No, thanks anyway, Blair.  I really should get going.  Jim--take
care of yourself, and remember what I said."  She rose and headed for
the door, motioning Jim to stay put when he leaned forward to start the
task of standing to walk her out.  "You can save the chivalry routine
this time.  Just get some rest."  She smiled back at Jim before heading
for the door, which Blair opened for her.  "Take good care of him," she
instructed Blair, then smiled.  "I guess you're doing that anyway."

     "I usually do," he replied, a little less jovially than before.  If it
sounded a bit possessive, that was fine by him.  If she thought some
undercover tryst with Jim was going to be enough to push him out of
the way, she was sadly mistaken.  He would deal with the fact his heart
was split in half later.  For now, he had to protect his turf.

     "I'm sure you do," she responded, smiling a little uneasily, and
then after an awkward little pause, she left.

     "Something wrong, Chief?"  Jim asked, obviously having
picked up on Blair's rapid heartbeat and the almost physically tangible
tension that had crackled between Blair and Tina.

     "Nothing," Blair lied blatantly, washing his hands and then
pulling out bread to start the sandwiches.

     "Blair."

     "Look, I'm tired, I'm stressed, I haven't eaten more than a
handful of food for over to a month--I've just had it, okay?"

     "Okay.  Sorry, sweetheart," Jim responded, turning on the
television.

     //Sweetheart my ass,// Blair thought angrily, savagely smearing
mayonnaise on a piece of bread. //What do you call Tina when you're in
the sack with her?// 

     "Tina said the arraignment was pretty uneventful this morning. 
All but one of the bastards all pleaded guilty to kidnapping and
aggravated assault.  One of them's not talking at all, but he probably
will if he gets some pressure from Bernardi to take the fall like a good
little stooge.  No big surprise there.  Paid fall guys, like I said before."

     "I hope they rot in hell," Blair shot back, fervently wishing
they'd take the curvy Tina with them.  Jim obviously still accepted
Blair's explanation of his emotional state, since he made no comment
at the hostile response.

     Blair served dinner in the living room, and the two men ate in
virtual silence, watching a tabloid TV program neither one really cared
about.

     //How can he be so sincere with me and be in love with her at
the same time?  How can he want her and seem so happy to be with
me?// Blair sighed audibly, but Jim ignored it, staring blankly at the
TV. //What did I really hear?  There's something they both know that I
don't that she thinks I should.  Does that mean they're sleeping
together?  But if it was something else innocent, why would Jim be so
damned secretive about it?//

     "I'd offer you a penny, but those have to be worth a buck,
minimum," Jim said, startling Blair out of his thoughts.  Looking over
at his lover, Blair's heart softened immeasurably.  Jim still looked
miserable and tired, and older than Blair had ever recalled him looking
before.  Setting his empty plate aside, he moved over to sit close to
Jim.

     "I'm sorry.  I'm just grouchy tonight, I guess."  He rested his
head on Jim's shoulder and linked arms with him, lacing their fingers
together.

     //He might screw her, but he *loves* me,// Blair thought
smugly, then dismissed the thought again.  He had no proof Jim had
been unfaithful to him, and the smartest way to handle that was to fight
fire with fire--be competitive for Jim's affections. //He turned his whole
life on its ear to love you.  Tina may have been a one-time shot, but this
is what forever feels like.  Now if he'd just be honest, so we could talk
the thing out and find out how he really feels...if she was a one-time
slip up for a guy who had been hetero all his life, or if she was serious
competition for Jim's love...// 

     The rest of the evening passed uneventfully, with Blair's head
on Jim's shoulder while they stared fixedly at the screen, each man
absorbed in his own thoughts.

********

     Jim resisted the pull at his consciousness.  He had fallen asleep
the minute they'd moved up to the bedroom, and for the first time, he'd
slept through the night with Blair firmly tucked against his side.  No
nightmares. //Of course, you had a winner in the afternoon,// he
reminded himself. //But in the afternoon, Blair was in the bed, but not
in your arms.  Guess he's your sleeping pill.//  

     Voices irritated his hearing again, and he finally woke up all the
way, discovering that his lover was already up, the loft bathed in
morning sunlight.  Blair was talking to someone, and within moments,
Jim identified the voice as Stan the pigeon man.  He didn't bother
looking downstairs, since seeing Stan there in one of his jogging outfits
putting the moves on Blair was the last thing he wanted to watch.  If he
was needed, he'd intervene.

     //Probably wearing those fucking cycling shorts and a tank shirt. 
Mr. Health-and-Fitness-Cerebral-Cultural-Artsy-Fartsy-Doesn't-Know-When-To-
Mind-His-Own-Fucking-Business.  God, but that guy was an
annoying slut.// Jim let out a long sigh, audible only to himself and the
empty bedroom. //A slut, huh?  Geez, Ellison, you're starting to sound
like a catty old woman.// He smiled a little at that, and closed his eyes
again, but indulged in something he normally would never do: he tuned
into Blair's conversation with their unwanted houseguest and settled in
to eavesdrop.

     "Look, Stan, you really helped me over a couple of rough times
while Jim was gone, but he's home now--"

     "So you're just going to dump me, is that it?"

     "Dump you?  Oh, man."  Jim could almost picture Blair rolling
his eyes and shaking his head.  "Look, we got together a couple times
while Jim was gone--and it really helped me get through that time.  I
appreciate that.  But Jim and I are together, permanently.  This isn't
something personal where you're concerned.  I'm not available."

     "Not personal, huh?"  Stan was pacing now.  Jim could hear it.
//That's what he said, Pigeon-Boy.  He's not available.  Need me to
draw a picture for you?//

     "I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong idea while Jim was gone.  I
was lonely, and stressed out--"

     "And I was just conveniently here.  That's great, Blair.  You're a
real class act.  Use people and then toss them out when you're done."

     "I didn't use you, Stan."

     "What would you call it?"  Stan stormed toward the door, and
Jim could hear Blair's heartbeat thundering.  

     "I'd call it a mistake, obviously," Blair shot back angrily.  The
other man slammed the door behind him.  "Shit," Blair muttered.  As
Jim heard the footsteps turn and approach the foot of the stairs, he
closed his eyes again and pretended to be just waking up.  There were a
few things in the conversation that were troubling him, and he wanted
some time to think before he let on that he knew the score--whatever
the score *was*.

     "Morning, sweetheart," he said sleepily, noting the relief in
every part of Blair's system as he assumed Jim hadn't heard any part of
the conversation. 

     "How're you feeling?"  Blair crawled up on his side of the bed
and snuggled into Jim's arms.  He was still dressed in his robe.

     "A little better, I think.  But then I haven't tried moving yet."

     "You want to do anything today?  We could go for a drive--it
looks like a beautiful day out there."
     
     "Maybe tomorrow, huh?"

     "Sure."  Blair was quiet a few moments.  "Do you think
Bernardi's people are going to come after you--you know, after you
were undercover on the case?"

     "I doubt it.  Quite frankly, we can't tie any of this back in to
them as long as their goons play their parts, and nobody comes looking
for me or anyone else who was on the team.  Of course, if they talk,
that's different."  Jim shook his head.  "They're smart.  That's how
they've got it figured.  They either kill you and hide the body, or if
something goes wrong with that plan A, the henchmen are well-paid
enough to take the fall, and there are no ties back to the organization
that hold up in court."

     "Did Tina get in much trouble for helping you?  She mentioned
that she'd met with Simon, Cameron and the Commissioner yesterday."

     "Oh.  She's in some trouble, but fortunately, not in as much as
we thought.  She went against orders, which is one of those objective
things that you can't get around.  But ultimately, she made the right
choice in terms of the results, which also carries some weight.  The
long and short of it is that she's on a disciplinary suspension for two
weeks, but her rank and her job are intact.  Although she's going to ask
Simon if there's any hope she could transfer to Major Crime instead of
staying with Vice, since Cameron was trying to get her fired over the
whole incident, and working under him won't be much of a joy."

     "She probably would like to work more closely with you now." 
Blair let the comment dangle, and Jim finally responded.

     "I think she wants to get away from Cameron."

     "Was she pretty easy to work with?  She seems like she would
be," Blair probed.

     "She's a good cop.  That part of the operation went well.  She'd
be a good addition to the unit."

     "Wonder if Simon would have you working together a lot if she
transferred."

     "I don't know.  Possibly."

     "Would you like that?"

     "What is this, Chief?  Twenty questions?"  Jim's voice wasn't
quite as angry as his words, but close.  

     "Just curious," Blair replied. //Touchy subject, huh?// Blair
sighed.

     "Okay, Chief.  Out with it.  What's eating you?"

     "Nothing.  I was just making conversation."

     "You're lying.  Don't try that crap with me, Blair.  I know better
so let's just save the double talk."

     "I guess I was kind of jealous of you working with another
partner." //Wasn't thrilled at the thought of you sleeping with her
either.//
     
     "I know you wanted to go under with me, but not only would I
have refused to put you in that kind of danger, but your commitments
at the U wouldn't have allowed it.  You were just getting through finals
week and grading and all that when this started."

     "I know.  I just didn't like that it wasn't me watching your back." 
Blair relaxed since Jim seemed to be buying what he was saying.  It
was true enough, just not the reason that Blair was upset.  It was
because Jim had a secret with a tall, curvaceous blonde who happened
to be a great cop and who just saved his life.

     "I'm glad you weren't there, Chief.  It was enough of a disaster
as it was without you getting hurt too."

     "I'll go fix us some breakfast."  Blair got out of bed and headed
downstairs.  

     Finally coming to grips with the thought of putting his
miserable body in motion again, Jim pulled himself out of bed.  He
groaned when the movement of the covers sent his robe to the floor in
a heap.  Groaning a bit, he lowered himself to his knees to pick it up. 
He wasn't about to call Blair to get it, and the mental image of stooping
all the way from the waist made his ribs throb.  As he was about to get
up again, something under the bed caught his eye.  He made the
uncomfortable stretch to reach the small, bunched up object and pulled
it out to inspect it.  

     The pair of black briefs definitely weren't his.  Repelled and yet
compelled at the same time, he opened up his sense of smell.  They
weren't Blair's either.  But they were familiar...  As realization dawned,
Jim rose to a standing position, his anger obliterating the pain.  He
knew who they belonged to, and his time of waiting for an answer was
over.

     Blair was cracking eggs on the side of a bowl when Jim came
stealthily down the stairs.  He jumped a little when he noticed the other
man standing behind him. 

     "Hey, lover.  Eggs okay?"  he asked, turning away from the
counter, smiling.

     "What do you have to say about these?"  Jim hurled the
underwear at Blair, who barely caught it before it hit him in the face.

     "I didn't know you had any like these," Blair responded,
frowning.

     "I don't.   And they're not your size.  Don't try bullshitting me,
Sandburg.  When was Stan in our bed, huh?  Is that why you had to run
home and change the sheets before I came home?!"  Jim demanded
angrily, advancing toward Blair.

     "Oh, come on, man.  Me and Stan?  Give me a break!  I mean,
we talked a few times while you were gone, and he's a good listener,
but that's it.  I can't believe you'd even think--"

     "A good listener?  Goddammit, Blair, it's bad enough you've
been screwing around on me.  Don't make it worse by lying about it!" 
Jim shouted.  

     "I can't believe you think I was sleeping with Stan!  Where were
these anyway?"  He tossed the balled up underwear down on the floor
as if it were a live snake.

     "Under the fucking bed upstairs!  So if Stan hasn't been up there
lately, what the hell is his underwear doing under our bed?!"  Jim
demanded, advancing toward his partner.    Blair retreated a few steps,
backing toward his old room.

     "I *don't know*.  But he's never been in that bed, Jim.  And he
sure as hell hasn't been in any bed with me!"  Blair shouted back.

     "So what was it you couldn't resist, huh?"  Jim continued his
rant, as if Blair hadn't spoken, still advancing toward the other man. 
"Was it the whole Bohemian artist thing?"  Jim asked angrily.  "Am I
too fucking old?  What is it??!?!?"  Jim snarled the question loudly and
violently enough to make Blair jump.

     "I didn't do anything!  God, Jim, how could you--" Blair was
stunned to be shoved back on his old bed.  "What're you--"

     "Shut up.  Just shut the hell up right now."  Jim lowered his full
weight on the other man, ignoring the screams of pain from his own
abused body.  He grabbed a handful of hair on either side of Blair's
head and held him motionless against the bed.  "No more lies, dammit. 
Every time you open your fucking mouth more lies come out!  Shit,
Sandburg, if you're fuck buddies with the guy next door, the least you
could do is be honest about it!  But you didn't count on Simon seeing
you in one of your slutty get-ups.  Is that his kink?  He likes you to
dress like a goddamned whore?"

     "I told you I--" Blair was cut off with a hand clamping over his
mouth.  

     "If I want to hear from you, I'll ask.  Now shut up!"  Jim finally
moved his hand from Blair's mouth and moved up slightly.  "Turn
over."

     "What?!"  Blair stared at Jim, disbelieving.  "Don't even think
about it.  Now get the hell off me!"  Blair shouted back, no longer
playing a passive role in the whole confrontation.  "You don't want to
do this, man--" His protest was cut off with a sharp backhand blow
across his mouth.

     "When I'm finished with you, you're not going to forget who
you belong to for a good long time," Jim hissed into the startled face of
his lover.  

     "Jim, don't do this.  Please don't do this," Blair pleaded, giving
up on the assertive approach.  All it had earned him so far was a split
lip.  The only response was Jim making the necessary moves to
efficiently flip Blair on his stomach and pin his arms at the small of his
back. //He's going to rape me.  My God...he's going to force me...//
Blair's mind raced, and tears filled his eyes, spilling onto the spread. 
"Jim, please don't hurt me," he begged, starting to cry in earnest.

     "You should've thought about that before you started fucking
around behind my back and dressing up like a cheap whore for that
asshole next door!"

     "I never slept with him!  Oh, God, Jim, how can you think I'd do
that?!"  As Blair made that demand, he thought about his own
suspicions about Tina.  Neither man, apparently, was above doubting
the other.  Rational thought left Blair as he felt his robe being pulled
ruthlessly out of the way, a strong, angry, efficient hand grasping his
boxers and pulling them off with a startling efficiency.  

     "Spread your legs," Jim ordered, poking at Blair's thighs with
his knee.
     
     "No!!"  Blair let out an agonized wail.  "Don't do this to me,
Jim.  Oh, God, please don't hurt me!  I didn't do anything wrong! 
Please stop!"  Blair sobbed every plea, hysterical not only at the
thought of what someone the size of Jim, angry, would do to him
without benefit of any lubrication, but at the irreparable damage that
would be done to their relationship if he had to survive being raped by
the man he loved.  "Jim, please, NO!!"  He made one last attempt as he
felt his legs being forced apart by the large knee insistent on
insinuating itself between his thighs.

     "Oh shit," came a strained voice behind him as the pressure was
suddenly gone from his pinned arms and Jim's weight completely
removed from his body.  As soon as he was free, Blair scooted up the
bed and curled into a ball, pulling his robe around himself, crying hard
into the bedspread.

     Long minutes passed, and finally Blair realized he was hearing
more than his own sobs echoing.  He was hearing Jim's.  Rolling over
to face his lover, he found the larger man kneeling on the floor next to
the bed, sobbing as convulsively as Blair had been himself.

     "Jim?"  Blair slid to the edge of the bed, sitting next to where
Jim had pillowed his head on his folded arms.  He reached hesitantly
toward his lover and stroked his hair.  "It's okay, lover.  I'm okay."

     "What have I done?"  Jim asked miserably, not moving his
head.

     "You stopped before--"

     "I hit you," Jim interrupted.

     "I know."  Blair took a deep breath.  That was a hard thing to
reconcile in his own mind, but one thing was certain--Jim was not
himself.  "No serious damage done, love.  I'm not made out of glass."

     "Oh, God, Blair, please don't leave me.  If Stan...if there's
something you need from him...just don't tell me about it.  But don't
leave."  Jim's words shattered Blair's heart into a million pieces.  That
this proud, close-mouthed man would make such a statement--such a
pathetic plea--stirred Blair to the depths of his soul.  

     "Jim, look at me."

     "I can't."

     "Please, babe.  Look at me.  It's important."   Blair slid his hand
carefully beneath Jim's face to where he could encourage his chin
upward.  When both damp-faced, red-eyed men were looking at each
other, Blair smiled.  "You're everything I need, everything I want,
everything I ever dreamed of.  I haven't even *looked* at another man,
or seriously given a woman more than a passing glance, since we got
together.  I don't know how Stan's underwear ended up under our bed,
but he sure as hell didn't lose them up there during some passionate sex
fling with me.  Nobody's ever going to touch me the way you do. 
That's just for us.  Forever."

     "Not anymore," Jim said softly, looking away from Blair.  

     "Please, lover, believe me that I didn't sleep with Stan.  I don't
have any interest in the guy.  The only reason I talked to him a little
more while you were gone is because I was desperate.  I was lonely and
miserable and he can be a good listener when he shuts up for a few
minutes.  He seems to think I meant it as something more--that just
because I talked to him a few times or ate a bagel with him that I
wanted to have a relationship.  I think Stan needs to get out more,"
Blair concluded smiling.

     "It's not you, sweetheart," Jim told the bedspread.  "It's me." 
The words hit Blair light a ton of bricks.  He should have expected it
after what he'd overheard between Jim and Tina.

     "Tina's a beautiful woman, Jim.  And you were always with
women before me.  I think we can get past this."

     "What are you talking about?"  Jim looked up, startled.  He
finally hauled himself up to sit on the edge of the bed with Blair.  His
confusion seemed to outweigh his anguish for just a moment or two.

     "You said it wasn't me, that it was you--about the sex being just
between us.  I overheard you talking to Tina yesterday.  I didn't mean to
eavesdrop.  I was coming back home with the bread and I heard you
guys talking about something that you didn't want me to know, but that
she thought I had a right to know.  I just put two and two together."

     "And came up with five, Darwin," Jim responded, smiling
ironically and shaking his head.

     "I'm lost, man."

     "Oh, geez."  Jim took a hold of Blair's chin and examined the
swollen split lip.  "I'm so sorry, Chief."

     "Jim, please talk to me.  Tell me what's wrong."

     "I can't excuse myself, Blair.  Not for hitting you.  And certainly
not for...for trying to...to force you."

     "You stopped.  When I really pleaded with you, you stopped.  If
you wanted to hurt me, Jim, it would have been easy for you.  You had
me pinned down, and I can't overpower you.  But you didn't."

     "I should have never started."  Jim got up and started pacing.  "I
just...I look at Stan and I see all the things I can't give you.  He's
interested in the same stuff you are, he's artistic, he's...he's younger, and
he's going to have all his hair a hell of a lot longer.  And...he can give
you a few other things I...I don't think I can...ever give you again."

     "Okay, let's take this one step at a time, man.  I don't love Stan. 
Period.  I don't even *like* the guy all that well, and I sure as hell don't
want him in my pants.  End of story.  Second, the only person I ever
want to share my life with is standing on the opposite side of the room
with his back to me.  I love you, Jim.  The vows we took...they're
forever.  And that's no burden or restraint or tie-down.  Being married
to you is the most wonderful, fulfilling, perfect part of my life.  It *is*
my life.  The rest of the stuff is just filler.  This is the meat--the center
of my existence.  You and being with you--that's it.  Anything you can't
give me, I don't need.  Yes, I might talk to someone like Stan because I
find common ground with him.  But that has nothing to do with us. 
And as far as how his stupid briefs got upstairs, I think I know when
that happened."

     "When?"

     "When I was getting ready to go get you at the hospital.  Stan
had stopped me a couple times to talk, and he was trying to strike
things up when I was leaving, and I forgot to lock the door.  At least, it
was unlocked when we got home."

     "You didn't say anything."

     "I didn't want to upset you, and honestly, I was too tired to get
bawled out for leaving it open.  I was just wiped out, and cranky and
borderline weepy about all this, so I figured if everything looked okay,
I would just vow to be more careful in the future and let it go."

     "So you think he planted them?"

     "Yeah.  I think he's working real hard to make me look bad
even if I'm not doing anything.  Just like that fight we had this morning
while you were asleep upstairs."

     "I heard it," Jim confessed.

     "You didn't say anything."

     "You didn't say anything about Tina either."

     "Touche," Blair conceded, laughing a little.  "As for the outfit,
Simon kept telling me you were in trouble but nobody would *do*
anything.  So I dressed up like I was looking for action and was going
to cruise around the clubs Bernardi runs to see if I could find anything
out."
     
     "We still need to have a little talk about that, Chief," Jim
responded sternly.

     "I still don't understand what you meant when you said that it
was you."  Blair was only allowed a brief look at Jim's profile as he
turned his head a bit, but then he turned back to face away from Blair
again.  

     "On the case...something...it wasn't in the reports.  Tina helped
me."

     "Jim, it's okay, love.  Just tell me what happened."  Blair rose
and went to stand behind Jim, laying a gentle hand on his back.  

     "I can't say it."  Jim took a shaky breath.  Blair felt a cold fear in
the pit of his stomach, and somehow, it all fell into place, and he
cursed himself for not knowing right away.  Or maybe he had known
and didn't want to face it himself.

     "They raped you," he almost-whispered, winding his arms
gently around Jim's waist from behind, still mindful of his injuries.

     "Oh, God, how...you knew?"  Jim managed, his voice strained
and breathless.

     "Not for sure.  I should have known right away.  Maybe
somewhere in my heart I did, but I didn't want to face that those
bastards hurt you that way.  Did the doctor know?"  Blair waited as Jim
nodded, his hands coming up to cover Blair's where they crossed at his
stomach.  "Are you gonna be okay physically?"

     "Yeah.  Uh...we don't have to worry...about STDs or HIV or
anything.  They...didn't use...it was...an object."

     "Oh, God."  Blair lost a bit of his control, and tears spilled down
his cheeks as he pressed his head gently against Jim's back.  "What?" 
he asked finally.

     "I...I don't know.  I...I just know it felt..."  Jim worked hard to
retain enough voice to speak.  "I know it was too fucking big to fit."  A
few tears escaped then, and Jim's hands tightened over Blair's.  "It's not
between us anymore, baby."

     "That had nothing to do with sex, lover.  That was torture. 
Sick, perverted, sadistic torture.  They hated you because you were a
cop so they found the most painful, humiliating thing they could do to
you.  They didn't even use...themselves."  Blair struggled to pull his
own emotions back a bit, to be strong for Jim.  "Oh, God, Jim, that
doesn't take anything away from what you are, or from any vows
between us, or the fact you've never made love with anyone but me
since we made our commitment to each other."  Blair was quiet a
moment.  "How...how badly are you hurt?"

     "The doctor said it was nothing permanent.  He said there was a
lot of bruising and swelling and I needed a few stitches for the, uh...one
of the tears."  Jim took in and released a shaky breath.   "Blair...I have
no...no right to keep you here," Jim said brokenly.  
     
     "It's just a fat lip, big guy.  I'll be fine."

     "I can't...I mean, I can't give you...anything.  If somebody like
Stan..."

     "Jim, forget Stan.  He can go fuck his pigeons for all I care. 
He's history.  And the next time I see him, I'm going to stuff his lousy
underwear down his throat so far he'll be wearing them in the right
place when I'm done.  But this thing about not giving me anything..."

     "I don't know...I can't picture...  One of the things that was the
most perfect between us...  What if I can't...?"

     "Can't have sex for a while?  A long time?  Years?  Never?" 
Blair rubbed a hand lightly over Jim's midsection and chest.  "I loved
you for two solid years when the most we ever did was hug each other
once in a *very* great while.  I would have lived with you that way
forever if you'd let me.  I still feel the same way.  The love was all there
so long before the sex.  The sex grew from the love, Jim.  And they can
do whatever they want, but they can't reach down inside of us and mess
with that.  Sex is physical.  It can be beautiful, but without the love, it's
just so much activity.  Fun maybe, but nothing important.  I could live
my whole life without sex if I had to, if it meant we could be together. 
But if I had to leave you, I wouldn't last a day."

     "That all sounds good, Chief, and it means a lot to me, but think
about what you're signing up for."

     "Reverse the situation."

     "What?"

     "If you're having trouble believing that I will feel the way I do
right now, forever, and that I don't want to leave you, that I don't feel
short-changed or turned off or grossed out or that I could possibly mean
what I say--just put yourself in my place.  If I had been raped, and you
had me back with you now, and I felt the way you feel about things,
and I had a lot of stuff to work through--how would you feel?"

     "Like I was so damn lucky you were alive that nothing else
mattered."

     "Okay then.  Will you put it out of your mind about Stan or
anybody else, and please not worry about me getting tired of things and
leaving?  It's more likely that I'll get tired of my heart and cut it out of
my chest than it is I'll get tired of you.  You're mine, Jim.  Nothing and
no one is going to take you away from me."  Blair got a hold of Jim's
arms and encouraged him to turn around, so they finally faced each
other.   "There's no way I'm ever going to stop loving you, and no way
I'm ever gonna leave you.  Even if I die, you're going to be haunted 'til
you take your last breath, so quit worrying about how old you are,
where your hairline happens to be or how many deformed people the
guy next door makes with his clay.  I'm not going anywhere, and the
only man I ever want to be with--in any sense of the word--is you.  Got
it?"

     "It's sinking in, I think," Jim responded, smiling weakly, pulling
Blair into his arms.  

     "Do you want to talk about it?"

     "Not yet.  Not now.  Maybe not ever.  Can you live with that?"

     "As long as you don't shut me out of what you're feeling, love.  I
can handle you not telling me the facts or the details until you feel able
to, but I want to be there for you."

     "You are.  You always are, baby."  Jim pulled back.  "Are you
okay?  Did I hurt you?"

     "No.  I'm fine."

     "Except for the fat lip."

     "Yeah, there's that," Blair responded, smiling a little.  

     "Do you have to teach today?"

     "I have the rest of the week off--and if we need more time, I'll
get more time."

     "You can't just disappear, Chief.  You have to--"

     "I have to be with you if you need me.  I'm not disappearing,
and I'm not quitting Rainier.  But you come first."  Blair hesitated.

     "There's something you want to say."  Jim's statement was
matter-of-fact, not accusatory.

     "You're not pressing charges."

     "No, you're right, I'm not.  One disgrace per case is plenty."  Jim
moved away from his partner and walked over to a small mirror that
hung on the wall.  His own reflection still made him sick--still made
the self-loathing and self-chastisement kick into high gear. //I should
have stopped them...I should have come up with some kind of plan...I
should be man enough now to press charges for what they did...//

     "What disgrace?  Jim, it's not your fault someone recognized
your picture in the newspaper."

     "The whole operation went down the toilet, Chief.  All we've
got to show for it are four small-time hoods who won't ever sell out 'the
family'."  Jim made quote marks in the air with his fingers.

     "You did your best."

     "Maybe that's what's so fucking pathetic," Jim responded,
sinking back onto the small bed, then stretching out when he found
sitting less than enjoyable.  He was glad when Blair came and snuggled
up with him, spoon style, so he could wrap himself around the smaller
man's warmth.

     "You did your best on this operation--Jim, you are a good cop."

     "You're biased."

     "Just because I love you doesn't mean I can't evaluate your
abilities and characteristics accurately.   I'm not *that* biased, man."
     
     "Oh, sweetheart, I'm so sorry for hurting you...pinning you
down like that," Jim said, kissing a nearby ear.  "The only reason I don't
feel worse is that I couldn't have done anything to you if I'd wanted to. 
I don't know why I even did something like that.  I couldn't get it up if
my life depended on it."

     "God, Jim...after what you've been through...  Don't be so hard
on yourself, babe.  You didn't mean to hurt me."  Blair stroked the large
arm that had curled around him, pulling him tightly against Jim's body. 
"You were afraid of losing me--and it was another major thing you
couldn't control, like...like what happened to you.  Maybe you just
needed to regain some control, to feel like you were in the driver's seat
again."

     "That's no excuse to hit you.  It sure as hell wouldn't have
excused me forcing myself on you."  Jim buried his nose in the soft
hair, inhaled Blair's scent and let his eyes drift shut.  As long as Blair
was in his arms, the demons were kept at bay.  

     "I would have forgiven you," Blair said quietly.  "You know, I'm
here for you, whatever you need, love.  However I can help make this
easier...I guess I'm not saying this too well."

     "You're saying it great, Chief.  I love you."

     "I love you too."  A long pause followed.  "I hate what they did
to you.  You're mine, Jim.  They had no fucking right!"  Blair couldn't
help crying now, unable to cope with the images playing through his
mind of Jim being tormented that way, and their sacred territory being
stomped down by brutality and invaded by a bunch of perverts who
used Jim in the worst possible manner.

     "It's okay, baby.  I'm so sorry."

     "No!  You don't be sorry, man!  This is *so* not your fault.  I
don't want you to apologize to me.  You didn't do anything!"  Blair
shouted through his tears.  "It's them.  God...I never wanted to kill
anyone in my life, but if I had the chance...  With my bare hands..." 
Blair trailed off into tears, and Jim held him close, joining him.  The
release of the pain felt good, and sharing it with Blair made it less
unbearable.  They had both been hurt by what happened, and anything
Jim could share with his lover, he felt he could face.

********

     Jim stirred and opened his eyes, disoriented for a moment to
find himself in Blair's old room.  His lover was sleeping soundly,
having cried until the point of exhaustion when he once reacted to what
Jim had told him.  Acknowledging the ever-present discomfort in his
side and from the rape itself, Jim shifted and sat up, trying to figure a
way to get out of the bed without waking Blair.  He slid down to the
foot of the bed and got up, stifling a groan as he left Blair to his rest
and pulled the French doors shut.  

     Taking some comfort in puttering around the kitchen quietly, he
cleaned up the remains of the breakfast Blair had started preparing
before he had been so violently interrupted.  As he dried off the few
dishes he'd washed, his sense of smell picked up on something, and he
glanced at a corner where two baseboards met under the cupboards. 
The infamous black briefs were still there where Blair had thrown
them.  Drying his hands, Jim snatched them up off the floor and strode
angrily to the door and out into the hall.  Taking a deep breath, he
headed for Stan's door.  After banging on it loudly, he heard movement
inside.

     "Who is it?"

     "Jim Ellison," he responded curtly. //It's the underwear fairy
returning your dirty drawers.// Jim rolled his eyes as he waited for the
other man to answer the door.  When it opened, he tossed the black
briefs at the startled man.

     "I should run you in for breaking and entering, ace."

     "I don't know what you're talking about."

     "Look, I know you're lying, so let's just cut through the shit here
and get something straight right now.  If you ever pull a stunt like this
again, they're gonna have to surgically remove those when I'm done
with you.  Furthermore, stay the hell away from Sandburg.  He's told
you to get lost, but he's a hell of a lot more polite than I am.  I'm not
going to tell you again.  Stay out of his face, and stay the hell out of
mine," Jim concluded in a controlled but distinctly hostile tone.

     "Don't you think you're taking this whole jealousy thing a little
far?  Last time I looked, Blair could speak for himself."

     "You're right.  He can.  And he has.  But occasionally, he
encounters a thick-skulled asshole who isn't capable of listening.  So
that's where I come in, because I'm a hell of a lot less diplomatic.  You
come near Blair again, and you're gonna be singing soprano, if you
don't already.  Is that clear enough?"

     "It's a crystal clear case of harassment and assault."

     "Call a cop," Jim shot back, walking back toward his own front
door.

     "You know, Ellison, your Neanderthal tactics might be exciting
for a while, but when Blair grows up a little bit, he's going to be
looking for someone who can challenge his mind, share his love of
learning and culture and--"

     "Look," Jim spun around and faced the other man, jabbing an
angry finger at him as he spoke, "you don't know what you're talking
about, so now would be a damn good time for you to shut the fuck up
before I do it for you."

     "Can you solve anything without threats and violence and
throwing your weight around, I wonder?  Is that how you keep Blair in
line?  Smack him around when he misbehaves?"

     "No," Jim laughed and shook his head, crossing his arms over
his chest.  "You're not getting your way this time, pal.  All you need is
to get me to take a swing at you, and you can cry assault.  If you're
lucky, I might do a little time and then you could sniff around
Sandburg while I was gone.  Not gonna happen."  Jim moved into the
other man's personal space, his breath actually moving a few stray hairs
on Stan's head.  "But mark my words: don't make the mistake of trying
to get between Blair and me.  I'm done issuing warnings.  The next
time, I'll take care of the problem once and for all."  Jim backed off and
headed for the apartment.

     "Meaning what?"

     "You're so fucking smart.  Figure it out, Einstein."  Jim
slammed his own door shut behind him, and was surprised to see Blair
up and around, making coffee.  It was then that he belatedly realized
he'd gone out to intimidate the neighbor wearing his bathrobe at noon.

     "Everything okay?"  Blair asked, looking concerned.  Jim took
in the pale, drawn appearance of his face, the dark circles under his
eyes and, of course, like a beacon shining in the darkness, the swollen
lip.

     "I just had a little heart to heart with Stanley."

     "What happened?"

     "Nothing.  I gave him his gamey briefs back and told him to
stay the hell away from you and not to try another stunt like that again."

     "What did he say?"  

     "The usual crap--how when you grow up you're going to get
tired of living with a neanderthal."  Jim moved across the kitchen to
accept the cup of coffee Blair poured for him.

     "If you haven't gotten tired of a bookworm who never shuts up,
I imagine I can handle a neanderthal."  Blair smiled slightly before
sipping his own hot coffee.  "And what exactly is that remark about
'when I grow up' supposed to mean?  God, I hate being demeaned
because of my age.  That is *so* ridiculous."

     "No argument there, Chief."

     "So that was the end of it?"  Blair followed Jim and joined him
in sitting on the couch.

     "Well, basically.  We exchanged some strong words, but he
knows where I stand now, so if he gets in our faces, he only has himself
to blame for the consequences."

     "Jim--you can't do anything to him.  You know that."
     
     "If he minds his own fucking business, he has nothing to worry
about.  But you're off limits.  I'm done being broad-minded about that. 
I guess I have to stake a claim here the old-fashioned way.  So be it.  If
he bothers you again, I'll pinch his head off.  End of story."  Jim took a
drink of coffee.  "He's an arrogant little prick that probably needs to get
his ass kicked good once before he gets the message."  Jim smiled a bit
evilly.  "I happen to have excellent communication skills in delivering
those messages."

     "You can't take out your aggression on other people, Jim.  I
know this is a hard--"

     "Hold it right there."  Jim set down his coffee cup and pinned
Blair with an intense gaze.  "You know I love you, Blair.  So when I
say this, I don't want to hurt you.  But leave this thing alone.  You had a
right to know, and it's a hell of a lot easier on me now that telling you
is over with and you *do* know.  Keeping this to myself was probably
the hardest thing I ever had to do.  However, I don't have any intention
of having every one of my actions interpreted through the Sandburg
post-rape filter.  What's going on with that pushy son of a bitch next
door has nothing to do with what happened to me.  Yeah, it interacted
with it pretty badly this morning, and I'm probably more upset about
swatting you than I am about anything else right now.  But don't start
with me every time I do something assertive, telling me it's misdirected
aggression.  It isn't, I'm not crazy, and I don't want to hear it."

     "I'm just worried that you're going to keep all this hostility
bottled up inside and it's going to explode at the wrong time on the
wrong person and somebody's going to get hurt and you're going to be
in major trouble.  I didn't want to lose you to death on this assignment,
and I sure as hell don't want to lose you to jail after you beat Stan's
brains in for ogling my ass at the wrong time."

     "I'm not going to jail.  Give me a little more credit than that."

     "Credit for what?  Not committing the act or not getting
caught?"

     "You're the doctoral candidate here.  Figure it out."  Jim pushed
away from the counter where he had been leaning and headed for the
stairs.

     "I just can't believe that we can overcome something as horrible
as what you've been through but something like Stan is just going to
keep making us fight," Blair added, following Jim.

     "We haven't overcome anything, Chief.  Ever since I told you, I
could almost feel your wheels turning.  And the minute I do something
you don't approve of, it's because I'm somehow warped by what
happened.  This is exactly why I didn't report it, and exactly why I
didn't want to tell you at all.  I only did because I know how much I'd
resent you keeping a secret like this from me.  I figured I'd get
psychoanalyzed every time I passed gas once you knew.  That's the
truth.  You never let me off the hook for anything.  It's poke, poke,
poke until you get what you want to know out of me.  Well you've got
it now.  Just let it drop."  Jim turned and continued his trek upstairs,
leaving a stunned, deeply hurt Blair to watch him go.

     Jim got dressed, still miserable but deciding he needed a break
from the inside of the house, and Blair, and talking about THE RAPE.
//Why in hell couldn't Sandburg ever not analyze something to death?// 
Jim shook his head, looking in the mirror over the dresser to evaluate
just how bad his face looked from the beating.  The swelling was
mostly gone, and with a pair of sunglasses, only the scrape on his cheek
and a little bruising around his mouth--and of course, the bruise/cut
combo healing on his forehead--were visible.  

     //You look like someone used your head for a football, but other
than that, you look fine.// Jim snorted a little laugh. //Do you give a rat's
ass what you look like?// Realizing the answer was a resounding NO,
he stuck a Jags cap on with his t-shirt and jeans and made the supreme
effort of jamming his feet into tied sneakers, not planning to bend and
twist his body to tie them again.

     When he made his way downstairs, he saw Blair sitting at the
table with both hands around his cup of coffee, staring into space.  A
little twinge of guilt ran through him as he saw the desolation in that
face, but he still wasn't up to hashing everything over with Blair.  He
needed space, time alone, time to think.  

     "I'm going out for a while, Chief.  I'll be back later."

     "Feel okay to drive?"  Blair asked quietly, his eyes not leaving
whatever spot on the table had their attention.

     "I'll be fine."  He paused to look at Blair again.  He didn't recall
ever seeing him look quite so miserable before.  "I didn't mean to chew
you out before, sweetheart.  I just need a little space." //That's much
kinder, Ellison.  Maybe you could pour a little salt in the wound *after*
you twist the knife one more time.// "I mean I--"

     "It's okay, Jim.  Just don't overdo it.  I'll be around when you get
back if you want to talk.  If not, I promise I won't push."  Blair finally
looked up.  "I don't mean to bug you so much.  I love you, that's all. 
And I'm worried."

     "I know.  I'll be back in awhile."  And with that, Jim left,
pulling the door shut behind him. //I suppose an "I love you too" would
have been too hard to say?// the voice inside him scolded.  He almost
turned and went back inside, gathered the miserable man at the table in
his arms and kissed him until he understood just how much he was
loved.  

     But kissing him would only stir a deeper need in Blair that Jim
couldn't answer.  They hadn't made love in over a month now.  In the
days before the rape, Jim had found himself almost going mad with the
desire to feel that warm, fragrant body against his, enthusiastic and
responsive and tender and attentive.  He had lived on the memory of
Blair's scent, the feeling of Blair's hair skimming his skin while they
made love, the endearments and words of love they always mumbled to
each other in the afterglow.  His one goal had been to get home and
take two days off and never leave the loft until he'd had his fill.  

     Jim got in the truck and started the engine.  It took a couple of
tries, since it had been dormant almost a week now.  He had asked
Blair to drive it once in a while, and he had, but the old engine could
still get balky when it wasn't being driven every day.

     The sunshine was bright and warm, and the breeze that came
through the open windows of the truck was mild and refreshing.  A
perfect day. //Nice day to take Blair out of that gloomy damned
apartment and have picnic.  Today you go for a ride and leave him
home after he tried to get you to do this yesterday.  Why are you trying
your hardest to hurt him?// Jim tried to ignore the nagging voice inside
him.  It was more persistent than Blair on his worst day. //You damn
near raped him, hit him, then cried on his shoulder and in the next
breath pushed him away.//

     Jim felt fatigued from just the short distance he'd driven.  He
didn't know if it was physical or emotional, but he was worn out.  Blair
was probably right to question if he should be out driving around, but
then, Blair was often right even when Jim was loathe to admit it.

     Somehow all this time alone to think wasn't as fulfilling as he'd
hoped.  Still, he had to have a time where he revisited the whole case in
his mind, faced the demons that lurked there, and came to some kind of
terms with his failure to make the operation a success, as well as the
assault he kept pushing aside.  

     Glad the normally busy pier was sparsely traveled on a
weekday, Jim parked the truck and started out for a brief walk.  The
fresh air and sunshine would do him good, and maybe he could just
find a quiet bench and stare out at the water for a while.  After a short
foot journey, he did just that, finally braving the frightening territory of
his memories, reassured by the sunlight and the occasional passer-by.

********

     Blair went upstairs and made the bed, then dressed in a t-shirt,
cut offs and an old pair of athletic shoes.  He pulled his hair back and
put on his glasses, heading back downstairs to work on his laptop. 
Having the inspiration to set up on the balcony so he could bask in the
fresh air, he finally situated himself in a lounger with the computer on
his lap, tolerating the awkwardness of it in favor of the surroundings.  

     After about an hour of re-writing the same paragraph at least
ten times, he shut off the machine and set it aside, closing his eyes and
letting the breeze dance lightly over him as he rested. //Jim's alive. 
He's been badly hurt, but he'll get better.// Blair shifted and found a
more comfortable position.  Sleep wasn't far away now, and it felt so
good out there in the fresh air and warm sunshine. //His physical
wounds will heal, but how about the emotional wounds?  What if he
never wants to make love with you again?  Can you really deal with
that?// Blair sighed. //Of course I can deal with that,// he replied to
himself. //I dealt with it for a long time.  I love Jim.  That's independent
of the sex.  I'll never stop loving him.//  

     //What if he doesn't want you?  What if having another man as a
lover makes him too sick after what's happened?  What if he wants to
just be friends again, and finds a woman more appealing as a bed
partner?  Can you be magnanimous then?//

     "Dammit, Jim," Blair said out loud, opening his eyes.  "Why did
this have to happen to us?"

     Movement inside the loft caught his attention, and he got up,
heading inside, expecting to see Jim arriving home.  Instead, he saw no
one.  

     "Jim?  Is that you?" //Please be you.  I know someone's here.//
"Jim?"  He took a few more tentative steps across the living room.  

     "Hold it right there."  A voice made him freeze in his tracks. 
He turned to see a tall man with greasy brown hair and a mustache,
dressed in jeans and a blue denim shirt standing in the doorway of his
old bedroom, holding a gun on him.  

     "Who are you?"

     "You're going to help me out of a bind.  Now, we're going to
walk nice and calmly downstairs and get in my car.  Understood?"

     "Why?"

     "You ask too damn many questions."  The man moved across
the room, his aim at Blair never wavering.  "I'm going to be walking
behind you.  There's a silencer on this gun, and I assure you, I won't
hesitate to use it."

     "What do you want?"

     "I just told you.  Now move."

     Blair followed the directions, opening the front door and
walking into the hall, followed by his captor.  

     "Hey, Blair, what's--" Stan stopped short when he noticed the
tip of the silencer poking Blair in the back.  Before either man knew
what was happening, the gunman fired twice quickly, and Stan lay in a
heap in the hallway.

     "Move it or lose it," he growled at Blair, who tore his horrified
gaze away from Stan's crumpled form and moved quickly to obey
orders.  "It's the blue Chevy--right over there," the man indicated to his
frightened hostage, who moved toward it obediently.  "Get in."  He
opened the driver's door, and Blair got in the car.  "Now you stay put. 
I'm a hell of a good shot, and you won't get ten feet from the car before
I drop you, understood?"

     "Understood," Blair answered softly, still shaking a bit at
having witnessed Stan's shooting moments earlier.  The car door closed
and the gunman moved swiftly around to the passenger side.  After
sliding into the seat, he closed the door and handed Blair the car keys.  

     "Now, you do exactly what I tell you to do, and I won't kill you. 
That's the deal.  Start up the car and drive straight down Prospect until I
tell you otherwise.  Got it?"

     "Yeah.  Got it."  Blair started the car and drove as instructed,
his heart hammering up in his ears.  "Why are you doing this, man?"

     "Just mind your business and drive."

********

     Jim felt marginally more relaxed as he drove toward home. 
He'd spent a long time on the pier, and he imagined, with a smile, that
it wasn't unlike the time Blair spent in the lotus position in the middle
of the floor with candles burning.  For his lover, it was meditation.  For
Jim, solitude, a little quiet time, and the soothing sounds of the ocean
were very restorative.  

     Nothing was really solved.  He couldn't change what happened,
and he still couldn't face the concept of sexual intercourse.  He could
face the thought of making love to Blair--kissing him, holding him,
tasting him...but he knew he couldn't reach deep enough into himself to
find the ability to be aroused, to find the physical desire that would
manifest itself as a healthy erection.  No, he wanted to express love to
Blair, but he couldn't follow through.  Maybe it would happen in time,
but not now.  And Blair probably wouldn't accept one-sided
lovemaking if Jim couldn't get as good as he gave.

     As for the case, the whole operation had been too pushy and
brash to be successful.  Infiltrating the organization with multiple
operatives, with Tina and himself being quite flamboyant in their roles,
moving up in Bernardi's operation--it was too arrogant to work.  One of
them was bound to be made, simply because they were gaining
notoriety among Bernardi's dirtbags.  If Jim had been just another
errand boy or bouncer in one of the leather clubs, Bernardi's other
personnel wouldn't have paid him much attention, and he might never
have been ID'd.  Same could be said of Tina.  If she'd been a simple
street whore and nothing more, she wouldn't have attracted any special
attention.   So he didn't exactly blame himself for the failure of the
Bernardi sting.  But he shared the blame with Simon, Cameron, Tina
herself and a number of other cops who all thought it was a hell of an
idea at the time.

     He pulled off the road to let a speeding ambulance pass, and
then resumed the drive home.  He floored it when his enhanced vision
picked up the crowd of police vehicles the ambulance was joining--all
parked haphazardly around the entrance to the loft.

     Jim pulled out his ID and wove through the vehicles until he
spotted Simon coming out the front door.

     "It's not Blair," he said immediately, watching the tension melt
away from Jim's features almost immediately.  "He's not in the
apartment, Jim.  I don't know as that means anything."

     "What's happening?"

     "Stan Kendall, your next door neighbor, was found in the hall. 
He's been shot twice.  I don't know as he'll make it, but he's still
hanging on."

     "Oh, man."  Jim shook his head, wondering if there was any
hope that Blair might be just running errands.  "Son of a bitch."

     "What?"

     "Sandburg's car is right over there, sir.  If he's not in the bakery
or the restaurant across the street, he would have used his car to go
most anywhere else.  And if he were in either of those places, he'd have
come out to see what the commotion was along with everybody else."

     "Jim, there's something I need to talk to you about as soon as
we get cleared away here--"

     "Stan, can you hear me?"  Jim started running alongside the
gurney that carried their wounded neighbor to the ambulance.

     "Blair," he mumbled.

     "What about him?"  Jim persisted, refusing to be pushed aside
by the ambulance personnel.  

     "Took...Blair...gun..."  His eyes rolled back in his head and he
lost consciousness again as Jim was moved out of the way so the
injured man could be loaded in the ambulance.  

     Simon hadn't waited for Jim.  As soon as the garbled words
were out of Stan's mouth, he was on the radio ordering an APB on Blair
with a full description, adding that he was a potential kidnap victim.

     "Jim, Garber cracked.  Sang like a canary late last night," Simon
explained, referring to one of the men who had been present during
Jim's assault.

     "Wh...What did he say?"  Jim swallowed, finding his throat
suddenly dry, on the verge of closing completely.

     "He said they were acting on the orders of Mick Bernardi to
'deal with' the undercover cop Tony ID'd."  Simon's mention of the man
who served as Mick Bernardi's second in command chilled Jim.  He
had distinctly heard Tony add to Mick's orders to 'deal with the cop' to
'take your time and have a little fun with this one'.  Jim struggled
against the urge to ask if Garber had mentioned the rape.

     "You think they came after Blair as retaliation?"

     "Retaliation or leverage.  He may be hoping to use Sandburg to
shut you up.  See, just Garber hanging this on the family isn't enough,
without your ID of Garber and his cohorts, your account of what
happened, and your testimony about the whole Bernardi operation."

     "Why not just come after me?"

     "What would hurt you more--losing Blair or being killed
yourself?"

     "You know the answer to that, Simon," Jim responded quietly,
staring at the speeding ambulance as it disappeared on the horizon.

     "So do they, apparently.  This is punishment for betrayal as
much as it is leverage.  You got to be friends with Mick Bernardi--or
should I say, J.J. did."

     "Yeah, J.J. and Mick were getting pretty tight.  I think I spent
the greatest part of my undercover time riding Harleys with Mick and
getting him to tell me his secrets."  Jim let out a long sigh.  "He was
angry--maybe even felt personally betrayed.  It was like he stepped
back and let Tony give the orders on what to do with me."

     "Jim, is there something you aren't telling me?"

     "I just want to find Blair, sir.  That's my only concern right
now."

********

     Blair tested the ropes holding his wrists behind his back as he
lay on the cot in the corner of the basement.  His ankles were also
effectively bound together with about three rounds of rope.  He closed
his eyes and tried to slow his breathing as he watched another large
spider march across the dirty pillow where his head rested.  Blessedly,
it continued its journey without showing much interest in him.

     The basement of this dilapidated house smelled musty, and
obviously wasn't used for much of anything anymore.  Thick webs
hung in all the corners, and the cot where he had been ordered to lie
was dirty and shoved against a wall under a network of webs.

     "Comfy?"  His captor was back, seating himself on a lone
straight back chair a few feet from the cot.  "You can scream if you
want.  You saw the area.  Mostly vacant farmhouses.  Nobody's going
to hear you, and if they do, they aren't going to care."

     "Why are you doing this to me?"  Blair asked.

     "I have some unfinished business with J.J."

     "J.J.?"  Blair had almost forgotten Jim's undercover name.

     "Jim to you.  J.J. to me."  The other man rose from his chair and
paced back and forth near the cot.  "You know, I haven't had a best
friend since I was about six years old.  But J.J.--man, we clicked.  Even
went out riding together.  He really knows how to handle a Harley--and
we took 'em up to some pretty impressive speeds."

     "You're Mick."

     "I'm flattered.  He talked about me?"

     "I just kind of put two and two together."

     "My older brother was murdered when I was in high school.  I
think it was a mob hit.  Retaliation for a business deal of my father's
that went bad."

     "I'm sorry," Blair said honestly, sorry to hear that an innocent
life was taken as a casualty in a mob war.

     "I'm sure," Mick shot back.  "J.J., he was a lot like Andy."

     "So you're angry with Jim because you liked J.J.?"

     "All's fair in love and war, man.  And it's fair to go undercover
and bust a man's operation if you can pull it off."

     "But?"

     "It's a goddamned low trick to betray a friend's trust."  Mick
shook his head.  "I trusted him.  He was getting close with me so he
could bust me, and I trusted him.  I gave him Andy's bike."

     "His bike?   You mean his motorcycle?"

     "No, I gave J.J. his Big Wheel," Mick shot back sarcastically. 
"Yeah.  A vintage Harley Davidson.  Worth plenty of money.  But you
know, it wasn't the money.   It never was.  My brother loved that bike,
kept it in top condition--not a scratch on it."

     "You must have really cared about J.J., huh?"

     "He rode that bike several times, acted like it meant something. 
Like we were friends.  Oh, man, this sounds like a bad romance novel,
doesn't it?"  Mick laughed ironically.  "I wasn't this pissed when my
girlfriend screwed my gardener.  I just threw her out and broke his
legs."

     "Betrayal sucks, man, and it hurts.  But Jim didn't do any of this
to hurt you personally.  He was playing a role--doing his job.  Just like
you did your job by...by turning him over to your muscle."

     "It was a flashlight."

     "What?"  Blair frowned, confused, still trying to follow the
pacing man with his eyes.

     "They fucked him with a flashlight.  You were probably
wondering."

     "You were there?"  Blair tried to keep his emotions in check,
but it was an uphill battle.  The imagery that Mick's words were
conjuring was enough to push him over the edge.

     "It was my flashlight," he responded, snorting a little laugh.  "I
sure as hell enjoyed listening to him scream.  Motherfucker deserved
every poke for trying to take my brother's place."  Mick ignored Blair's
tears and sharp intakes of breath as he tried to hold them back.  "Using
me I could forgive.  He used Andy's memory.  That I couldn't let pass." 
Mick moved away from Blair into the shadows of the basement, paused
near what looked like a workbench, and then returned.   A heavy object
landed next to Blair's chest as he lay on his side on the cot.  He noted
with horror that it was a flashlight.  Mick laughed.

     "Souvenir--don't worry, it's been wiped off since it was used
last."

     "How could you watch that?  How in the hell could you enjoy
it?  What kind of animal are you?"  Blair demanded, trying to edge
back from the object that had been used to torture Jim as if it were
radioactive.

     "He used my dead brother to betray me."

     "He never betrayed you, Mick," Blair said, hoping to keep the
man talking, maybe buy himself some extra time.  

     "What are you talking about?  What do you call what he did?"

     "You never gave him the chance to see how things would end. 
You had him...brutalized and planned on killing him before he could
react.  Did you give him a chance to explain anything, to speak to you
before you had him hauled off?"

     "What was there to say?  His whole identity was a lie."

     "Sometimes when you go undercover, things don't always go as
planned."  Blair took a deep breath.  He seemed to have Mick's
attention for the moment.  "When I first started working with Jim, I
went undercover for him to get close to a gun-runner's daughter.  The
idea was for me to get the goods on her father--or at least keep my ears
open.  I managed to fall in love with her."

     "You're bi, then, huh?"  Mick asked, sounding interested in the
story.

     "Not really.  Well, I guess I am by definition now, but I never
saw myself that way.  But anyway, the point is, if I had found out she
was involved in her dad's operation, I don't know if I could have turned
her in.  As it turns out, she was innocent, so she didn't end up at risk for
prosecution for anything.  Jim was already in the middle of this
operation, with various other cops relying on him, not to mention the
PD.  While it isn't exactly the same situation, obviously, the thing is
that sometimes when you're undercover, you end up making
connections with people in ways that you didn't want to.  And when it
comes to selling them out, the feelings are more important than the
case.  But you never gave Jim that out--that chance to be your friend
over being a cop.  You had him...you stood there and *watched* for
God's sake..."

     "This is a nice fairy tale--no pun intended," Mick added,
chortling.  "But you seriously want me to believe that Jim Ellison the
cop would have honored J.J.'s friendships?  I don't buy that."

     "But you'll never know."

     "I have a pretty damn good idea."

     "But you don't *know* how he really felt--if anything he said
was genuine.  Jim is a pretty genuine person.  I don't think he could
have a friendship with someone just for a case.  Not one that had
meaning."

     "What's the point of arguing this now?"  Mick seemed a little
unnerved by their conversation.

     "You're planning something else.  Shit, man, wasn't raping and
torturing him enough to make you happy?  You know you're not going
to get away with whatever it is you're trying to accomplish by grabbing
me.  If there was any hope your ass wasn't in a sling before, it will be
once you tie yourself into the whole situation with abducting me."

     "I'll give you a hint, man.  My ass is already in the sling thanks
to Garber.  He squealed that I gave the order.  I don't plan on hanging
around to take the heat.  I'm just waiting for one of my people to get me
the ID's I need, and I'm outta here--out of the country."

     "You're planning to kill me, aren't you?"

     "You're a perceptive little bastard, I'll give you that."  Mick
returned to the chair, straddling it and resting his folded arms on the
back of it.  "I'll make contact with Ellison, outline the terms of the deal
to him--trading you for his silence.  Then after he has his chance to
hear your voice one more time and believe we've really got you, I'll get
my shit together to get out of here, and put a bullet in your head.  It'll
be a while before anyone looks out here."

     "Another murder?  How many lives are on your conscience
now, man?"

     "None.  If I order a hit, it's a business deal.  You're a means to
an end.  I want Ellison to feel that loss--that mind-numbing pain--so he
can understand that a man's grief isn't something you use to make a
case."  The other man frowned a bit.  "So where'd you get the fat lip? 
Ellison swat you for getting fresh with him?"

     "None of your goddamned business.  Leave me alone."

     "Oh, I plan to, as soon as I'm ready to go.  You'll be alone here a
nice long time.  Probably long enough for the rats to nibble off your
extremities before the cops find the corpse."  Mick stood up and
headed for the stairs.  He stopped when his cell phone rang. 

     "Yeah."  He waited.  "Great.  I'm at the farm.  Yeah, later."  He
closed the phone and grinned back and Blair.  "Sooner than I thought. 
It's *showtime*."  He swaggered back to stand by Blair's cot and dialed
a number.

********

     Jim was watching through the window into the interrogation
room while Simon and Joel verbally pummeled Garber for more
information as to where Blair was likely to be taken.  So far, they were
running into a brick wall.  No one could be sure if Garber just wasn't
high-ranking enough to know all the inside information, or if he was
getting cold feet about sharing it.  The cell phone rang.

     "Ellison," he spoke into it.

     "J.J., my man!"  Mick's voice sailed over the line in the same
manner it had before Jim's cover had been blown.  In the middle of all
his worry for Blair and horror at the atrocities he'd been through, there
was a twinge of loss for the odd friendship he'd managed to forge with
Mick under the most bizarre circumstances.

     "Where is he?"  Jim demanded, cutting through the amenities as
he waved at the cop in the observation area with him to get a trace on
the call.

     "Patience, patience.  You can talk to him."  There were a few
sounds of movement.

     "Jim?"

     "Blair, are you all right?"

     "Yeah, I'm okay.  I'm sorry about this."

     "I love you, Blair.  You have nothing to apologize for,
sweetheart," Jim said into the phone, not caring who heard it.  If Blair
died still feeling shut out and hurt by their argument that morning, he'd
never forgive himself.

     "I lo--"

     "I think I'm gonna throw up," Mick said after moving the phone
away from Blair.  But there was another sound Jim was focusing on.  It
was faint, even to his hearing, but audible.  Blair was giving him
directions.  It would be impossible for Mick to hear the inaudible
whispers, but Jim was picking up enough fragments as he cradled the
phone between his head and shoulder and scribbled hasty notes of
street names and distances.

     "...Andy.  You'll get to find out just how it feels to find someone
you love with their brains splattered on the wall," Mick concluded
angrily.  "So, if you want him back alive, just keep your trap shut after
I'm arrested.  Without your testimony, the charges won't stick.  They
never do.  Once I'm released, he will be too."

     "You haven't even been arrested yet."

     "It's only a matter of time.  But as soon as the charges are
dropped, you get your boyfriend back.  If not, well..."  The line went
dead.

     Jim burst into the interrogation room.  

     "Simon, we got it."  Simon look confused and left the room to
join Jim on the other side of a closed door.  "Mick just called, and I
could hear Blair giving directions in the background--I know where he
is.  I just need back up."

     "Take Rafe with you.  I'll get you back-up."

     "Thank you, sir."  Jim was already halfway into the hall when
Simon gave the directions.  

********

     "Well, sweetheart," Mick said scathingly, I've got a few things
to do."  He cocked his gun and ran the barrel of it along Blair's cheek. 
"I'll be back to give you the, uh, parting shot in a few."  Chortling at his
own attempts at humor, Mick hurried up the stairs.

     Blair tried to calm himself, to control his breathing, but it was
all over the map.  He had no way of knowing if Jim had heard the
impossibly quiet words he had muttered as Mick talked.  The chances
of it were minimal.  He pondered why Mick wasn't killing him right
then, and then concluded that his captor would actually be better off
*not* killing Blair until the last minute.  In the event he was
discovered, at least now he had only kidnapped his victim, not
murdered him.  Furthermore, there was always the chance he might
decide to use Blair as a hostage to get to the airport, and he probably
liked to keep his options open.  There was also the very real possibility
that Mick had never killed a defenseless person in cold blood.  He had
shot Stan without hesitation, but then he perceived Stan as a threat. 
There was also no telling how severely Stan had been wounded. 
Maybe it was just enough to effectively floor him. //Wishful thinking,
Sandburg.//

     //I love you, sweetheart.// Blair felt a little smile creep over his
lips as tears trickled out at the same time.  Jim's voice and his
profession of love wrapped themselves around Blair like a protective
blanket. //I love you too, babe.  Don't miss me too much.  Get help to
work through all of this, and then get on with your life.  I'll wait for you
on the other side.//

     Blair scolded himself for being so pessimistic.  Jim had come
through impossible odds before to save his life, and this might not be
any exception.  Jim's hearing was probably his greatest asset--probably
the most intense of his heightened senses.  There was no telling he
didn't hear the inaudible set of directions Blair muttered as Mick spoke. 
But the chances were slim...to none.

********

     Jim pulled off the road at a good distance from the dilapidated
white frame house.  He had followed Blair's spotty directions to the
best of his ability, but there was no sign of a vehicle near the house. 
There were, however, a number of equally run-down barns and
outbuildings that could be housing the car.  

     "How do you want to handle this?"  Rafe was checking the
ammo in his gun, replacing it in his holster.

     "Get everyone in position, but give me a head start to find Blair. 
I want to be sure we get him out safely before we storm in there."

     "I'll come with you.  Let's face it man, you're not moving all that
fast yet."

     "Okay."  Jim radioed his plans to the other back up units, and
gave them instructions on what positions to take.  

     "I still can't believe Blair was able to give you enough clues to
get us here," Rafe said, following Jim's crouched trot through the
underbrush.  For a man with cracked ribs and various other injuries, he
seemed to move like a cat in the weeds without recalling that he was
anything but 100%.

     "Cover me.  I'm going to make a run for the house."  He made a
visual scan of the house, and located Mick in an upstairs room, pacing
and talking on his cell phone.  He didn't find Blair in the rest of the
house, so he assumed he must be in the basement or one of the
outbuildings.  The basement windows were far too dirty to allow Jim to
see through them from this distance and many of them were almost
completely obscured by weeds.

     "Come on, man.  You know I can make that run faster than you
can right now.  Why don't you cover me?"
     
     "That wasn't a question, Rafe," Jim stated, ruthlessly pulling his
senior status on the younger detective as he started on a dead run
toward the house.  To Rafe's surprise, an injured Jim Ellison flew like
the wind until he was flattened against the house.   

********

     The sound of something clattering to the floor in a far corner of
the basement startled the bound man on the cot.  Straining to hear or
see something, Blair waited while there were more scuffling sounds
and finally, footsteps.  A large shadow emerged from among the others,
and Blair's heart swelled in his chest at the sight.  Jim was moving
stealthily across the basement toward him.

     "Ji--" Blair stopped when the other man pressed a finger to his
own lips, then worked at untying the ropes around Blair's ankles.     As
soon as his wrists were free, he took enough time to wrap his arms
around Jim's neck for a quick hug.

     "Be as quiet as you can," Jim whispered, pulling back from
Blair and grabbing his hand to lead him through the shadowy basement
to the window where he had slipped inside the basement.  "Get a hold
of the sill.  I'll give you a boost."  Jim made a step with his laced
fingers, but Blair just stared at him.

     "I won't leave you in here."

     "I've got a little unfinished business with Mick.  Don't argue
with me, Chief.  Once you're out safely, they're sending me back-up. 
But I want the pleasure of busting that asshole myself.  I think you can
understand that"  Jim's voice left no room for argument.  Blair took the
boost and wriggled through the small opening into the weeds outside
the window. 

     "Jim, please, come out--"

     "Make a run for the trees.  Rafe's over there."

     "Jim--"

     "Go, now."

     "Be careful," Blair finally said defeatedly, knowing that a
determined Jim Ellison was about as flexible as a steel rod.  

     "Always," Jim replied, smiling a little.  Blair raced in a hunched
run for the underbrush and disappeared into it.  With his lover safely
rescued, Jim turned his attentions to Mick's movements upstairs.  He
was on the first floor now, but there was no great change in his
heartbeat or respiration to indicate that he knew he was moments away
from being arrested, or that his hostage was gone.

     Jim evaluated the cot where Blair had been tied, and realized
that Mick couldn't see anything more than a shadowy form when he
came downstairs.  Stealthily, Jim moved to take Blair's place on the
cot, gun trained on the staircase.  He smiled when he found a flashlight
nearby.  It was the perfect companion piece to the gun.  He could flash
it in Mick's face, making him even more disoriented in the dark
basement.  With the gun in one hand and the flashlight in the other, he
waited.

********

     "How long before the back up moves in?"  Blair asked Simon
once he was back in friendly territory, waiting for some sign of life
from the farmhouse.  Simon looked over at the site with his binoculars
again.

     "As soon as Jim gives me a verbal signal.  He's wired for
sound."

     "But he said you were sending in back-up!  I thought that
meant, like, right away!"

     "Jim had some very definite ideas on how he wanted to handle
this one."  Simon could see Blair was still jittery and unsatisfied with
that response.  "Look, Sandburg, Jim is a damn fine cop.  He knows
how to handle something like this.  To our knowledge, there's only one
perp on the scene."

     "Jim's not 100%.  You know that, Simon."

     "I know he's still a bit sore from that beating, but Jim's been
around the dance floor quite a few times with situations like these.  I'm
sure it's not the first time he's gotten roughed up and gone back into
action.  Hell, in Peru he managed to bury his entire team when he was
recovering from a plane crash.  He's strong, Blair.  Give him some
credit, and for God's sake, don't start mothering him.  He can take care
of himself."

     "This is different."

     "I can see that," Simon responded, looking at Blair more
thoughtfully than he had before.  The younger man had always been on
edge if Jim was in danger, but this time, he was truly frightened to the
point of shaking where he stood.

********

     "Surprise," Jim said as he flashed the light in Mick's face and
kept the gun steadily on him.  "Expecting Sandburg?"

     "Son of a--"

     "Drop the gun.  Now."  Jim waited as Mick followed
instructions.  He sat up straight on the cot.

     "This is actually kind of humorous," Mick stated, smiling and
squinting at the light.  "Guess what that flashlight was used for last."

     "Look, I don't know what games you're playing here, but you're
going down, Bernardi.  Hard."

     "Did Garber include the rape in his little collection of stories he
told the cops?  You know what Garber did?  Do you know which one
of them pulled your ass cheeks apart?  Huh?  Remember that part?"

     "Shut the fuck up before I blow you away."  Jim cocked the
gun.

     "Remember what the first time felt like, when that flashlight
you're holding rammed in to the hilt?"  Mick smiled evilly as Jim's grip
on the object in question faltered, but seemed unnerved when Jim
didn't drop it like a hot potato.

     "Move in now," he muttered the order into his wire.  

     "Brought back up, huh?   Good thinking.  Bet they'll get a real
charge out of the whole story."

     "That wouldn't be the smartest thing you could do for yourself,
Bernardi."

     "So this was all a business deal from the start, huh?  Andy's
bike...just another element of the fucking sting operation."

     "I don't owe you any apologies, Bernardi.  Not now.  I might
have before.  But you more than evened the score, you son of a bitch. 
Consider this payback time," Jim concluded as the back-up poured into
the house, with Simon leading the march to the basement.  "And think
of me when the prison welcoming committee is making you feel at
home," he growled, tossing the flashlight aside and holstering his
weapon.

     Jim barely made it up the stairs before the wave of nausea
overwhelmed him, and he emptied his stomach in a few convulsive
heaves into the kitchen sink.  A combination of the physical pain of
over-exerting himself and the sharp flashes of memory spurred by
Bernardi's words were too much for him to handle.  He finally reached
up weakly and turned on the water, flushing the sink and raising a
handful to his mouth to rinse it out as well.

     "Jim?"  Blair's voice startled him from behind, but he lost no
time moving toward his lover, leaving the faucet running.  Clutching
the smaller body tightly against his own, he felt the first slight measure
of peace he'd felt since seeing the emergency vehicles around the
apartment building.

     "Ellison!"  Simon's voice startled them both from the basement
door as he followed the men escorting Bernardi out to the waiting
police car.  "We have to talk."

     And then it swept over Jim--the realization that he'd been
wearing a wire to call for back-up, and that Simon had probably heard
every word Bernardi said about the rape.  His stomach rolled over as he
watched the flashlight being carried out in a plastic bag by one of the
uniformed men.

     "Not now, Simon," Blair spoke up, surprising them both.

     "Don't take this personally, Sandburg, but this is between Jim
and me right now."

     "You're going to have to get through me first, Simon. And that
ain't gonna happen, so just leave him alone."

     "Whoa, easy there, Chief.  I don't think Simon's planning on
forcing the issue," Jim managed, regaining a little of his voice.  Simon
didn't back off, and Blair literally stepped in front of Jim and crossed
his arms over his chest.  Jim just rested his hands on Blair's shoulders.

     "My office, first thing in the morning, Ellison."  Simon strode
out past both of them.

     "What--?"  Blair turned to Jim, confused.

     "Bernardi mentioned the rape while I was wearing the wire,"
Jim murmured as he leaned close to Blair's ear.

     "Oh, shit."  Blair slid an arm around Jim as one of the larger
man's arms came around his shoulders.  

     "Let's go home, huh?"  Jim asked, exhausted and hoping to
forget what he'd be facing in the morning, if only for a few hours.

********