Title: OUTSIDE INFLUENCES
Author/pseudonym: Candy Apple 
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: J/B, S/H (Crossover:  "The Sentinel" and "Starsky & Hutch")

Status: NEW, complete
Date: 8-30-98
Series/Sequel: NOPE.

Disclaimer: This is an amateur production created solely for the
entertainment of other fans.  No infringement on the rights of any
holding ownership of "The Sentinel" or "Starsky & Hutch" is intended. 
No money being made. Original characters and the storyline is the
property of the author.

Acknowledgement: Thank you to Virginia Call, my best buddy and
beta reader. :-)

Notes: For those who are not familiar with "Starsky & Hutch", it is best
described by actor David Soul, who portrayed Hutch in the original
series: "It's a love story between two men who happen to be cops."  The
series ran from 1975-1979 on ABC-TV.  It is currently being re-run (on
a somewhat irregular schedule) on TNT.  David Starsky and Kenneth
Hutchinson were two city detectives who worked as partners for the
fictitious Bay City PD, spending their days on the streets of what
looked suspiciously like L.A. and various other southern California
locales. :-)   The highlight of the show was the unwavering loyality and
devotion between the two partners, which can be interpreted as a
magnificent friendship--or one of the great love stories in TV history.  I
prefer the latter interpretation, myself. ;-)

The following story places Starsky and Hutch at the ages they would be
today, as it takes place in the present time.  I am ignoring the "Night
Shift"-"Sentinel Too" storyline for this, and assuming things were left
intact as they were at the end of "Neighborhood Watch".

Notes 2: The song Hutch sings in this story is "After All These Years". 
It was written by David Grow, performed by Anne Cochran, and
appears on Jim Brickman's "Visions of Love" CD. 
 
Summary: Blair's disappearance leads to some important revelations,
and as Jim and Blair are drawn into the search for a serial killer, expert
consultants from a West Coast task force on serial killers are brought to
Cascade to assist.  

Warnings: Some violence, language, and plenty of m/m.  



OUTSIDE INFLUENCES

by 

Candy Apple


     Two weeks.  Two weeks since he'd heard Blair's voice, his
laugh...seen his face light up with that endearing enthusiasm.  Jim
walked into the small bedroom off the kitchen and let the sights and
scents of Blair surround him.  Blair's books piled up on the foot of his
very lived-in futon bed, the varied array of souvenirs from the
anthropologist's journeys, the plaid shirt tossed over the back of the
chair...  How could anyone vanish so completely and suddenly from a
place?  
     //And here I am, Jim Ellison, hot shot cop, and I can't find him. 
Two weeks he's been gone...I swore I could track his heartbeat for
miles, that I'd pick up his scent...that I would somehow *know* where
he was and that I'd rescue him.  So where is he now?// 

     Jim picked up the book that lay open on the bed.  He smiled
when he saw that it was written in a language he didn't even recognize. 
Tucked inside of it, a bit closer to the front, was a page of hastily
scribbled notes, obviously Blair's attempt to translate part of it.

     //Oh, God, Chief, I let you down so badly.  It was my
responsibility to keep you safe.  I should have known better than to
bring a peace-loving grad student anthropologist into a world of guns
and criminals and violence.  I was just using you when all this started. 
When I first started experiencing everything with enhanced senses, I
was desperate.  It was like my own body and mind were turning on me,
and you understood what was happening and knew how to deal with it. 
So I brought you into my life and dragged you out into the field among
flying bullets and violence and ugliness...  You gave me my life back,
and what have I given you now?  Beyond that, not having you here has
left a...a cavern in my chest where my heart used to be.  You filled this
place with life...with warmth...  I keep telling myself I'd know if you
were dead, but how?  How would I know?  Maybe the best I can hope
for now is to find you and give you the burial you deserve...//

     Jim dropped onto the bed, and sat there with the little sheet of
paper in his hands.  Blair's writing...the same writing that had been on
the note Blair left on the table the day he disappeared.  He was
supposed to be home by eleven that night.  Only he never came home,
and two days later, his car had been found abandoned on a country road
leading out of Cascade. 

     Every day since then, Jim had followed every lead personally,
had scoured the area near the spot where the car was abandoned...he'd
been so completely obsessed with the case that he had to be shoved out
the door of the PD to go home and shower and change before he
"turned rancid" as Simon had so gently pointed out.

     Jim tucked the little slip of paper back in place and set the book
aside.  He walked over to the dresser, and a note there caught his eye. 
It was a reminder note Blair had written to himself: "Pick up suit".  He
ran his fingers lightly over the note.  It was Jim's suit Blair was going to
pick up at the cleaners.  Just one of dozens of thoughtful little things
Blair did for him as a matter of routine.  Even though the fall semester
was starting up, Blair's schedule was a bit more flexible than Jim's, so
the younger man had offered to swing by the cleaners and pick up the
suit.  Just like he often did the grocery shopping or the laundry or
cooked many nights when it wasn't really his turn, or sat with that
intense look on his face and hung on Jim's every word--whether it was
to help him with his senses or just listen to him bitch about something
at work that was driving him nuts.   Sharing his loft apartment with
Blair had made his life richer than he could ever have hoped.  And
now, in a heartbeat, it had all been ripped away.

     Looking up to catch sight of his own reflection in the mirror,
Jim was a little startled himself.  He looked haggard and scruffy.  His
blue irises were floating in a sea of sickly pink.  No wonder Simon had
sent him home. //Home?  It was home when Blair was here...now it's
just a damned empty shell full of memories that I can't stand to
face...even his scent is fading from his clothes, from the bed, from the
things he touched and used.  The bathroom never smells like his
shampoo or his faint aftershave or...or just *him*.  I have all the
fucking hot water I could ever hope for now...//

     He leaned on the desk with both hands and let the tears flow. 
They had gnawed at him since the night after Blair disappeared, and
now they couldn't be denied, because he felt so damned hopeless.  Two
weeks ago, he'd had hope.  He'd been confident he could find his guide. 
What good were these wretched sentinel abilities if he couldn't save the
one person who meant the most?  He'd been determined to move
heaven and earth, but he'd find Sandburg.  Now the prospects of
finding anything but his body were looking slim. //What would anyone
do with him for two whole weeks and keep him alive?// The images
brought to life by that mental question were almost worse than the
images of finding his battered body in a ditch somewhere.

     "I'm so sorry, Blair.  I'd give anything I had to find you.  I just
don't know where to look anymore," Jim said to the empty room.  His
eyes fell on a picture, and his heart twisted in a tighter knot.  The night
of the Officer of the Year dinner and award presentation, he and Blair
had posed with the plaque.  Blair had been much more excited about
Jim's honor than Jim had been himself.  He let his memory drift back to
that night...

     "This is a *major* honor, man.  Aren't you a little excited?" 
Blair had enthused as soon as Jim returned from shaking hands with
the mayor and making a very characteristically short speech.  Big blue
eyes wide with excitement of the moment, Blair had been all smiles.  

     A photographer from the local newspaper had come over to get
a picture of Jim with his award, having gotten a shot of him with the
mayor during the presentation.  When Blair obligingly stepped out of
the way, Jim glanced over at that excited expression and the virtual
*bounce* in Blair's stance.  He reached over and pulled Blair by the
arm back into the shot, and left his arm around the younger man,
instructing him to hold one side of the plaque while Jim held the other.

     "He helped me earn this, so I want him in the shot," Jim had
explained abruptly.  When the guy had aimed his camera, Jim was
stealing a look at Blair, and smiling affectionately at the happy, but
visibly moved, expression on the younger man's face.  It was that
"throwaway" shot that was in the frame here.  That wonderful moment
that had passed between them, the moment that said all the words Blair
would finally ask Simon to hear many months later.  The reassurance
that he was needed and appreciated and wanted.

     The photographer had captured a more appropriate shot right
after that one, but this was the photo that Blair wanted, and that was
framed in a little gold frame on his dresser.  

     "I never said anything to you, Chief.  I never said thank you...I
never said...I never said I love you, but I do.  God, I do, so much that
it's tearing my guts out.  I don't know when my whole world started
revolving around you, but maybe when I realized that yours always has
revolved around me.  First because I was your thesis on feet...but then,
it was more.  You weren't obligated to always put me first, but you
always did.  No one..."  Jim trailed off, his voice breaking.   He looked
at the wide blue eyes lit up with happiness in the photo, the long
chestnut curls restrained in an appropriately neat pony tail for the
formal occasion.  Where Blair was small but sturdy, with that mass of
long hair and that ready smile, Jim was the typical ex-military type--tall, 
muscular, reserved.  He'd worn his hair in a brush cut for a long
time, but now it had grown out a bit longer, and he wondered how
much of that was Blair's influence.  So much of what he did and felt
and thought now were tinged by Blair's influence.  "In my whole life,
no one ever put me first.  How do I do this without you?  How do I
pack up your things and re-do your room and forget you ever came into
my life?  Dear God, Blair, how am I gonna make it here without you?" 
Jim shouted at the smiling Blair that was frozen in time in the photo. 
"Shit, you're not even 30 years old, Chief," he choked out to the picture. 
"Your whole life is yet to be lived.  This can't be happening.  Not like
this.  God, you deserve so much more."

     He took the plaid shirt off the chair and took it upstairs with
him.  The fatigue of the last two weeks was catching up to him, and in
a spirit of complete hopelessness, he pulled his two-days' stale clothes
off and crawled into bed with Blair's shirt.  He lay there and let his eyes
drift shut, taking in the last traces of Blair's scent.  Exhaustion finally
overcame him, and he slept.

********

     The jangling ring of the phone made Jim jerk bolt upright in
bed.  Blair's shirt was still bunched up next to him in the sheets, the
warmth of his own body having brought his partner's fading scent into
sharper focus.  He reached for the cell phone on the night stand and
answered it.

     "Jim, Simon.  We might have something."  Jim's captain's deep
voice was somber.  

     "What?"  Jim demanded, dread seeping into every cell of his
body. //Dear God, not a body...//

     "We just raided a crack house on Jackson Avenue, and we
found a necklace.  It's a leather cord with a couple beads on it--it looks
like the one Sandburg was wearing when he disappeared."

     "I'm on my way.  What's the address?"  Jim was on his feet and
digging for clothes in the drawer as Simon spoke.

     "1478 Jackson.  The lab boys have been over everything, but I
thought--"

     "I'll meet you there."  Jim hung up the phone and finished
dressing hastily in jeans, a t-shirt and a sweater.  As he raced
downstairs, Blair's shirt stayed nestled in the bedclothes.

********

     The raided crack house was nothing remarkable.  It was an old
white frame two-story with a couple of boarded up windows and some
graffiti on the side of it.  Most of the police vehicles had left the scene
already, and the suspects who had been found there were probably
cooling their heels downtown.  They would be Jim's next stop.  And he
wouldn't relent until he'd gotten some answers out of them.  No matter
what he had to do to get them.

     As soon as Jim walked through the front door of the house,
through the noises of final evidence gathering and the voices of the
forensics team, Jim froze, transfixed at the sound of a heartbeat he
knew better than his own.

     "Jim!"  Captain Simon Banks was descending the stairs,
carrying the small plastic bag with the necklace in it.  The little parcel
seemed positively tiny compared to the 6'4", impressive African-American
 man who carried it in one large, long-fingered hand.

     "He's here!"  Jim exclaimed, moving farther into the house,
trying to filter out anything and everything but the sound of Blair's
heartbeat.  It was a bit rapid, but it sounded strong.

     "What?"  Simon grimaced in confusion.  "Jim, we've been
through every part of this house--"

     "Then we're going to have to go through it again.  He's here.  I
hear him."

     "You *hear* him?"  Even though Simon knew Jim was
operating with heightened senses, this was a bit much for him to
believe.  The house had already been searched from top to bottom.

     "I hear his heartbeat."

     "Jim, there are several guys still here from the lab, and Megan
is upstairs--"

     "I'd know Blair's heartbeat anywhere, sir.  That's him."  Jim
concentrated on the sound a moment, then moved past the staircase,
down a hall and into a cramped, stuffy kitchen which reeked of the
odors of drug preparation.   "This way," Jim directed Simon, who
followed him as he started down a narrow staircase to the basement.  

     "We've been over every inch--"

     "I haven't," Jim stated simply.  

     And he proceeded to do precisely that.  After walking through
the entire basement, he finally isolated the area where the sound was
strongest and Blair's scent joined it.  Standing in the middle of a
storage area which held only mounds of rifled boxes the cops on the
scene had already searched, Jim honestly wasn't sure how to proceed. 
For a fleeting moment, he wondered if his own sanity had given way,
and he was hearing Blair's heartbeat where it simply couldn't
be...maybe he'd always hear it as a haunting reminder of his failure...

     "There's got to be a room or some kind of enclosure hidden here
somewhere."

     "Jim, he's not down here.  We've been over every inch and--"

     "Then we're going to have to get pick axes and start chopping
through the walls because I know he's here!"  Jim shouted back angrily. 
He began flinging the cartons in all directions, following the sound
single-mindedly.  If Simon said or did anything else, Jim didn't notice. 
He didn't slow down until the storage room was cleared.  He found
himself faced with a bare cement floor and painted brick walls.

     Ignoring Simon's negative assessments of the situation, he
began running his hand along the wall, searching for any microscopic
irregularity.  

     "Sandburg!"  he shouted at the wall, slapping against the
painted surface with the palm of his hand.  "Shit.  There's gotta be a
way in here."

     "Into what?  The wall?"

     "I *hear* him, Simon.  I *know* he's in there."  Jim stood back
from the wall a moment, frustrated.  Then he strode out of the storage
room and stood in front of the doorway to it.  He scanned the wall near
the door, then began running his hand along the painted bricks there. 
He found himself face to face with the furnace soon.  He frowned at the
device, then turned back to Simon.  "There's no heat in this place."

     "I noticed that.  Maybe that thing doesn't work."

     "Of course it doesn't.  Take a look at this."  Jim pointed to the
pipe that led out of the top of the furnace into the ceiling.  "For God's
sake, Simon, it isn't even connected."  He started scanning the room. 
"Over there.  See that pipe that comes down from the ceiling?"  
     
     "Looks like part two of this one," Simon commented, glancing
from the pipe at the top of the furnace to the pipe coming down from
the basement ceiling where Jim stood.

     "The furnace should be right over there."  Jim moved over to
the area under the pipe.  "Didn't anyone find it a little odd that there
was all this dirt and these markings on the floor?  This is where the
furnace is supposed to be sitting."

     "They probably figured the one over here was a new one and
that's where the old one was."

     "Give me a hand here."  Jim moved over to start pulling on the
furnace unit.  It was obviously newer than the house, being small
enough that two men could pull it away from the wall, but large enough
to make them work hard to do it.

     When the machine was out of the way, Jim lurched forward
toward the door that had been concealed by the phony furnace set up. 
The wood door gave way easily on the second slam of Jim's
considerable force against it.

     "Kill that light!"  Jim ordered, and Simon moved quickly to pull
the cord on the bulb in the ceiling, obviously willing to follow the
directive, even if he didn't understand why Jim had demanded
darkness.

     The huddled figure in the corner of the small, windowless room
didn't move except to lurch at the sudden explosion of noise and to
hide his head in the corner where the walls met to avoid the flood of
yellow light from the bulb in the adjacent room.

     "Blair, it's Jim.  It's okay, Chief."  Jim crouched by his huddled
friend, unnerved by Blair's unwillingness to move.  "The light's turned
off, buddy.  Come on, you can look at me.  It's okay."  He laid a hand
on Blair's shoulder, but the younger man jerked at the touch.  "Shhh. 
It's okay.  Come on, Chief.  Relax.  I'm not going to hurt you."  

     "Is he all right?"  Simon asked, moving into the doorway of the
room.  "I can't see a damn thing."

     "I can," Jim stated simply.  "His vitals sound okay.  He's
probably a little disoriented."  Jim found that Blair's wrists were
handcuffed behind his back, his ankles bound, though fairly loosely,
with rope.  He was dressed the blue plaid shirt Jim recalled him
wearing the day he disappeared, which hung loose over what were
probably the same jeans.

     "He's probably been in here a while," Simon commented, and
Jim glanced back to notice a brief look of revulsion pass over the
captain's features.  Jim hadn't even noticed the unpleasant odor of
Blair's prolonged confinement.  Even now that he had, it didn't seem to
matter.

     Jim tried his key, and to his disappointment, it didn't fit the
cuffs.

     "Don't be afraid of us, Chief.  We're the good guys, remember?" 
Jim said softly to his partner, whose entire body was shaking as he
pressed as far into the corner as he could.  "I need something to pick
this lock--anything long and thin."

     "I'll see what I can find.  Hang on."  Simon fumbled his way
through the darkened part of the basement until he reached light, and
then discovered an old workbench in the corner of the room closest to
the steps.  Rifling through the web-covered jars and containers, he
finally located a couple different nails.

     "Blair, it's okay.  It's me," Jim said, keeping up his litany of
reassurances.  He untied Blair's ankles and focused his eyesight on the
wrists that were stuck to the cuffs with dried blood.  "Listen, Chief, I
want to get those cuffs off you without tearing your skin anymore.  Be
patient, buddy.  I know they hurt."  Jim reached up and stroked the
matted hair gently.  "It's all over now.  I'm right here."

     "Jim?"  The voice was little more than a croak from a parched
throat.

     "That's me, partner.  How about taking a look for yourself,
huh?"  Jim smiled a little.  "Bet you can see almost as well in here as I
can right now," he commented, still stroking Blair's hair, since it
seemed to be the thing that was calming him.

     "Hurts."

     "What does?  Your wrists?"

     "Everything's...all cramped up."

     "Don't worry, Chief.  We'll get you out of here.  I can carry you
out if your legs can't make it."

     "Jim?"  Simon's voice came from behind him.  "I found a few
nails on a workbench."

     "Great.  Does that sink work?"

     "The one in the other room?  I don't know."

     "Would you get me a couple cloths soaked with warm water? 
His wrists bled and the cuffs are stuck."

     "Shit."  Simon left the room without any more eloquent
comment.

     "Please...I wanna go home," Blair managed.

     "Soon, buddy.  We need to get you to the hospital--"

     "Please...home," Blair repeated, trying vainly to swallow
 non-existent moisture.  "I...I smell bad."
     
     "Don't worry about it, Chief.  It's dialed down."  Jim started
working on the lock to the cuffs with one of the nails, and before long,
the lock popped.  Jim avoided moving the metal away from Blair's skin
until Simon returned with a bowl of warm water, a couple of
washcloths and a flashlight, the beam of which he dimmed with the
coverage of one large hand as he got near the spot where Jim was
crouched on the floor with Blair.

     "How's he doing?"

     "Better now," Blair croaked out himself.

     "Welcome back to the land of the living, kid," Simon
responded, laughing a little, but wincing as he watched Jim gently
soaking the dried blood until it was safe to remove one, then the other
of the handcuffs.  It wasn't until he tried moving his arms that Blair let
out a whimper of pain.

     "It's okay, Chief.  Don't try to move everything at once."

     "I...can't," Blair groaned.

     "Okay.  Let's see if we can make the move upstairs.  I'm going
to do all the work, Blair.  All you have to do is turn your face in toward
me and close your eyes tight.  The light's going to hurt your eyes at
first, so let's just keep 'em protected until we can get you used to it
gradually, okay?"
     
     "I can't move too well."

     "I know. It'll get better, buddy."  Jim pulled out his
handkerchief and gently wrapped one of the still damp wrists.  Simon
wordlessly offered his own for the second one.  Jim turned Blair slowly
so he was sitting with his legs straight out in front of him and then
carefully moved the stiff arms until they were also in front of Blair,
resting in his lap.  With one fluid hoist, Jim lifted his partner into his
arms and shifted the Blair's position until he could hide his face against
Jim's coat.  "Okay, keep your eyes covered, Chief.  I'll give you a yell
when it's safe, okay?"

     "Okay."

     "Simon, are we clear to have a few minutes in the kitchen
upstairs?"

     "The lab's pretty much finished."

     "I don't think we need an audience right now," Jim stated,
thinking of how he would feel to be pulled out in Blair's condition and
then gawked at by several strangers.

     "I'll go on up ahead."  

     Jim spent the next several minutes gradually reintroducing Blair
to a little bit of dim light in the kitchen, and pacing him through
drinking some water slowly enough to avoid getting nauseous.  While
Simon directed a few of the remaining forensics people to go
downstairs to the room where Blair had been found, Jim sat in a chair
next to the one his ragged partner occupied and reached over to rub the
other man's back gently.  He froze when Blair flinched.

     "What is it, Blair?"

     "I...I've got a few...bruises."  His voice sounded more normal
now that a little water was soaking into the parched dryness.  It still
seemed odd to see Blair with the beginnings of a mustache and beard. 
"Please can we go home?"

     "You're dehydrated, partner.  You should be--"

     "You'd know if something was wrong.  Please...I want to go
home."

     "How long were you in there?"

     "What day is it?"  Blair responded, pausing to take another
drink of water as his own hand was closed around the glass, and his
arm moved slowly, with Jim's help, up to his mouth.

     "Getting a little movement back there, Chief?"  Blair nodded
after finishing the drink, and with Jim cautiously loosening his hold,
Blair could manage most of the downward motion on his own.  "It's
Thursday."  That seemed to make Blair really concentrate a moment.  

     "Just two days," he responded, a little stunned.

     "*Just* two days?"  Jim worked hard to swallow his rage.  If it
had only been two days, Blair was probably somewhat dehydrated,
hungry as hell, stiff and weak, but it was doubtful his condition was
dangerous.  "Probably felt like forever, huh?"

     "Please can we go home?"

     "Blair, you have to level with me.  I'd spend more time asking
this gently if I could, but if you want to go home tonight and put off
seeing a doctor until morning, I have to be sure we aren't going to be
losing vital evidence."  Jim paused.  "Chief...was there any...other kind
of assault I need to know about?"

     "I wasn't raped or anything.  Just slapped around a little, and...I
got a pretty good beating for almost getting away when we first got
here."

     "When did the beating happen?"

     "The day I got put in the room."

     "What can you tell me about the kidnappers?"

     "Not much.  There were three guys, all pretty built, and they
wore ski masks the whole time they were around me.  I mean the
*whole* time.  When they moved me from the house we were in first,
they put me in the trunk.  If I had to guess, I'd say they were white
males, like, my age or older.  I can't be sure on the ages though."

     "What kind of car was it?"

     "A big blue one...probably about 20 years old.  I think it was a
Buick...maybe an Electra or something."

     "Okay, pal.  That's enough Q&A for tonight."  Jim supported
Blair's increasingly mobile arm for another drink of water.  "Wait here
a second, huh?"  Blair nodded, but Jim detected the spike in his pulse
and heart rate as he rose to leave Blair alone.  "The place is crawling
with cops outside, and I'll be right in the next room.  If you so much as
burp, I'll hear you."

     "I'll be okay," Blair responded, managing a little smile.

     Jim made his way to the living room, where Simon was
concluding the night's business with the lab team.  

     "I'm going to take Blair home.  I've got a preliminary story on
the suspects and the car--"

     "What about having him examined at the hospital?"

     "He's assured me that there wasn't any sexual assault, and I can
bag his clothes myself in case Forensics wants to have a look at them.  I
think he needs a hot bath and some food and liquids and a little peace
for a few hours."
     
     "What've you got on the kidnappers?"  Simon took out his
notepad.  "I'll type up a preliminary report tonight while you take care
of the kid."

     "Thanks, Simon."  Jim repeated what Blair had told him, and
after Simon had taken it down, he thanked the captain again and
returned to the kitchen to collect his partner.

     "Jim...I--I could probably clean up here if there's a bathroom or
something.  I-I'm sorry...  Your sense of smell must be driving you
crazy."

     "You haven't got anything on you I haven't smelled before,
Chief.  Don't worry about it."  Jim squatted in front of the chair and
started massaging one of Blair's legs.  "How're they doing?"

     "Needles and pins like crazy, but it's getting better."

     "Want to try standing?  It'll get the circulation going a little
faster."  Jim worked on the second leg a few moments.

     "I guess."  Blair slid his arm around Jim's neck as a strong arm
came around his waist and hoisted him onto his feet.  "Geez."

     "Just stand there a minute."

     "I can't make them move!"

     "It's okay pal.  You can feel them, right?"

     "Yeah, but still--"

     "Your legs can fall asleep when you sit in a certain spot too
long.  Yours are sleeping real deeply, that's all.  I'll give you a lift to the
truck, huh?"

     "I'm sorry."

     "Don't be.  And please stop apologizing, Chief.  None of this is
your fault."  After taking off his coat and insisting that Blair put it on,
Jim hoisted the other man into his arms again and made his way a bit
awkwardly out the side door, which opened onto the driveway.  He
moved as swiftly as his armload allowed, relieved beyond words when
he finally had Blair loaded into the truck.

     The drive home was mostly made in silence, with Blair dozing
in the passenger seat, clutching Jim's coat tightly around himself.

     By the time they arrived home, Blair wanted to try his own legs
as transportation indoors, and was pleasantly surprised to feel that, with
a steadying arm from Jim, he could walk mostly on his own.  As soon
as they were inside the door of the loft, Blair froze in his tracks.

     "You okay, Chief?"  Jim was locking the door behind them and
tossing his keys in the basket.

     "I never thought I'd ever see this place again," Blair responded
in a strained whisper.  "I thought I was gonna die in there."

     Jim could see Blair working to hold back tears.  He closed the
distance between them with a couple of long strides and pulled Blair
gently into his arms, still mindful of the bruises he hadn't yet seen.  
Blair's arms came around his middle gratefully, and Jim felt the shaky
intake of breath.

     "Let it out, buddy.  I've got you now.  You're home."  Jim
stroked the tangled curls gently as the tears began to flow.  "I missed
you so much," Jim murmured as he held Blair close. 

     "You too," Blair replied, still crying.  "I wanted you to come
and get me, but I didn't...I didn't know how you could ever...find me."

     "Thank God I did.  Simon found your necklace upstairs and
called me--that's how I got called to the scene.  But as soon as I walked
in the front door, I heard your heartbeat."

     "From all the way upstairs?"

     "Yup," Jim responded, smiling at the little flicker of intrigue in
Blair's voice at having found yet another dimension to Jim's sentinel
abilities and their application to police work.  "I think I'd hear it across
town if I had to."  Jim closed his eyes and concentrated on the feeling
of Blair in his arms.  Safe, alive and home again.  "I love you, Chief," 
he said softly, and to his surprise, effortlessly.  It flowed off his tongue
easily.   The arms around him tightened almost painfully.

     "Love you too."

     "Come on.  Let's get you washed up, huh?"

     "Yeah...good idea."  Blair sniffled a little and pulled back.

     "A shave might be a good idea too, huh?"  He smiled down at
Blair and led him to the bathroom with an arm still around the younger
man's back.

     "I must look really weird."

     "You want to see for yourself?"  Jim asked, smiling as he turned
on the light in the bathroom.  Surprisingly, Blair turned away from the
mirror.

     "No.  Please, just...help me look like I'm s'posed to?"

     "You got it, Chief."  Jim guided him to sit on the closed toilet
seat and gathered the shaving supplies.  Dispensing with the unwanted
facial hair didn't take very long, as Jim carefully ran the razor through
the shaving cream and removed all traces of it.  

     "No cuts," Blair said, smiling a little as Jim dispensed with the
towel and the shaver, and proceeded to gently wash off Blair's face
before adding a little of the lightly scented after shave balm Blair
usually used.  "At least part of me smells decent."

     "The rest of you's going to smell a whole lot better in a few
minutes," Jim responded, starting the water in the tub, gauging the
temperature until it suited him.  He plugged the drain and let the water
level start rising.  "Is this the stuff that's supposed to get rid of the aches
and pains?"  Jim asked, finding a bottle of bath oil on the shelf.

     "Yeah."

     "Okay."  He shot a little into the water and then turned back to
Blair.  "Time to lose the clothes, partner."  Jim offered Blair a hand to
help him stand, but left the younger man to peeling off his own clothes. 
He seemed to prefer doing it himself, and since he'd been moving
around, the discomfort in his limbs was reduced to stiffness and some
mild pain.  His mobility was essentially back, even if he wasn't moving
fast.

     "I can take it from here," Blair said, his tone completely
unconvincing.

     "You're a little stiff in the legs yet, Chief.  I don't want you to
slip in the tub."  Jim turned off the water and turned back to face the
naked man next to him.  His breath caught in his throat at the ugly
purple splotches on Blair's stomach and sides.  "Let..."  Jim swallowed
to get the words out.  "Let me see your back, buddy."  Blair looked at
him a moment, as if contemplating not complying, then turned around. 
"What was it?  A belt?"  Jim asked softly, feeling tears burning his eyes
at the angry red marks and the discoloration of bruising that lay
beneath them.  In two days, it hadn't faded anymore than this.

     "Yeah," Blair answered quietly.  Jim let his hands rest on the
smaller man's shoulders.

     "We're going to nail those bastards, Blair.  And when we do, I
swear to God, they're going to get a taste of their own medicine."

     "They beat me up for trying to get away--they didn't even bother
with my face--just my body.  I guess they wanted to do maximum
damage for their efforts.  Then...one of the guys got the idea to use his
belt."

     "Come on, pal.  Into the tub."  Jim gently guided Blair down
into the warm water that was scented with the herbal bath oil.

     "I can--"

     "Just relax, Chief.  Let me do the work, huh?"  Jim smiled a
little as he lathered up a large bath sponge and started on Blair's arm.

     "Jim?"

     "What?"  He worked on the other arm now, then re-soaped the
sponge to clean under Blair's arms and across the soft mat of hair on
his chest.

     "Thanks for finding me."

     "No--thank *you* for finding *me*."  Jim kept washing, and
Blair looked puzzled.  "Three years ago when you decided to steal Dr.
McCay's lab coat, remember?"  Jim smiled as Blair's face split into one
of its trademark brilliant smiles, all gums and teeth.  Unable to resist
the impulse, Jim leaned forward and kissed Blair's forehead.  

     "It's really good to be home," Blair said in a slightly strained
voice, still smiling.  "It's kinda funny but...I don't think anyone ever
*missed* me before."

     "Oh, come on, Chief," Jim replied, laughing a little as he
soaped up and washed Blair's body with all the gentleness he would use
to wash a baby.  "Naomi misses you all the time, I'm sure."

     "Then why don't I see her more than once or twice a year, if
that?  Jim, nobody ever...missed me before.  Loved me, sure, but
everyone else--my mom included--have no problems with living
without me."

     "I have major problems with it, so keep that in mind."  Jim
swallowed hard as he looked at the abused back again.  "I'll try not to
hurt you, buddy."

     "You never do."  Blair caught Jim's hand and held onto it.

     "I wish that were true," Jim responded, squeezing the hand a
little and then moving on to wash Blair's back.

     "Not on purpose."

     "No, not on purpose, Chief."

     "That's what counts."

     "Did these jerks ever tell you *why* they grabbed you?"

     "No.  I asked.  All the time.  They just kept waving a gun in my
face and telling me to shut up.  The one guy..."  Blair shivered.  "The
one guy had a...a knife, and he...he told me not to open my mouth again
or he...was going to cut my tongue out.  I never said *anything* after
that.  I know he would've done it.  He was so crazy, Jim."

     "When did he threaten you with that?"  Jim asked gently.

     "The second day.  We started out being in this one house, but I
don't know where it was, because I was taken there in the trunk.  It was
out in the country somewhere--a ranch style house that was in really
bad shape--it had white siding, but there were places where the siding
had come off, and it was really old aluminum siding.  And weeds
everywhere.  Inside, there was nothing much but basic stuff.  A couple
old beds and a table and chairs."

     "So at least you had a place to sleep."

     "I slept on the floor...when I slept, which wasn't very often. 
Especially...not after what the guy with the knife said.  I spent most of
the time on the floor, usually tied up.  Sometimes they let me go to the
bathroom because they didn't want me stinking in the corner."

     Jim had finished the bathing project by now, and picked up the
hand held shower massager to start on Blair's hair.  Cradling the
younger man's head with his free hand, he encouraged him to tilt it
back as he turned on the spray and soaked the matted curls.

     "I can do that.  It's gonna be really gross.  I never got a chance
to wash my hair."

     "Shh.  Just relax.  I'll take care of it, Chief."  Jim finished
soaking the hair and grabbed a towel to soak up some of the water from
running down Blair's forehead into his eyes.  Then he started
shampooing.  "Did they ever talk in front of you--about anything
worthwhile?"

     "They mumbled a lot.  Mostly they talked in the eating area,
which was right off the kitchen.  I could see them, but I was far enough
away that when they kept their voices down, I couldn't hear them.  Oh,
God, that feels good," Blair sighed, seeming to revel in the feeling of
having his scalp washed thoroughly.

     "What made them move?"

     "One guy got a call on his cell phone, and after that, they
dragged me outside and shoved me in the trunk again and we left.  It
was like for those first eleven days--I counted--we were just hanging
out there.  Waiting for something.  They didn't really *abuse* me at all
during that time--just the threats.  They always got enough take out
food for me to eat when they did.  I mean, I had a gun on me the whole
time I ate, but when you get hungry enough, you'll eat under any
conditions I guess.   But they didn't drug me or beat me up or even pay
a hell of a lot of attention to me most of the time.  It wasn't until I got
away from them at the second house and got about two houses down
the street that they beat me up.  I knew there were a lot of abandoned
houses on Jackson, but I recognized it because one of my students lives
on the corner of Jackson and Warren, and I knew there were inhabited
houses and apartments not far from there.  They had handcuffed my
wrists but not tied my ankles yet."

     "You're going to have to teach me how to do all that detangling
stuff," Jim said, wrapping the freshly washed hair in a big, fluffy towel.

     "I can--"

     "You can't hold your arms up that long just yet, Chief."

     "Thanks."

     "Ready to get dried off?"

     "Yeah.  I think I'm turning into a prune in here."

     After getting Blair out of the tub and helping him dry off, Jim
retrieved clean sweats and socks from Blair's room and returned to the
bathroom with them so Blair could get dressed in the warm room
instead of getting chilled.

     "I turned the heat up, so it should be pretty warm in the kitchen
by now.  Why don't you sit at the table and I'll bring the hair
concoctions out there?"

     "Okay."  Blair started for the door and swayed a little, but was
caught before he could flounder very long.  "I feel light-headed."

     "No food does that to a person.  You want to eat before we fix
your hair?"

     "No.  I'll never get a comb through it later."

     Jim worked diligently on the hair project, much slower at it
than Blair would have been.  He used his heightened sense of touch to
find any of the knots or tangles, and disengaged them carefully.  Within
a relatively brief time, Blair had a head of clean, dry hair that looked
and felt like it usually did.

     Taking on the ugly task of disinfecting and wrapping Blair's
wrists wasn't Jim's favorite thing in the world, but it had to happen
sooner or later.  The last thing he wanted to do was cause Blair pain,
which cleaning the damage left by the handcuffs would definitely do,
but there was no way he wanted to risk infection either.  He did the
task as quickly and gently as possible, and bandaged the wrists with
gauze--a bit more sterile than his and Simon's handkerchiefs.

     With his partner clean, warm and comfortable, Jim prepared
them a shared meal of canned clam chowder and sandwiches made
from the chicken dinner he hadn't even touched the night before. 
Bringing home take-outs had been a useless idea at the time, since he'd
had little appetite, but they were serving their purpose now.  He set the
food, along with more water, on the table and joined Blair.

     "Eat slowly.  Don't make yourself sick."

     "Slowly?"  Blair said, incredulous, as he grabbed a sandwich
and bit into it as if he'd never eaten in his life before.  Through a
mouthful, he responded, "You gotta be kidding me."

     "It was worth mentioning, anyway," Jim replied, laughing a
little.  

     Blair devoured dinner, and Jim didn't ask him any more
questions while he did.  After their meal, Blair curled up on the couch
under the throw while Jim found an old movie on the late show.  It was
near midnight, but Jim wasn't concerned because he felt confident that
Simon would grant him some time off to take care of his partner.  And
whether Blair knew it or not, Jim already had a large part of his
statement, which he could type up and print off for Blair's signature. 
He figured the more traumatic portion of the ordeal would trickle out
as Blair felt ready to tell it.

     "Jim?"  Blair's voice stopped him as he headed for the other
couch to sit down.

     "Yeah, Chief?"

     "Uh, would you sit here?  By me?"  The question came out in a
voice barely above a whisper, and Blair looked mortified the moment
he'd finished asking.

     "Sure.  Better view of the TV from here anyway," Jim replied
easily, plunking down in the middle cushion next to Blair.

     The two men sat in silence for a few minutes, watching the
movie.  It was a fairly watchable story with Humphrey Bogart and
George Raft as two struggling truckers.  Before long, Jim felt a warm
pressure on his shoulder.  When he looked down, he saw that Blair had
dozed off and his head had slumped on Jim's shoulder, either by
accident or design.  Jim didn't move the sleeping man for several more
minutes, hoping he would be sleeping deeply enough to be moved to
his bed without waking totally.  

     On the next commercial break, Jim carefully slid his arms
under the sleeping man and lifted him.  Blair groaned and shifted a
little, almost throwing Jim off balance.  The position, unfortunately,
was putting some pressure on Blair's sore back, and Jim figured that
was more a reason for him to be disturbed than just the movement.  He
made the move to Blair's bed as swiftly and gently as he could, relieved
he'd had the foresight to turn back the bed earlier.  Laying Blair
carefully in it was much less of a chore with the bedding in the right
position. 
     As soon as he was in bed, Blair groaned and shifted onto his
side, but he still slept.

     "Jim."  More a sigh than a word, it was the last movement out
of the exhausted man as he settled for the night.

     Jim brought the blankets up and tucked them protectively
around the body curled up in the bed.  He caressed a couple of curls
that rested on the pillow behind Blair's head.

     "Sleep well, Chief," he whispered, more to himself than Blair. 
He found himself at a loss to describe the feelings that had invaded his
heart over the last two weeks, and that seemed to be running rampant
now that Blair was safe and sound where he belonged.  

     The long-haired, neo-hippie witch doctor punk had somehow
become the other half of his soul.

********

     Sleep was reluctant to give up its hold on Jim as he was
reveling in the first peaceful slumber of the last two weeks.  Still, he
forced his eyes open and immediately realized that it was Blair's voice
that had wakened him.  Jumping out of bed and rushing downstairs, he
raced to Blair's room.  The younger man was sitting up in bed, his heart
thundering and his breath coming out in ragged gasps.

     "No, please!  I'm sorry!  I won't make anymore noise!  Please
don't!"

     "Blair, it's me, it's Jim.  Come on, Chief.  Everything's okay
now."  Jim turned on the lamp near the bed and waited until Blair's
glassy eyes finally focused on him.

     "It was dark...  I thought...  I can't *stand* it dark!"  Blair
shouted, a couple of tears sliding down his cheeks.

     "You've had enough dark for quite a while, haven't you, buddy?" 
Jim sat on the edge of Blair's bed.  "I'm sorry.  I didn't even think about
the dark when I went upstairs."  He reached over and caressed a damp
cheek, brushing the tears there away with his thumb.  "Come here." 
Jim opened his arms and encouraged Blair over to him.  He held the
smaller body close, sliding a hand into Blair's hair to press his partner's
head firmly against Jim's shoulder.  "Bad dream?"

     "I was afraid to go to sleep...when I was there...because...that
guy told me...if I made another sound..."

     "And you thought you might make some noise in your sleep,
huh?"  Blair nodded against Jim's shoulder.  "Is that who you thought I
was when I came in?"

     "I knew I yelled...I wasn't sure where I was."

     "The dream was about the guy with the knife, huh?"  Jim felt
Blair's arms tighten around him.  "He gave you a pretty bad time, didn't
he?  More than once."

     "Quite a lot," Blair responded, his heartbeat slowing a little now
as his breathing became less ragged.  "When he got bored...he'd...bug
me.  He kept talking about other people he had...cut up, and how would
I like to end up like them."

     "He can't get at you, Blair.  Not ever again.  You know that,
right?"

     "Yeah...but he's still out there.  Nobody's caught him yet.  I don't
want to be this...scared.  But I...I can't help it."

     "I know, Chief.  It's okay to be scared."  Jim sat there quietly,
holding Blair close, just letting him calm down and relax.  "I'm going
to turn on the light in the kitchen--this one is kind of bright.  But that'll
keep the room--"

     "Please...don't...leave me alone."

     "I wasn't going to, pal.  I just want to change the lighting
arrangement.  Sit tight for a minute, okay?"

     "Okay," Blair responded, reluctantly letting go of Jim while he
went out to the kitchen, turned on the light and poured a glass of water
for Blair.  He returned to the bedroom and handed Blair the water. 
Then he flipped off the bedside lamp.  The kitchen light still spilled a
friendly yellow glow through the open French doors.

     "Better?"

     "Yeah.  Look, Jim, I'm really sorry about making a scene
before.  I'll be okay with the light."

     "Scoot over."

     "What?"

     "Scoot over," Jim repeated patiently.  Blair did so, totally
puzzled and more than a little surprised when Jim fit himself into the
vacated space.  "Are you comfortable on your side?"

     "Yeah."  Blair turned on his side, and Jim spooned up behind
him, bringing the blankets up high around both of them.  

     "Try to get some sleep, Chief.  Remember you're safe."

     "Jim, you don't have to--"

     "Shhh.  Go to sleep, guppy.  You're home now.  Everything's
okay."

     Jim's words and the gentle tone behind them seemed to drain
the last of the tension out of Blair as he melted against the bed and into
the safe haven of Jim's embrace.  Before long, both men were sleeping
peacefully.

********

     Blair stirred, momentarily startled to hear a grumble of protest
from behind him as the warm body against his back moved a bit, then
re-settled for more sleep.  It was daylight, but he had no idea what
time.  He took a moment to assess that he was clean, dry, fed and safe
before closing his eyes again and relaxing.

     He felt a rush of love in his heart for the loving care he'd gotten
from Jim the night before.  Not just because it was such a drastic
contrast from the abuse and deprivation of the last two weeks, but
because of how truly loved and protected and cared for he'd felt when
he needed that feeling so badly.  He cringed a little at the thought of the
smells that Jim had put up with in caring for him.  He hadn't been
allowed to bathe or wash his hair the entire time he was gone, and in
the final day of his captivity in the horrible cave in which he was meant
to die, his body had finally relieved itself against his wishes in the
absence of any facilities.

     Jim hadn't flinched away from any of that.  If his sense of smell
was on overload, he didn't show it in his face nor did he hand Blair off
to some long-suffering nurse to hose him down.  He probably could
have been dumped in the hospital for observation overnight, but Jim
had collected him like he was a rare, long-lost treasure, and brought
him home.

     The pain of the beating had faded a lot, and it seemed much
more bearable now that he was clean and warm and comfortable.  The
memory of the utter darkness of his last two days of confinement still
raised goose bumps on his flesh.  He wondered when he could ever
endure the dark again without panicking. //If I were in Jim's arms, I
wouldn't panic.// Blair pushed the thought away. //This is a one-time
thing, Sandburg.  He felt sorry for you.  Tomorrow night, you'll be on
your own.//

     "Blair."  Jim mumbled the name, and it took Blair a minute to
realize that Jim was still sleeping.  He felt the larger man's face
nuzzling against his hair, the arm around his waist pulling him a bit
closer. 

     "I'm here, Jim," Blair barely breathed, knowing the sentinel ears
would pick it up.  The larger man settled again, his breathing still even
and deep.

     //Could he love me as much a I love him?  He said he loved me. 
And it was a really serious, special 'I love you'.  Not a punch on the arm
and an 'I love you, man', or some equally hideous mutation of what I
want to hear.  It was the real thing.  And he kissed my forehead...and
held me, and comforted me.  And *missed* me.  When I was gone, he
wanted me here.// Blair thought back over his life, the people he'd
loved or just the people he'd stayed with in various places.  A few
people had loved him, most notably his mother, many had liked him,
but when he finally packed off and went on his way, he knew in his
heart that damn few of them *missed* him.  In fact, he was trying to
think of even one person who fell into that category.

     People he'd stayed with while on expeditions viewed the whole
thing as temporary.  Even the one or two indigenous young women he'd
fallen for along the way.  If they'd missed him at all, it had been briefly,
because it was all only temporary from the start.  His relatives were a
mixed bag.  Those he'd visited who were glad to see him enjoyed the
visit but went back to their normal lives as soon as he was gone. 
Relatives who owed Naomi a favor were more than delighted to pack
him off back home when their babysitting task was ended.  

     Naomi herself had the best times of her life without her son. 
When she traveled and went to exotic places or experienced some
spiritual awakening, it was on her own.  Could he seriously convince
himself that she was spending much of that time *missing him*?  She
loved him and was happy to see him when they had a visit, but she
didn't make a lot of time for that either.  

     "I can almost hear the gears grinding from here," a sleepy voice
said from behind.  

     "What?"

     "I know you're awake, Chief.  I can almost hear your brain
working.  Anything you want to talk about?"  Surprisingly, Jim was still
holding him while they talked.

     "I was thinking about my mom."

     "You want to call her today?"

     "No."

     "Not near a phone, huh?"

     "Yeah, she is.  I'll probably get a hold of her in a few days.  I
was just thinking about...a bunch of stuff."

     "How're you feeling this morning?"

     "A little sore yet.  Real tired."  Blair smiled.  "Extremely
hungry."

     "I'll fix us a big breakfast while you rest a while, huh?"

     "Jim...thanks for everything...last night."

     "No thanks necessary, Chief."

     "You could have shoved me into the emergency room and been
done with me for the night.  And Simon had to be pissed that I wasn't
giving a statement."

     "You weren't in any shape to make statements last night. 
Besides, I can type most of what you've told me into the computer, then
we can fill in the gaps together and you can sign it.  We'll head
downtown after we eat.  Plus, I have to take you to the doctor--for the
record."  Jim paused a few beats.  "Why would you think I'd shove you
into the emergency room to be done with you?"

     "I was half in the bag and I stunk, and that's what procedure
dictated."

     "Yeah, well, procedure isn't everything."  Jim started to shift to
get out of bed, but stopped when Blair grabbed his arm.

     "Thanks for staying with me last night."

     "No problem, Chief.  I was so wiped out I could have crashed
anywhere and passed out."  Jim finished getting up and tucked the
blankets back around Blair.  "Rest while I make breakfast.  I'll bring it
in to you."

     "You don't have--"

     "I know I don't *have* to do anything.  Just relax."  Jim patted a
blanketed shoulder and made his way first to the bathroom, then,
grabbing his robe off the back of the door, went to the kitchen to make
breakfast.  

********

     The trip to the doctor's office was fairly brief and reasonably
painless, except for the man's insistence on checking Blair's bruised
midsection for internal injuries.  Blair knew perfectly well Jim had
done the same thing infinitely more gently both in the bathtub and
when he was helping Blair dry off.  With apologies for having to do it
at all, Jim snapped a couple quick photos of Blair's back and the
bruising on his stomach and sides to go in the case file.

     They arrived at the PD near one in the afternoon, where Blair
was greeted enthusiastically by a few of their friends in the bullpen. 
Simon was, of course, the first person they talked to.  The captain was
assuaged by the fact that Blair's signed statement was forthcoming
within minutes, and he was glad to see the younger man looking much
like his old self, if still a bit tired.

     "Sandy?"  Detective Megan Conner spotted the prodigal police
observer/consultant as she came through the door with a stack of files
under one arm.  Obviously, news of Blair's arrival hadn't reached her
yet.  Blair stood up to greet her and was hugged enthusiastically by the
attractive young woman.  "How are you?" she asked seriously, keeping
a hand on either side of Blair's face and looking straight into his eyes.

     "A little shaky, but I'm okay," he answered honestly.  "I'm just
glad to be home." 

     "I bet you are."  She turned to Jim.  "Do we have anything on
the bastards yet?"  She sat on the edge of the desk as Blair resumed his
seat next to Jim, behind it.

     "Well, the big news is that it doesn't look like any of the jerks
who were arrested at the house knew anything about Sandburg being in
the house.  Plus, they were too damned stoned to have successfully
kidnapped anybody."  Jim let out a long breath.  "The perps we *are*
looking for wore ski masks," Jim explained, typing up the last of what
Blair had told him over the course of the previous night, complete with
the "gaps" Blair had filled in that morning.  "So a visual ID is going to
be tough.  I think we could probably get a strong voice ID on at least
one of them--right, Chief?"

     "Yeah, the jerk with the knife."

     "Unfortunately, none of the junkies in the holding cells
downstairs came close."

     "Motive?"

     "Zip at the moment," Jim responded, entering a print command
and getting up to go get the finished product.

     "When did it happen?"  she asked Blair.  

     "I was late coming out of the library, and the parking lot was
pretty desolate.  I often am hanging out there after hours, so I didn't
worry about it too much--"

     "You're going to have to get used to changing that habit,
Sandburg," Jim interjected as he returned to his seat and scanned the
printed sheets for typos or other inconsistencies.

     "I was parked pretty far out, since the lot had been almost full
when I got there in the afternoon, so I ended up hiking out to the far
side of it.  All of a sudden things went dark and I was getting dragged
off somewhere.  They put something over my head and a gun in my
back, and they shoved me in the trunk.  I didn't see anything until we
got to the house, and it was dawn."

     "So it took that long to get to the house?"  Megan clarified as
Jim slid the statement in front of Blair.  The younger man scanned it
briefly, then signed it.  

     "We covered all that in his statement, Conner," Jim responded,
not wanting to run Blair through the paces of questioning a second
time."

     "I haven't had the opportunity to read that little epic you just
printed off.  I thought perhaps I could get the short-hand version."

     "It's okay, Jim.  I don't mind," Blair spoke up.  "It was almost
two in the morning when I was going to my car--"

     "And of course using the cell phone never crossed your mind," 
Jim grumbled.  Now that Blair was safe and sound, Jim was beginning
to stew about the fact there had been no "sorry, I'll be late" phone call.  

     "I thought you were on a stakeout."

     "I was, but I was home by midnight."

     "I didn't know that."

     "You could have left a message on the machine."

     "Jim, if you weren't there to hear it, it would have been a little
pointless.  I was supervising a study group, and we got off on some
tangents.  The librarian let me keep the keys and lock up--oh, shit.  I've
gotta call Rainier and tell them I have the keys!"

     "They know.  I was out there about six hours after you were
grabbed."

     "Striking fear into the hearts of hapless administrators
everywhere," Megan added, smiling a little.  Blair had to chuckle at the
accurate assessment of Jim on a mission.

     "This isn't a joke, Conner.  Blair was nearly killed."

     "Oh, come on, lighten up, Jim.  She was just kidding.  A little
levity isn't a bad idea right now," Blair stated, still smiling a little.

     "The humor escapes me on this one.  If you'll excuse me, I have
to get a copy of this to Simon."  Jim snatched the signed statement and
strode purposefully toward the copier.

     "I *was* just kidding, Sandy.  I hope I didn't upset you."

     "No, not at all.  I mean, I'm not taking this lightly, but laughing
about it a little helps."

     "He really did move heaven and earth trying to find you.  He
worked nearly around the clock.  I think the only sleep he got was
when he would occasionally slump over his desk by about three in the
morning."  Megan watched Jim enter Simon's office and close the door. 
"I really wasn't trying to make fun of him for that.  I quite admired his
determination.  And his devotion," she added softly.

     "Jim and I are a team.  Partners.  We stick together."

     "It's more than that.  I think you know that.  He loves you very
much."

     "I love him too.  He's my best friend in the world.  Best one I've
ever had in my life.  More like family."  Blair snorted a little laugh. 
"Not that I have a real stable track record with them either."

     "Toward the end, I was getting a bit worried about him."

     "He's probably just worn out.  I don't think he'll be angry when
he's had a little more sleep and some time to cool down."

     "I hope not.  Well, I better be going."  Megan's smile turned
decidedly predatory.  "Stakeout tonight."  She opened her long top coat
to reveal a short, slinky red dress.

     "Whoa!"  Blair sat back in his chair as Megan laughed a little
and closed her coat.  "Should I ask *what* you're staking out dressed
like *that*?  And are they seriously expecting the rest of the team to be
watching the bad guys?  Because I can guarantee you their binoculars
won't be focusing there."

     "Sandy!  You *are* a wicked one."  She cuffed the back of his
head lightly as she headed toward the door.  "The Seagull Club," she
stated, pausing in the doorway.  "I just need to get picked up by the
right man."

     "I think you'll have your choice," Blair replied.  "Man, I gotta
talk to Jim about the stakeouts *we* get.  Sitting in old trucks with
faulty alternators and no heat dressed in sixteen layers of clothes
drinking stale coffee."

     "I guess there are one or two perks to being Major Crimes'
token female detective," she quipped, waving as she turned and strode
down the hall toward the elevator.

     "Conner leave?"  Jim asked as he returned to his seat.

     "She had to get ready for a stakeout.  You came down a little
hard on her before, Jim.  She was just joking."

     "Forgive me if I don't find a lot of humor in you almost dying in
the basement of a crack house."

     "She wasn't making light of the situation, just--"

     "Chief, look, I'm not interested in a lecture.  Let's just drop it,"
Jim snapped.  After a pause of silence, he looked over at Blair.  "I'm
sorry.  I..."  Jim shrugged.

     "You're tired, man.  You're entitled to be a little grouchy."

     "Yeah, it's been a long couple of weeks."

     "Oh, man!"

     "What?"  Jim frowned as he turned toward Blair.

     "I just remembered--I'm supposed to be teaching a class in an
hour!"

     "Blair, calm down.  I talked to your department chair the day
after you disappeared.  I actually talked to just about anyone I could get
a hold of for the investigation, but I kept him informed so he could get
subs for everything.  Oh, and I got a hold of your student worker--what's her
 name again?  Jenny?  She was going to make sure your study
groups knew what was going on, and she also got a list to the
department chair of the stuff that was 'in progress' in terms of grading
papers and exams.  So everything should be running smoothly."
     
     "You did all that?"

     "I knew it would drive you nuts if everything wasn't covered."

     "Thanks.  I really appreciate you covering the bases for me like
that.  I mean, just telling the University is kind of a given because I was
snatched out of their parking lot.  But you didn't have to call Jenny and
take care of everything."

     "Why not?  You'd do it for me."

     "Well, yeah, but..."  Blair shrugged.  "Thanks."  Blair nodded
toward the signed statement Jim was adding to the file on his case. 
"Simon was satisfied with that?"

     "Yes. We should be--" Jim was cut off by Simon's bellow from
his office door.

     "Ellison, Sandburg, my office."  

     "Maybe not," Jim amended, rising from his chair and heading
for the office, with Blair close on his heels.

     "Close the door," Simon instructed as they both entered the
room.  "I just got an e-mail from," Simon leaned back to look at his
computer screen, "Detective David Starsky of the Bay City  PD--they're
near the L.A. area.  He and his partner were responsible for bringing a
serial killer named Slater in the first time.  The detailed stories
Sandburg quoted that the sicko with the knife told him?"

     "Yeah?"  Jim prodded.

     "They are exact parallels to the murders committed by one
Wesley Slater.  He was cooling his heels at the state hospital after
being convicted of nine counts of murder one."

     "Was?"  Blair asked, already dreading what he was about to
hear.

     "Slater escaped custody about six weeks before Blair was
abducted.  He murdered a ward clerk in the process.  They're faxing his
records over to us now."

     "Oh, man."  Blair dropped into a chair.  Jim had never actually
seen all the color "drain" out of someone's face before.

     "You okay, Sandburg?"  Simon asked as Jim sat down in the
chair next to his partner, every sense tuned in to the younger man's vital
signs.

     "Yeah, I guess.  I just...I knew he was nuts, but...now I know he
would have done everything he threatened to do.  I kind of thought he
would, but I didn't know.  And I didn't know those murders were real.  I
thought he was just trying to freak me out."

     "We can't be sure this is the same guy, but the timetable works,
and the descriptions of the homicides fit exactly.  I'd say the chances
are about 100 to 1 it's him."

     "I'm okay," Blair said finally.  He knew that Jim knew that was
a lie, that Blair's heartbeat was rapid, his pulse racing and his nerves,
shot.  But there was nothing Jim could do about it, and Jim's tendency
to hover seemed to be making Simon uneasy and a bit annoyed.

     "I can assign this case to someone else, but under the
circumstances, I thought you'd want it."

     "If this Slater jerk is behind grabbing Blair, I want him."

     "Jim, this isn't a vigilante vendetta."

     "I realize that, sir.  I hadn't planned to make it one."

     "I have to be sure you aren't going to take this case as an
opportunity for revenge.  As much as I sympathize with the concept of
wanting to nail the bastard for personal reasons, this has to stay
professional, or I'll be pulling you off the case anyway."

     "It'll be professional.  Let's just say I'm exceptionally motivated
on this one."

     "That I can deal with."  Simon paused as Rhonda, his secretary,
knocked and then poked her head in the door.  

     "Your fax is here from the Bay City PD."

     "Thank you, Rhonda," Simon replied as she handed him the
stack of papers and smiled at Jim and Blair as she retreated back out
the door.  Simon stood up and walked over to the conference table,
motioning to the other two men to join him there.   "We can't ID his
face, but how about build?  Says here he was 6'2", 190 pounds."

     "That would fit.  He was tall and slender, but not scrawny--it
looked like he had powerful limbs, though I never saw them other than
through his clothes.  He didn't have a body like Jim's or anything, but
he was in good shape."  Blair didn't realize exactly how the comment
sounded until there was a prolonged silence following it.  "Uh, I mean,
you know, Jim works out a lot, and, uh, this guy was in good shape but
not that good...I mean--"

     "I think we've got the idea, Sandburg," Simon cut in.  Jim, for
his part, was fighting a grin that was dying to escape.  Blair just wanted
to slide under the table and disappear as he felt the hot blush creep into
his cheeks.    

     "That description fits Slater," Jim finally added, deflecting a
little of the misery off his embarrassed partner.  Blair hadn't said
anything wrong, but the way he said it sounded more like a lustful
appraisal of Jim's physical assets than an objective statement of
comparison.  Jim shook off that thought. //You're hearing what you
want to hear, Ellison.  The poor guy's still exhausted from the last two
weeks and he just got a little tongue-tied, that's all.//

     "This is him?"  Blair picked up a page with a photo on it.  He
shivered a little, and without thinking, Jim reached over and rested a
steadying hand on Blair's shoulder.  "His eyes are so...empty."

     "Why don't you take this information with you and read up on it
at home?"  Simon suggested, noticing that Blair was looking a little the
worse for wear.  "I'll give you Detective Starsky's phone number and e-mail
 address.  Call him if there's anything you want to know that isn't in
the files.  First thing tomorrow morning, fill me in and let me know
what your game plan is."

     "Will do, Simon.  Thanks.  Come on, Chief."  Jim stood up and
opened the door, waiting for Blair to pass through it.  

     "Jim?"  Simon's voice halted him, and Jim waved Blair on to
wait at his desk. 

     "Yes, Simon?"

     "How's he doing?"

     "Okay.  He's a little shaky, and he's still sore.  He took a pretty
bad beating on his back."

     "I saw the photos in his file.  I could give you some time off,
Jim, but I want to get moving on this Slater situation, and that means
not letting the grass grow right now."

     "That's fine, sir.  I think he just needs a little more sleep, and
this case is bound to be rough on him.  If it's taking too much of a toll,
I'll cut him loose for this one.  I don't want to make this more difficult
than it already is for him."

     "Cut him loose?  Hope you have some bolt-cutters handy." 
Simon shook his head as he walked back behind his desk.

     "Point taken," Jim replied, laughing a bit as he headed back out
the door to join his partner.

********

     "I'm sorry about that remark I made in Simon's office," Blair
said as the truck pulled out of the police garage onto the street.

     "Nothing to be sorry for, Chief.  You said I was in great shape. 
I can't get too pissed off about that," Jim concluding, smiling a little.

     "I said it all...wrong.  Simon must think...I don't even wanna go
there."

     "What, that you're checking me out?"
     
     "Yeah."

     "I'm sure he's received worse shocks in his life."

     "I wouldn't bet on it."

     "Are you?"

     "What?"

     "Checking me out?"  Jim asked, keeping his face serious.

     "No!  I mean, not that there'd be anything wrong with that, and
it's not like you're not great-looking and everything, but I...oh, shit.  I'm
sticking my foot in my mouth again."

     "You're looking a little worn out, pal.  You just need a little
more sleep.  How's your back?"

     "Hurts," Blair admitted quietly.

     "Maybe I can put something on it for you when we get home. 
Don't you have some kind of potion you use on injuries?"

     "I have a couple of lotions I got at Natureworks," Blair replied,
mentioning one of his favorite stores for some of the "twigs and bark"
he occasionally ate (as Jim called it), as well as various natural home
remedies.  "You don't have to do that."

     "I don't mind." //I can't stand to see you hurting.  For any
reason.//  

     The loft was cozy with a fire starting in the fireplace and the
chilly wind of the early October day held at bay outdoors.  Jim made
hot chocolate while Blair changed into sweat pants and got ready to
take a nap for a few hours.

     "Ready for me?"  Jim asked, walking into the small bedroom
where Blair was flaked out on the bed on his stomach.

     "Yeah.  The lotion's on the night stand."  Blair closed his eyes
and relaxed, feeling Jim's weight dip the flexible mattress as the larger
man sat on the side of it.  Jim's hand crept under Blair's hair long
enough to lift it carefully aside so it didn't end up receiving lotion along
with Blair's back.  One hand lingered gently on the back of Blair's head.

     "I want five minutes alone with the son of a bitch who did this
to you," Jim said quietly, barely controlled rage tightening his throat. 
Blair's back still sported a large number of criss-crossing reddish
stripes over yellowish-green bruises in the process of healing.   "I'm so
sorry, Chief."  Jim's hand had found an unmarked spot on Blair's side,
and was absently stroking it.  

     "I'll be okay, Jim.  You heard what Simon said about turning
this into a vigilante thing."

     "This won't go unanswered."  Jim swallowed hard and reached
for the lotion.  "Let me know if I hurt you."

     "It's probably going to hurt a little, but that lotion does have
some anesthetic qualities, so it'll feel a lot better afterwards."

     Blair relaxed as he felt the first strokes of Jim's remarkably
gentle hand on his back.  The light pressure hurt a bit, but it would be
worth it when the natural pain-killer in the lotion took effect.  The
feeling of being pampered and cared for was worth nearly as much,
maybe more.

     "You want me to go through the Slater file with you?"  Blair
asked.

     "Nope.  I want you to relax, and when we're done here, have a
little of your hot chocolate and then go to sleep."

     "Jim...would you be mad if...  Never mind."

     "What is it, Chief?"

     "Would you be mad if I sort of...did check you out?"

     "Oh."  Jim was quiet a minute.  "No, not at all.  Kind of a
natural thing to do--you know, you live with somebody, know them real
well.  I think you tend to evaluate them pretty closely."

     "Have you ever...you know, checked me out?"  Blair waited
through what seemed like an unbearable pause.

     "Sure." //From the first moment I realized I loved you more than
anyone else.  I liked what I saw.//

     "I try not to compare too much.  I mean, you're way out of my
league."

     "In what way?"  Jim chuckled a little as he replenished the
lotion supply on his hand and warmed it a moment before resuming the
massage.

     "Oh, come on.  Look at you."

     "Just a different type, Chief.  Not better.  Different."

     "It's starting to feel better.  My back, I mean."

     "Good.  We're almost done."

     "Thanks for...taking such good care of me."  Blair was surprised
to feel the massage stop a moment, then feel the warm pressure of
Jim's forehead against the side of his.  Warm breath tickled his ear.

     "I'm very glad you're here, Chief."  And as quickly as it came,
the warmth was gone.  Jim finished his gentle massage in silence, then
encouraged Blair to sit up a few moments and drink a little hot
chocolate.  "You need more fluids, pal.  It should have cooled by now
so you can drink some."

     "Man, I'm really wasted.  I'm so sleepy."

     "That's the idea.  Drink a little more."  Blair obeyed, and when
he set the cup aside, Jim helped him into a clean t-shirt.  He slid down
on his side and curled up in the bed while Jim drew the covers up over
Blair's shoulder.  A large hand came up and gently lifted Blair's hair
away from his face, lightly caressing as it did.  "Want me to sit with
you while you sleep?"

     "You don't have to.  If the doors are open and I can still hear
you moving around out there, I'll be okay.  And it's light outside."

     "I won't keep you awake?  I have to make some calls and use
the computer."  Jim didn't realize he'd left his hand resting in the soft
curls, but now, as he did, he didn't make any move to change that.  He
just stroked a little more.  It seemed to have a lulling effect on Blair.

     "No.  Makes me feel safe.  Reminds me I'm home," Blair
concluded, smiling.

     "Sleep tight, Chief.  If you need me, just whisper."  Not caring
how the gesture would be interpreted by any macho standard he'd ever
been taught, Jim leaned forward and kissed Blair's forehead before
standing up and leaving the room.

     Feeling very loved and very safe, Blair drifted into a peaceful
sleep.

********

     Wesley Slater was responsible for the murders of six people. 
Four of them were women, the others men.  Five of the six had been
mutilated in some grotesque manner, the sixth only spared that fate
because Slater had been captured just a few moments too late to save
the young woman's life, but in time to force him to dispense with her
quickly.  He had simply slit her throat in one stroke.

     He had a textbook background for a serial killer: abusive
mother, absent father, and an early interest in dissecting things.  How
he had possibly ended up as one of Blair's abductors, Jim couldn't
imagine.  Furthermore, if he had been in charge of the operation, he
would have abducted Blair on his own, murdered him in the usual
manner and then disposed of the body.  He wouldn't have been content
to wield a knife and make a few threats.  

     Jim took a few notes from the file, then thought back over
Blair's statement.  Slater, if in fact the knife-bearing man was one in
the same, was not in charge of the kidnapping.  He taunted and needled
Blair when he didn't have anything else to do, or sometimes to put on a
show for his accomplices.  He didn't actually ever injure Blair, not even
as a participant in the beating Blair had gotten for trying to escape.

     So who did Slater owe favors to?  And who among those people
might be big enough stuff to take it out in trade?  Who would it be
among people with those connections who would want to hurt Blair?

     As if on cue, Blair shifted and murmured in his sleep.  Jim
dialed up his hearing and monitored his sleeping partner to be sure
there were no signs of distress in the sounds.  

     "Jim."  It was a slightly agitated, but still sleeping voice.  "Jim," 
Blair repeated, his voice getting a little louder and more agitated still. 
Jim left the kitchen table where he'd been working and walked into
Blair's room.  

     The younger man was flopping around, looking distinctly
unhappy.  Jim sat on the edge of the bed and caught a hand as it was
moving about restlessly.

     "I'm right here, Chief," he said softly, hoping to calm the little
flurry without waking his exhausted partner.

     "Should've...told..."  Blair wriggled again, finally turning away
from Jim and facing the wall.  Blair made a few more whiny attempts
at speech, but he was still sleeping.

     "Shhh.  Sleep, buddy.  I'm right here," Jim whispered, stroking
Blair's hair lightly.  That little touch had seemed to calm Blair
immensely before, and it was having the desired effect again as his
breathing evened out and the mumblings stopped.  "I love you so much,
Chief.  I couldn't imagine this place, my life, without you in it.  Any
light or warmth in this apartment left with you and came back with
you.  I need you more than I need oxygen.  Because if I didn't have you,
I wouldn't much care about having that either."

     Jim straightened the blankets around the sleeping man and
finally, reluctantly, left Blair to his rest.

********

     When Blair opened his eyes, it was night time.  The light from
the kitchen kept his room from being unbearably shadowy and
reminiscent of the windowless room where he'd been trapped for two
days.  The soft drone of the TV carried in through the open doors, and
Blair smiled.  Jim was making sure there were some friendly sounds
for Blair to hear.  For his part, Jim could watch TV with almost no
volume and hear everything fine.

     He sat up in bed, feeling much better from the prolonged rest
and the massage.  Getting up, he pulled on his robe and stretched
gingerly.  His body still ached a bit in protest to the movement, but the
massage had helped his back immensely.  With a yawn, he made his
way out to the living room to join Jim.

     "Have a good sleep?"  Jim asked, smiling a little as he looked
away from the game he was watching.

     "Pretty good, yeah."  Suddenly, the memory of the dream Blair
had experienced flashed through his mind: he had been back in the
dark room, thinking over and over again that he wished he'd told Jim
how he felt about him, and then Jim had somehow been there, stroking
his hair and calming him.  The love inside Blair's heart swelled to
overflowing at that point, and he moved to the couch where Jim sat and
seated himself close next to his partner.  Jim seemed a little surprised
at first, but soon a large arm moved up to accommodate Blair resting
his head on Jim's shoulder.  The arm came gently around the smaller
man's shoulders.

     "You want to talk?"  Jim flipped off the TV and looked down at
his partner, who was curled up against him on the couch, an arm
loosely draped over the larger man's firm midsection.

     "Not really.  You mind if I just sit here like this?  I mean, if I'm
bothering you, I can sit on the other couch."

     "Stay put, Chief.  You're fine.  You want to watch the game?"

     "Yeah.  That's fine.  Jim?"

     "What?"

     "I had this dream...I was in that room...in the dark, I was
thinking about all the things...I never said...and that I wanted to talk to
you so much before...the end...  And then you were there."

     "I *was* in there for a few minutes.  You were disturbed about
something, and you said my name a couple times, so I sat with you a
minute or two and talked to you, and you calmed down again."

     "Does it bother you...I mean, do you feel funny about me sitting
like this--sort of...uh..."

     "Cuddling?"  Jim supplied helpfully.

     "Well, yeah."

     "Should it?"

     "No!  I just mean...we don't usually..."

     "I don't have hang-ups about touching you, Blair.  Having you
close by is...okay.  Very okay," Jim said, nodding as if he'd just reached
that conclusion himself.

     "I really didn't think I was ever getting out of that room.  I used
to yell a little at first, and then I decided I better only do that once in a
while, because I wasn't sure how airtight the room was.  It was pretty
stuffy in there.  I think I kind of lost touch near the end."

     "You were a little disoriented when I first got to you."  Jim let
his hand wander into Blair's hair, where he idly twisted a soft curl
around his finger.  Being this intimate with another man should have
felt strange, but as usual where Blair was concerned, it was
comfortable.  For Jim, it was like finally having his mate where he
belonged, by his side and touchable.

     "I thought about all the things I never said to people.  People
who matter...  Mostly you."

     "You've said plenty to me, Chief."

     "Before last night, I never told you I loved you.  Not once."

     "Well, it's not exactly the thing you say to your male roommate
every day."

     "That's the whole stupid point.  Why not?  If it's true, why wait
and say it to your roommate's dead body?"

     "I never told you either, Blair.  God knows I never showed you."

     "Sure you did.  You gave me a real home with you, Jim.  You
didn't just put up with me for a few weeks and then toss me out.  Do
you know how many of the people I've lived with--with the possible
exception of Naomi--who would have let me stay on after what Larry
did to the loft--twice?"

     "I knew you didn't mean for it to happen.  Accidents happen." 
Jim frowned as he felt Blair's shiver.  "What's wrong, buddy?"

     "That's what Greg used to say."

     "Who was Greg?"

     "Naomi's worst mistake--well, second worst after me."

     "Don't you ever dare say something like that about yourself
again, Chief.  If you weren't planned, you were *unexpected* but you
were *not* a mistake--because if you're one of God's mistakes, I can't
wait to see what He comes up with when He applies Himself."

     "That's a really beautiful thing to say, Jim."  Blair snuggled
closer.  "Probably the nicest thing anyone ever said to me."

     "Tell me about this Greg character."

     "He was an aspiring baseball player.  He tried out for everything
twice and got passed over.  So he was one of these jock types--big,
muscular, in great shape.  He didn't like me right from the start.  I was a
nerdy little bookworm with big glasses and I hated him from day one. 
It was one of those instant dislike things.  He slapped me around a little
until Naomi found out about it.  We were living with him, so we moved
out."  Blair sighed.  "He didn't really put much effort into *hitting* me. 
It was more like tripping me or pushing me or making me fall or bang
into something.  I wasn't very coordinated at that age, and I was getting
used to my glasses, which it took a few attempts to get right."

     "How old were you?"

     "Nine."

     "What kind of asshole pushes around a little nine-year-old kid
with bad eyes?"

     "He thought I was a mama's boy--a sissy.  The glasses made me
look totally geeky.  I hated those things," Blair recalled, laughing.  

     "So how did the 'accidents happen' line fit in?"

     "After he'd trip me or push me or whatever, he'd say 'accidents
happen, kid'.  Like it was a big joke."

     "Did you tell Naomi?"

     "No.  Things seemed to be going really well between them, and
I didn't want to mess everything up for her.  But give anybody enough
rope and they'll hang themselves...and he did.  He pulled one of his
stunts when he thought she was out shopping.  It was nice weather, and
we were out in the back yard.  He had a nice house, actually.  Anyway,
he intentionally tripped me when I was walking across the patio and I
fell and got scraped up pretty badly.  He didn't know she was in the
kitchen, looking out the window."  Blair chuckled a little.

     "What is it?"  Jim had to smile at Blair's ill-timed laughter.

     "I never saw her move that fast, and I never knew she knew so
many obscene things to call anyone.  She would have made a Marine
blush, man.  When she was done reading him off, he was still pleading
with her to stay--I can't believe she actually did this--but she grabbed
me by the arm to lead me inside because we were going to pack and
leave--and he tried to stop her and she kneed him right in the balls." 
Blair laughed again.  "I don't think he got out of the lounge chair again
until after we were gone."

     "Still not a nice experience for a kid," Jim said quietly, still
absently stroking Blair's hair.

     "We moved around a lot, and I was always on my good
behavior.  Then I'd go stay with relatives and I had to behave with
them.  If I screwed up, they'd call Naomi--or give it their best shot,
anyway, and send me packing.  She never punished me or anything, but
I could see she wasn't happy, and that I had messed something up for
her.  I'm just not used to being able to fuck things up and get another
chance."

     "That's what home is supposed to be--a place you can screw up
and still be welcome."

     "It wasn't that for you."

     "No.  But that doesn't mean I didn't see a few examples of it in
my life.  Some of my friends had real good relationships with their
parents.  I was jealous of that."  Jim was quiet a moment.  "I just
wanted my dad to even once say he was proud of me for something. 
Not look at a report card with five A's and one A- and ask me what
happened to cause the A-."

     "Too bad it took him so long to change."

     "At least he finally did.  It's not that any of that really changes
the past, but at least he's tried to make some amends.  Sometimes you
just have to forgive people you love when they mess up.  Just like Larry
trashing the loft.  It was a mistake.  You didn't mean to trash the place. 
It just happened."

     "You loved me then?"

     "Maybe love is too strong a word for then.  I cared about you. 
Considered you a friend.  For some reason, I've never been able to stay
as mad at you as I wanted to."

     "When did it change?"

     "What?"

     "When did you love me?"

     "After Lash grabbed you...it hit me pretty hard then.  I knew I
loved you, that you were the closest person in my life.  I had never been
that scared of losing anybody before," Jim admitted.

     "When you let me stay--after Larry--I knew then.  You forgave
my screw up and made me feel like this was my home."

     "And the rest is history?"  Jim summarized, looking down at
Blair and smiling.  "How about dinner?"

     "I'm starved."  Blair didn't move.  "Could we just sit like this a
little while first?"

     "How about we eat and then watch TV together for a while?" 
The unspoken suggestion being a little more cuddling.

     "Sounds great."

     Blair gobbled down a spaghetti dinner with the gusto of a
starving man.  He was still replenishing his greedy, deprived body, and
if the bubbling pot of hot meat sauce hadn't driven him over the edge,
the fat meatballs Jim added to the equation did the trick.  

     "Ready for seconds?"  Jim asked, smiling a little.  Blair usually
didn't make it past the first plate, but he had polished that off and with
a couple of stifled burps, had cleaned up every last crumb of his garlic
bread.

     "No way, man.  I think I'm gonna explode now."  Blair leaned
back in the chair and sighed.  "That was great.  Thanks for making all
this stuff.  I know it probably wasn't your favorite way to spend the
evening."

     "We both needed something decent for dinner.  I've been eating
out of boxes and wrappers when I ate at all, and I know you haven't
exactly been keeping your nutrition up lately."

     "Not really.  Being a hostage is hard on the appetite."  Blair
took another drink of the spring water he'd chosen for his beverage.  He
was still replenishing his fluids diligently.  "So what's the schedule for
tomorrow?"

     "I'd like to see you stay home and get some rest."

     "Jim, I'm not that bad off that I need to stay home in bed.  I
want to be in on this case.  These bastards kidnapped *me*.  I want to
be part of bringing them down."

     "The Slater case isn't a pretty one, Chief.  I know it's got to be a
little unnerving having been with the creep and then concentrating all
this time on what kinds of crimes he committed.  I thought maybe it
would be easier if you let me handle this and concentrated on getting
better and getting back to work at the U.  I'll make sure we have one of
the best keeping an eye on you until Slater's behind bars."

     "A guard?  You really think that's necessary?"

     "It is as far as I'm concerned.  I don't want to take any chances
on it and then say, 'gee, we should have had a guard'."

     "I guess not.  I do have to get back to work, but still--I don't
want to be left out of this case."

     "Okay.  Fair enough.  I just didn't want you to feel like you had
to go through all this if it would help at all to distance yourself a little."

     "I can't distance myself at all.  He's in my head, Jim.  I can't get
away from that."  Blair took another drink of his water, looking as if
he'd blurted out more than he wanted to say.

     "I know that feeling."  Jim pushed a little leftover sauce around
with a cooled piece of garlic bread he had no plans to eat.  "The
demons that live in your head are worse than any of the ones you're
exposed to everyday."

     "Do you have demons?"

     "I think everyone does.  I have a few that'll probably always be
there."

     "Do they ever...quiet down?"  Blair asked, his face very serious.

     "Lash quieted down eventually, didn't he?"

     "Yeah, but I knew he was dead."

     "We'll nail Slater.  He'll either end up behind bars again or six
feet under.  But either way, he won't touch you again.  You know I'm
not going to let anything happen to you, right?"

     "I know you'll try not to."  Blair let out a long breath.  "Lash
quieted down.  Until I ran into Slater.  Now they're sort of mixing and
blending in my mind until I don't know who I'm afraid of anymore." 
Blair shook his head and smiled a little.  "It's weird.  I always thought
that if I really had to go through a terrible violent crime, it would be
because of working at the PD.  But this...I was going to my damn car in
the University parking lot."

     "At two in the morning.  Shit, Blair, what am I gonna do with
you?"  Jim seemed genuinely exasperated.  "You know how fucking
*deserted* that part of the campus is after about eleven o'clock at
night.  What were you thinking?"

     "So now it's my fault I got kidnapped?"  Blair shot back
defensively.

     "No!  Anymore than it's any crime victim's *fault* because
they're victimized.  But there are some precautions common sense
dictates--"

     "Like you don't ever skulk around somewhere in the middle of
the night where you're not totally safe."

     "Blair, I'm an armed cop who can see and hear trouble before it
ever gets near me.  I have combat training and Covert Ops training.  It's
a little different for me to go get take outs at a diner on the wrong side
of the tracks in the middle of the night shift than it is for an unarmed,
untrained civilian to purposely put himself in a deserted, dangerous
situation for no good reason."

     "No good reason?  Jim, I was working with a study group of
honor students.  Now I know that doesn't sound like it has any value,
but it's important to me."  Blair pushed back from the table and stood
up.  "My stupid little academic world does have some meaning, even if
only to me and a handful of my better students.  Was it worth getting
kidnapped to hold that session?  No, not really.  Am I gonna start living
my life in a fucking plastic bubble because of it?  No way."  Blair
started for his room, and before Jim knew he was doing it, he was on
his feet and grabbing Blair's arm, turning him around.

     "I'm not saying all of that isn't important, Chief.  I'm saying that
it isn't worth risking your life.  There must be some time these people
can meet or some place that's safe."

     "Like where?  Jim, these are dorm students and students who
live in small apartments with non-honors program roomies, for the
most part.  I can't go to the dorms because studying there is like trying
to study in a war zone--the same goes for the apartments.  The main
buildings get locked up after ten-thirty at night and the cafeteria closes
at ten.  My office is pretty cramped, and that really wouldn't be any
safer anyway.  I can sometimes get a key from the librarian to use that,
which is ideal in case we need to look something up."  Blair paused for
a breath.  "It's very important to me to do this well.  The honors
program is a dirty job that a lot of the faculty don't want, but it could be
a real feather in my cap if I could breathe a little life into it.  It's been
labeled 'The Nerd Club' for so long, and has consisted of nothing more
than extra homework pretty much since the beginning.  I'm trying to
add something to it.  I think it's working.  I know none of that looks
like anything, but it means something to me."

     "Blair, listen to me.  I think what you're doing is very important,
and if anybody can breathe life into anything stuffy and stagnant, it's
you."  Jim relaxed a little at the pleased look that swept over Blair's
face.  "I'm sorry if I sound like I'm dismissing what you do.  I'm not. 
I'm very much...well, I guess you could say I'm in awe of it."  Jim
loosened his grip on Blair's arm with a slightly apologetic look on his
face.  He put the same hand up to Blair's face, cupping his cheek
gently.  "I just don't want to lose you.  Especially not for a risk we
could have avoided.  I'm sorry I got on your case, but...I had a taste of
things around here without you, and I didn't like it."

     "I'm not used to someone worrying about me that way.  You
know, wanting me to check in and stuff."

     "I don't mean to put a bunch of restrictions on your movements,
Chief.  I'll try not to get on you about it.   As a cop...I see so many ugly
things happen to people who weren't guilty of anything more than
asserting their God-given right to walk down a street at two in the
morning.  I don't know how many rape cases I've been called out on
that were nothing more than some poor woman trying to go to her car
in a situation not unlike yours, or leaving a night club or whatever.  Or
some guy ends up stabbed 20 times for the watch on his wrist and the
$50 in his wallet.  It isn't right that anybody has to be afraid, but
nobody ever said life was fair."

     "I don't mind.  I thought I would really hate that--you know,
somebody telling me to call home if I was going to be late, somebody
worrying if I didn't come home.  But it was nice to know, when it was
all happening, that you were gonna worry about me and come looking
for me.  I could have been dead a couple days before anyone else I've
ever been with would have known the difference."

     "Why don't you have your study group here?"

     "What?  Jim, there are six students, and we sometimes meet for
three or four hours, late at night."

     "I've got earplugs and blinders.  I can dial down my hearing. 
Maybe it wouldn't have to be *so* late--maybe you could back it up a
little."

     "You'd really let me do that here?"

     "This is your home too, Chief.  You have a right to have people
over if you want.  I appreciate that you don't keep me up many nights,
because I don't like functioning without enough sleep on the job.  But a
couple nights a week wouldn't kill me, and we could probably figure
out a compromise on the time."  Jim wasn't really prepared for the bear
hug that earned him, but he smiled and wrapped his arms around Blair
happily.

     "Thank you."

     "Your safety is important to me, buddy.  Not just when you're
riding with me.  Your days of haunting that campus after hours are
over, are we clear on that?"

     "What if I have to stay late for something?"  Blair pulled back a
little.

     "Then you let me know that and I'll come get you."

     "Jim, I don't know--"

     "What is there that you really have to be there that late for?"

     "Well, I guess sometimes I just use it for catch up time.  And it's
easier to work at my desk than in my room because my room's a mess
with books everywhere.  Sometimes I have research material stacked
up in my office that I don't haul home with me.  Lots of reasons."

     "If you had a better place to work here, would that help?"  Jim
didn't think too much about the fact he hadn't really let Blair out of his
arms, and now he smoothed a little stray hair away from Blair's face as
if he touched him that intimately every day.

     "Probably.  But there isn't room."

     "You tell me what you need, and we'll make room for it.  Or
we'll move."

     "You love this place!"  Blair protested.

     "I love you more," Jim shot back, without even thinking.  It was
the truth, and it came out automatically.  He hadn't even been able to
say that much to Carolyn.  She hadn't liked the loft, but that hadn't
moved Jim at all--either emotionally or literally.   He liked his home,
was happy with it and its location and the view from the balcony.  All
of that was worthless when Blair was gone.

     "Jim..."  Blair started to speak, but didn't bother finishing the
thought as Jim lowered his face slowly, and then very hesitantly
touched his lips to Blair's.  The response was immediate.  Blair's mouth
opened slightly, inviting him in as the younger man's arms wound
around him again, pulling him close.  

     Jim's tongue slipped past the soft barrier of Blair's lips into his
mouth, finding its mate and sparring with it tentatively.  Blair groaned
somewhere low in his throat, and his hand slid into Jim's hair to hold
him in place, lest his mouth had any plans to move away anytime soon.

     When a need for air forced them to part, both men stood
panting, their foreheads resting together.

     "Blair...I...I'm sorry."

     "Sorry?"  Blair's head shot up.  

     "I took advantage of you."

     "Oh, yeah, you really forced me into that one," Blair replied,
grinning.  "Maybe we should try it again, and this time, *I'll* take
advantage of *you*."  Blair waggled his eyebrows.

     "This isn't a joke."

     "No, it's not.  I'm...I guess I'm a little nervous.  I've wanted to do
that for so long and then you just...*do it*."

     "You wanted...for how long?"

     "A while," Blair replied, looking down.  

     "When?"  Jim hooked a finger under Blair's chin and raised his
face again so they were looking into each other's eyes.

     "After Megan kissed you--the fake one while we were
undercover?"

     "Huh?  Oh!  Yeah, I remember now.  In the driveway at that
house."  Jim frowned.  "That was the deciding factor?"

     "Well, I had feelings I didn't...quite understand for a while.  I
know it hurt like hell when I came in on you with Lila that morning. 
And when you were talking like she might be the one and I knew you
loved her...I didn't know why that should hurt so much.  I've always
been happy for my friends when they found someone.  I've never been
happy for you about that--almost from the beginning.  I hated myself
for being relieved every time your relationships crashed.  Then when
Megan kissed you, and was walking around pretending to be your wife,
I realized that *I* wanted to be the one in that role--well, not your
*wife* exactly, but you know what I mean."  

     "You certainly didn't waste much time getting to know Katie
across the street.  What was that about?"

     "It was about reaching out for something attainable when the
thing you really want, isn't."  Blair shook his head.  "I saw you as a
fantasy.  I might have had a reality with Katie, but after a while, I
realized it wasn't fair to her so I didn't call her.  That happened with a
lot of women--actually, it happened with Sam, and that's why she was
so pissed at me all the time.  She had the feeling there was someone
else, but she couldn't pin it down or figure out who it was."

     "Then it's been a while that you've had *some*...feelings?"

     "A couple years I guess.  I know we have a lot to work out--"

     "I love you as a hell of a lot more than a friend.  I don't want to
analyze it to death.  Since you didn't just feed me my lips for lunch
here, and you feel the same way, I'd kind of like to enjoy it."

     "I wasn't going to suggest talking," Blair responded in a
decidedly sultry tone.  

     "You weren't, huh?"  Jim slid his arms around Blair's waist and
hoisted him up so their lips would be level.  He almost dropped the
younger man on the floor when Blair let out a little moan of pain and
held onto Jim's shoulders to ease the pressure on his back and bruised
ribs.  "Oh, sweetheart, I'm sorry.  I forgot."

     "It's okay," Blair managed as his feet landed back on the floor. 
Then he looked up, blinking.  "You called me 'sweetheart'."

     "I guess I did.  I won't if you don't like it."

     "Say it again."

     "Sweetheart," Jim repeated softly, stroking Blair's cheek with
the backs of his fingers.  Blair leaned into the touch and closed his
eyes.  "Sweetheart.  My sweetheart," Jim concluded, punctuating it
with a light kiss on each of Blair's closed eyelids, and finally one on his
lips--a chaste, closed-mouth reaffirmation of his love.

     "I love it," Blair whispered in a strained voice.  "Almost as
much as I love you."

     "I didn't mean to hurt you before.  I guess I just got carried
away."  Jim rested his hands on Blair's shoulders, rubbing lightly. 
"This is...kind of unexpected."

     "I'm sorry I didn't call you that night.  I know I said I'd be home
before you were.  I guess I didn't realize you...cared so much."

     "I shouldn't be laying down edicts about where you can and
can't go.  I don't mean to do that.  But I don't want anything to happen
to you.  And maybe we can...redo things a little around here so you
don't have to be out late so much.  I know you'll probably still want to
go out with your friends and I wouldn't want to be the wet blanket on
that--"

     "Jim, I never thought I'd get a chance to say this to you, but
you're babbling, man."  Blair was grinning, and it totally disarmed Jim
from the irritable response that was on the tip of his tongue.  

     "I am, huh?"

     "What does this mean?  I mean, we know we love each other,
and it looks like there's a lot more than friendship here, but..."

     "You want some definition?"  Jim asked.

     "I guess."  Blair nodded, looking down again.  "I wouldn't even
ask you to be exclusive.  I know that's way too much to ask.  But, uh, I
just wanna know...you know, if we're gonna last...or if...you're still,
kind of...looking...well, for...if you'd still be wanting to get married
someday."

     "Blair," Jim said softly, reaching again under Blair's chin to
raise his face so they were looking into each other's eyes.  "Do you
want to ask it?"

     "What?"

     "To be exclusive.  Is that how you'd like it?"  Jim probed, still
stunned that Blair would even want that kind of relationship with him. 
A little experimentation or maybe even an affair, but long-term love?

     Blair sucked in his bottom lip and looked at Jim worriedly, then
nodded.

     "But it's okay if you don't want me that way," he added in a
voice that sounded as if it was coming from a partially closed throat. 
Blair cleared it before continuing.  "There are no conditions on this,
Jim.  I love you, in whatever way you'll let me."

     "Do you mean you'd really give up your six volume little black
book for a drab middle-aged cop?"

     "No.  But I'd burn it in a heartbeat for *you*."

     Wordlessly, Jim pulled the smaller body into a gentle embrace,
burying his nose in soft, fragrant curls.  He finally slipped his hand into
those curls and held Blair's head firmly against his shoulder.  

     "I'm never letting you go, sweetheart.  And there won't ever be
anybody else."  He felt an increased answering pressure from Blair, and
a shaky intake of breath.  "Love you so much, baby."

     "Love you too.  I never thought you'd want me like this," Blair
responded, his voice shaky.  "I wanted to tell you so much...and when I
thought I was going to die in that room and you'd never know..."

     "Shhh.  You didn't die in that room, sweetheart.  You're here,
you're home.  We're together.  We've got a whole lifetime."

     "Jim, you can't..."  Blair pulled back and looked up at Jim, and
the larger man brushed away a couple of tears that escaped Blair's eyes. 
"Loving me is going to ruin your career.  If anybody finds out--"

     "They'll have to deal with it.  And if they can't, they'll have to
deal with *me*.  And if we have too much trouble, we'll pack up and
go somewhere else and start over."

     "Anywhere you go, having a male lover is going to make your
life miserable."  Blair swallowed a time or two, trying to control new
tears that slid down his cheeks.  "I should love you enough to walk
away, to pack up my stuff and get out.  I'm not doing you any favors by
turning your life upside down."  Blair looked up at Jim again, and the
final words came out in a constricted whisper, "But I can't leave you."

     Jim clutched his lover closer to him, leaning his head against
Blair's.

     "If you ever leave me, I'll spend forever tracking you down and
even longer proving to you how much I love you.  It would be kinder
for you to cut my heart out, because after the last two weeks--if I had
any doubts before--I know I don't want to live without you."

     "But being with me...it's going to screw everything up.  You'll
always be an outcast."

     "As long as you love me, I'm not an outcast, sweetheart."

     "But the PD...society...Jim, it's not fair for me to come along
and drag you into an alternative lifestyle."

     "It's not fair for you to light up my life and warm up my home
and give me a reason for getting up in the morning either because I
probably don't deserve you.  Maybe the price for having the greatest
gift I could ever ask for is dealing with society's...shit.  So be it.  You're
worth any price to me, Blair.  And I won't change my mind when it
happens.  The whole fucking world can crash around me as long as I
still come out of it with you.  Is that clear?"  Jim added firmly, pushing
Blair back enough to look into his puffy wet eyes.  "Don't you ever dare
forget that you're number one with me.  Everything else is a very
distant second."

     "My career...it's a little different.  Intellectuals are supposed to
be weird.  A gay professor can be a lot better tolerated than a gay cop."

     "Gay?  What is that?  A label?  There's no right label for what I
feel for you.  I don't care that you're a man.  If you were a woman, I'd
still love you.  I would have made some move before this but I thought
it was one-sided--the part that went beyond a deep friendship."  Jim let
out an exasperated sigh.  "All my life, I've pleased someone else.  First
there was my mother, but that obviously didn't fly because she divorced
my dad and dumped Stephen and me with him.  Then I knocked myself
out trying to please the old man, and that was a lost cause.  Then I went
into the military, and that's *all* about pleasing someone else.  I
jumped through hoops for Carolyn and *nothing* was good enough. 
Hell, when I moved into Major Crimes, I had to redo my whole fucking
*image* to make them happy.  You know what?  Fuck 'em all."  Jim
walked away, pacing.  "I've spent every goddamned minute of my
pathetic life doing what someone else wanted me to do.  And it got me
nothing but a crock of shit and a lot of pain.  The only person I've been
100% myself with, that I've taken out all my bad moods on, that I've
hurt and slighted and underappreciated--hell, I've forgotten your
birthday, I've snapped your head off for no good reason, I've steam
rolled you with house rules--I've *never* tried to please you.  Even
once.  And out of all that, you love *me*.  Not Jim Ellison the model
son, not Jim Ellison the model husband, not Jim Ellison the model cop! 
Just plain old Jim Ellison the jerk.  Just *me* in all my glory.  That's
real.  That's love.  That's what forever sounds like to me.  I don't owe
any of those other assholes out there giving up my forever to make
them happy."

     "You're not a jerk, Jim.  And sure, you've got your moods, but
so do I.  We've had a weird start to this relationship.  We've never been
stiff and pretentious with each other because we weren't strutting our
stuff to land a mate."  Blair smiled.  "You only forgot my birthday the
first year I knew you, and after that, you always remembered it.  You've
given me a home like I've never had before.  I *belong* here.  You
protect me, you stick up for me.  You let me in places you don't let
anyone else in.  And you're always *here*.  Jim, nobody in my life has
*always* been there for me.  When I got the flu last year and I called
you from my office, I *knew* you'd be on the other end of that cell
phone, and I *knew* you'd take care of everything.  When I've had a
really terrible day and I just need to dump on somebody, I know I can
do that to you because I know you'll be *here*.  You'll listen and you'll
care--enough so that I have to worry about you lying in wait in the
parking lot for a couple of my more belligerent students."  Blair
grinned and Jim laughed a little.

     "I don't do the caveman routine quite *that* heavily...do I?"

     "Not caveman.  Blessed protector."  Blair smiled and looked
down.  "When I made that joke, way back after Lash?"  Blair paused. 
"I expected you to brush it off and say something about not wanting to
be stuck with me that long--you know, for life.  But you didn't.  You
just let it pass and joked around with me about Christine.  I know it
was all in fun, but still--it meant a lot to me that you didn't act like
having me with you for the rest of time would be the worst thing that
could happen to you."

     "It was something I didn't expect, Chief.  I still wonder what's
going to happen when you get your Ph.D."

     "I'm going to have three more cool letters after my name on my
cards, and hopefully, an office where the roof doesn't leak when it rains
a lot."

     "So that's how you got that fancy office."

     "Yeah," Blair responded, laughing a little.  "As soon as the
Board approves a new roof for Hargrove Hall, I am *so* out of that
office.  But see, there's a leak right inside the door, so after a senior
faculty member had a really important guest trip over a rainwater
bucket..."  Blair shrugged.  "The rest is history.  But all that's beside the
point.  Jim, you just told me I was number one with you.  I feel the
same way where you're concerned.  I don't want to leave you, and as
long as we're together, the rest of the stuff can just sort of...fit in where
it can, I guess."

     "But what if you have this wonderful opportunity to go study
some tribe somewhere for a year?  I don't want to tie you down.  You're
so worried that loving you is going to ruin my life.  Well, getting tied
down probably isn't going to do a hell of a lot for yours either."

     "Maybe not.  But I can't help how I feel.  I don't want to leave
you for any reason.  So if someday you can take a leave of absence and
travel with me, it would be a dream come true.  If not, then so be it. 
I've spent my whole life with no ties, man.  And let me tell you a big fat
secret.  It sucks.  You have nothing solid.  Nothing to hold onto.  I've
seen a lot of places.  But when I go somewhere now by myself, all I
keep thinking is what I want to tell you about it, or how much fun it
would be if we were together and could experience it together.  I feel...
cut in half when you're not with me."

     "Can you really stay here and stagnate and have a successful
career?"

     "I probably can't do it without ever taking a trip somewhere, but
can I do it without going on prolonged expeditions?  Absolutely.  I
already have a better publication record than some of the established
faculty, which is a big thing at Rainier.  'Publish or perish', you know
the old saying.  But a couple weeks every few years isn't a problem,
whether I have to go alone or you take vacation and come with me. 
Jim, if you want me this way, it's my free choice to accept that.  It's not
like you're forcing me into anything.  I'm not tied down.  I'm settled.  
And I like it."

     "Why don't we sit down a minute?  I want to do this right."  Jim
took Blair by both hands and led him over to the couch, where they
both sat on the edge of the cushions, still holding hands.  "What I'm
asking you..."  Jim took a deep breath, then looked into the expectant
blue eyes watching him intently, hanging on his every word.  "I'm
asking you to share my life, Blair.  To be my life partner, my lover, my
best friend...my...soulmate.  I'm not asking you for an affair or a roll in
the sack.  I'm asking you for a commitment.  I know we can't do things
traditionally like other couples, but...in whatever way we can do it, I'm
asking you to marry me."  Jim waited, suddenly panicking that he'd
misinterpreted everything, that he was rushing Blair, that he would
scare him away, that he was nuts for wanting to commit a lifetime to
someone he hadn't done more than kiss.  Was he crazy to propose to
another man when he had no clue if either of them would even *like*
sex with another man?

     Blair was still silent, looking a little stunned and obviously
stricken speechless.

     "It's okay, Chief.  I know I jumped the gun.  I don't want you to
feel pressured.  I didn't mean to--"

     "Yes."

     "What?"

     "Yes.  You asked me to marry you.  The answer is 'yes'.  A big,
fat, resounding YES!!!"  Blair bellowed, launching himself at Jim and
throwing his arms tightly around the other man's neck.  

     Jim received the enthusiastic hug with as much gentleness as he
could manage, not wanting Blair to hurt himself any more than he
probably already had by body-slamming Jim into the couch.  When
Blair pulled back, he was straddling Jim's lap.

     "I love you, Jim."  Blair's face looked like it might split in half
with his dazzling smile.  "Oh, God, I can't believe you're gonna be all
mine.  Forever."  Blair stroked the sides of Jim's face as if he'd just
been granted the greatest treasure in the universe.  "Take a good look at
me, man.  Are you sure you really want to be stuck with me forever?"

     "And beyond, sweetheart.  Forever isn't long enough."  Jim
gathered his mate close again, gently caressing Blair's back, planting
kisses in the soft hair.

     "You're my whole life, love.  I'll do my best to make you
happy."

     "You already do, just by being here, Chief.  You don't have to
try."  Jim smiled.  "Now me, on the other hand--I have a little more
work to do."

     "No you don't.  I love you just the way you are.  Don't you dare
change."  Blair pulled back.  "We love each other for the people we are. 
That's a rare gift.  To know someone so well and love them for that and
not what face they've put on to impress you."

     "How would you...uh...feel about...sleeping upstairs?"

     "I'd feel great about it."  Blair shifted around so he was resting
against Jim's chest.  "I want to be with you."  

     "But?"

     "But what?"

     "Something's bothering you.  Out with it."

     "What are we gonna do about this at the station?  At the U?  Out
in public?"

     "Would it bother you to keep it between us for right now?  With
the Slater case going full blast, it's going to be a hectic time anyway,
and I think it might be a little less distracting for everyone concerned,
including us, if we didn't have the whole 'outing' issue to handle this
fast."

     "You're right.  This is a bad time."

     "Not for us to get together, but for making it public."

     "We don't have to take out ads in the paper or anything.  I want
to tell Naomi, but it's not like she hangs out at the PD, so that won't be
a problem."

     "How do you think she's going to react?"  Jim asked.

     "If I'm happy, she'll be happy.  She never worried too much
about labels."

     "Be interesting to see how my father wraps his mind around this
one," Jim opined, smiling and rolling his eyes.

     "He's probably going to hate it."

     "Ask me now if I care."

     "You just started to get things ironed out with him."

     "And if they're really ironed out, this won't change that.  He'll
accept the person I love and my life choices.  If he can't...well, then we
really didn't have anything better than we ever had, and it's no big loss."

     "How about Simon?"

     "I don't know."  Jim let out a long sigh.  "On a personal level,
Simon is a very open-minded, tolerant person.  On a professional
level...well, he's a professional.  Technically, he could have some
problems with keeping us together as partners if we're also lovers.  The
only loophole he could use, if he chose, would be that according to the
PD personnel records, you're not my partner.  You're a consultant.  So
therefore you're just another PD part-time staff member.   There's no
rule against my sleeping with another staff member."

     "There is now."  Blair smiled from his resting place against Jim. 
"I'm the *only* staff member you can sleep with."

     "Speaking of which, it's about time you got to bed, Chief."

     "Me?  By myself?"  Blair was still grinning.

     "Not on your life.  Besides, I'm still pretty wiped myself."  Jim
looked down into Blair's slightly inquisitive face.  "I want your bruises
a little better healed before we fool around, baby."

     "I'm kind of glad to hear you say that.  I mean, I want to, but I
want to feel good when we do something--I don't want to be favoring
bruises."

     "I don't want you to have to favor this kind of pain ever again,
sweetheart.  I'm going to try to keep you safe."

     "You *do* keep me safe.  You were right.  I took a dumb
chance in that parking lot, and I paid for it.  Plain and simple."

     "I didn't mean to make it sound like I thought this was in any
way your fault."

     "I know.  And it wasn't my *fault*, but I did put myself at risk,
and I didn't call and tell you when I'd be home or that I'd be later than I
originally thought.  Nobody would have known for sure to check up on
me.  If you didn't have pull at the PD, you couldn't have gotten the ball
rolling for two days."

     "Fat lot of good it did."

     "You did everything humanly possible.  And you found me."

     "By accident."

     "Hearing my heartbeat and not giving up until you tore that
basement apart wasn't an accident, love."

     "We're going to get these assholes behind bars." //But not before
I've had a chance to do a little dance with the bastard with the belt,//
Jim vowed silently, tightening his hold on Blair.

********

     "Sandburg and I can pick you up at the airport.  What is your
flight number?"  Jim's voice wafted up to the loft bedroom, where Blair
still dozed, his face mostly buried in Jim's pillow.  The younger man
finally forced his eyes open and sat up, a little disoriented momentarily
at his surroundings.  "Great.  Yeah, we'll be there."  Jim concluded his
phone call and let out an audible sigh.

     "Jim?"  Blair called from upstairs.

     "Morning, Chief.  I was going to check your vital signs if you
didn't move pretty soon," Jim said good-naturedly as he headed
upstairs.  

     "What time is it?"

     "Nine."  Jim leaned down and kissed Blair's mouth quickly and
sat on the edge of the bed.  "How do you feel, sweetheart?"

     "Better--but Simon's gotta be hopping mad right about now."

     "I talked to him this morning.  Right now, our best lead is
Slater.  We've got APB's out on him.  Without visual descriptions, there
isn't much we can do to hunt down the other two just yet.  I *have*
been reviewing all our old case files, and a few of mine from before
you started working with me...  Just looking for any asshole with a
grudge who might snatch you to get back at me."

     "Any luck?"

     "Sure.  A nice long list of friends, relatives and other assorted
head cases to check up on.  Of course now, we're going to be getting
the expert hot shots from LA in here to show us how it's done."

     "Starsky, wasn't it?"

     "Yeah, and his partner, Hutchinson.  They've been on the force
close to thirty years now.  I can't wait to have all that wisdom imparted
on me."

     "Maybe they can help us."

     "I don't need a couple of mentors guiding me in how to track a
killer."  Jim shook his head.  "I think they're jumping the gun awfully
fast sending them up here right now."

     "Slater is deadly.  Look what he's capable of?  We could have a
whole new rash of killings if he isn't caught.  Those are big stakes,
Jim."

     "Yeah, they're big stakes.  Lash was big stakes, Chapel was big
stakes--we didn't need help nailing them."

     "So this is a turf thing?"

     "Don't analyze me, Chief.  That's not what this is about."

     "Then what is it?"

     "It's about sending me a couple of guys who think they know
everything because they're part of some special West Coast task force
in serial killers, and they have an arrest record that would intimidate
God," Jim snapped back.  

     "So do you."

     "So do *we*," Jim corrected.  "But they're not sentinels.  At
least I don't think they are."

     "Look, Jim, I think you're judging these guys a little
prematurely.  Not every older guy with experience is a jerk.  You got
along with Jack Pendergrass."
     
     "That was because I was on a rebellion kick when I got out of
Vice and I needed some attitude adjustment to fit into a conservative
department like Major Crimes.  I don't need that now.  I would have
liked a chance to pursue this on my own for a while."

     "You want revenge," Blair said solemnly.

     "Is that so wrong?"  Jim was up and pacing now.  "They almost
killed you.  Terrorized you.  And I want to kill that son of a bitch who
did that to your back!"  Jim turned to Blair with an almost feral,
borderline homicidal, gleam in his eyes.  "And I don't want anybody in
my way when I find them."

     "Then I'm glad they're coming.  Because I don't stand a chance
of reasoning with you on this."

     "I love you.  And I can't deal with the mental image of some son
of a bitch beating you and then whipping you with a belt while you
were handcuffed and helpless on the floor!  Locking you in a room and
leaving you there to die of starvation and dehydration?!  There's no
reasoning with that!  There's only justice.  Oh, shit, Incacha was so
right.  I should have listened to him."  Jim turned away and moved
toward the window.  "There's no Chopec law.  There's no American
law.  There's only *justice*.  And for some wrongs, the law isn't
adequate."

     "Jim, listen to me."  Blair got out of bed and moved to where
Jim stood by the window.  He laid a gentle hand on his partner's arm. 
"I know that there's an instinct in you that's very strong--"

     "Don't start that caveman shit again with me, Sandburg."

     "I wasn't going to do that.  I *was* going to say that there is an
instinct in you that's very strong that compels you to protect the tribe. 
Beyond that, you and I have always had an unusually strong bond.  So
that instinct is about quadrupled when it comes to me.  I know you're
fighting an instinctive drive to revert to the hunter--to hunt them down,
to exact primitive justice.  But you have to fight that, Jim.  Your
sentinel nature...your senses are a gift, and what you can do with them
is a gift.  But there are parts of being a Sentinel that are a curse.  I
know that.  Having some powerful instinctual drives that sometimes
overpower your better judgement is one of those curses.  But you know
it's there, and you've got to contain it."

     "How?"  Jim turned and looked down at his guide.  "How do I
look at what they did to you and contain it?"

     "Because I want you to."  Blair knew that was a bit
manipulative, but he also knew it was better for Jim to be manipulated
than imprisoned for a vigilante-style murder.  "I love you, Jim.  I don't
want to spend my weekends on the other side of a pane of glass from
you talking to you on the telephone.  And killing someone for revenge
goes against everything I believe in.  So I'm asking you, for me, please,
contain the urge.  Use it to energize your investigation, but *don't* turn
it loose."

     "Damn."  Jim walked away, finally sitting on the side of the
bed.

     "What?"

     "You know I'd do anything for you, Blair," he said quietly. 
"You're not leaving me a choice."

     "I want you to choose us.  Because if you self-destruct on this
case, there won't ever *be* an us."  Blair crouched in front of Jim until
they had eye contact.  "I love you."

     "I love you too, sweetheart."  Jim's features softened
immeasurably as he pulled the other man back on the bed with him,
claiming his mouth gently, probing and seeking entrance with his
tongue.  Blair's response was immediate, opening to Jim and sliding
their tongues together.

     "Look at you," Jim said, smiling at his red-lipped, breathless
partner.  "God, you're so beautiful."  Jim tangled his fingers in silky
curls that fanned out against the sheets.  "You can't blame me for
wanting a piece of those bastards."

     "No, I can't.  And I don't.  But don't let them take this away from
us."

     "Never."  Jim kissed the end of Blair's nose.  "We better haul
ass.  Simon's good humor is only going to stretch so far."

********

     Jim checked his watch again.  The flight from LAX due in to
Cascade International carrying the two California detectives Jim
anticipated as the bane of his existence was a good hour late.  Pacing
back and forth like a caged panther in the small waiting area, he tried
to dial down the barrage of scents, sights and sounds that assailed him
from all sides.  

     "That must be them," Blair commented, standing up from his
seat in one of the plastic chairs where he had been thumbing through a
magazine.  

     "What makes you say that?"

     "Right age, and they're traveling together.  Just a guess."  Blair
shrugged.  

     A man just a bit shorter than Jim with a slender build and
golden blond hair, dressed in jeans, a blue sweater and winter jacket
walked next to a slightly shorter, more solidly built man with a mop of
curly dark hair and a ready smile.   He wore a black leather jacket, red
shirt and jeans.  Both men were carrying suitbags and duffle bags, the
dark-haired man talking almost incessantly about something, which
finally made the more subdued blond laugh a bit before they
approached their hosts.

     "Ellison?"  The blond man asked, approaching Jim and Blair
where they stood in the waiting area.

     "Starsky?"  Jim replied.

     "I'm Hutchinson, he's Starsky," the man replied with a laugh
that revealed a set of even white teeth.  He extended his hand, which
Jim shook.  "My friends call me Hutch."

     "Jim Ellison.  This is my partner, Blair Sandburg."  After
handshakes went all around following introductions, Jim extended a
hand to take some of the luggage.  "Can we give you a hand with that?"

     "We've got it, thanks.  Where're you parked?"  Starsky asked as
the group fell into step toward the exit.  His voice carried the slight hint
of a New York accent.

     "Right out front," Jim responded.

     "Maybe he remembers to put the ID somewhere visible," Hutch
commented, shooting his partner a sideways glance.

     "I only got towed twice--and the last time was six years ago. 
Geez."  Starsky shook his head.

     "How was your trip?"  Blair asked as they loaded the luggage
into the trunk of the unmarked police sedan they'd borrowed to pick up
their guests.
     
     "Other than the delay at LAX, it was pretty uneventful," Hutch
replied, sliding into the backseat with his partner while Jim and Blair
occupied the front seats.

     "This weather must be kind of a let down after LA," Jim added,
starting up the engine.

     "Hutch's family is from Minnesota, so we're used to some cold
weather trips.  No big deal.  So what've you got on Slater, anything
new?"

     "Not really," Jim responded, feeling the seeds of dread taking
root.  They weren't even out of the airport lot, and he already felt like
he had to defend himself.  "The puzzling thing here is how he ended up
with two accomplices abducting Blair.  It doesn't make sense.  What
truly doesn't make sense is that..."  Jim struggled for the wording in
front of his partner.

     "That he didn't slice me up like he did his other victims.  Why
he was content to let the other two run the show and lock me up in a
room to kill me instead of doing it directly," Blair added, completing
the thought.

     "So who would have a motive to kidnap you?" Starsky asked
directly.  "Are we talking about money?  Ellison mentioned you were a
researcher.  Are you researching anything potentially sensitive?"

     //Yeah.  He's sitting next to me,// Blair thought, rolling his eyes. 
He formulated a more acceptable reply.  

     "No," he lied blatantly.  The whole sentinel project was
potentially sensitive, but to reveal the real nature of it in this setting
wasn't a good idea. 

     "Blair--Starsky asked you a question," Jim prodded.

     "Oh, sorry.  What?"

     "What is your research project?"  the other man repeated.

     "I'm studying behavior in closed societies.  Police departments
are a prime example, so the PD lets me ride along with Jim."

     "With the exception of carrying a weapon, Blair's become my
partner as much as any cop I would ride with," Jim added.

     "Thinking of a career change?"  Hutch asked.  

     "No way, man!"  Blair shot back, laughing a little.  "I am *so*
not into guns."

     "Truthfully, I'm not either," Hutch responded, still smiling
slightly.

     "If anyone says they're 'into guns', they usually flunk the
entrance interview," Starsky added, yawning.  "So where's a decent
place to eat around here?"

     "If you like Italian, there's Tony's--that's on the way to the
station."

     "Guaranteed to clog all your arteries in one sitting," Blair
grumbled in response to Jim's suggestion.

     "How's their pizza?"  Starsky asked, undaunted by the health
warning.

     "Best in town," Jim responded, somewhat relieved to have
found a kindred soul, at least in terms of food.

     "How's their pasta?"  Hutch added, ignoring his partner's
inquiry.

     "Stick to the spaghetti," Blair advised.  "Everything else has a
six pound slab of rubber cheese over it."

     "I can live with spaghetti.  You're a health food person?"  Hutch
leaned forward a bit in the backseat.

     "Oh, God," Starsky muttered, rolling his eyes.

     "I try.  Before you go back, I'll treat you to lunch at The
Rainforest."

     "'Treat' isn't the right word here, Chief.  More like, *subject*."

     "They have a great juice bar, some incredible salads--the owner
is very creative.  Plus the atmosphere is really cool.  They even have a
cyber cafe in the back with Net access."

     "I think they have a plaque on one of the tables for him," Jim
added.

     "Better than plaque in my arteries from all those Tony's take-outs," 
Blair shot back.
     
     "You know, I could pull over so you could *walk* the rest of
the way back to the station," Jim teased, barely containing a grin.

     The four men arrived at the restaurant and were seated
promptly, as it was past the lunch hour, and the crowd was sparse.  Jim
and Starsky reached an agreement quickly on a pizza to split while
Blair and Hutch settled for spaghetti and salad.

     "When you nailed Slater the first time, what was his real
downfall?"  Jim asked, taking a drink of the cola that was a sorry
substitute for the beer he wanted to go with his pizza.

     "Slasher movies, if you can believe it," Starsky responded,
chewing on a bread stick.  "The guy's obsessed with them.  It's like
research.  We found that some of his mutilations were exact parallels
to the ones he watched in his favorite movies.  It wasn't too hard to nail
him once we found out that little tidbit.  'Halloween 5' was released,
and guess who attended the first day it opened in theaters?"

     "So you busted him there?"  Jim clarified.

     "Afterward, in the parking lot," Hutch replied.  "Way too many
people in the theater to chance it.  The S.O.B. sure can run.  I chased
him for God-knows how many blocks, and Starsk finally cut him off
with the car.  Of course, he grabbed a six-year-old girl along the way
and threatened to cut her throat.  So we were in a stand-off with him
for about two hours while he holed up in a vacant storefront.  The
worst part of it with him was that we had no doubt he'd do it just to
teach us a lesson, even if it meant we'd 'win' and he lost his leverage."

     "So how'd you get to him?"  Blair asked, his fork frozen mid-twirl
 in his spaghetti.

     "We got a hold of the building owner, found out where all the
exits were, and Starsk went in through the basement and offered
himself as a trade.  That was *not* a joint decision," Hutch added.  "It
was a fucking kamikaze mission."

     "It worked.  That little girl didn't know any moves to pull on
him.  He was dumb enough to go for it--figured a cop would be good
insurance, and even better frontal coverage while he tried to get into
the escape car he'd ordered the cops to produce for him.  He let her go,
that was the important thing."

     "And stabbed the hero here twice in the back when he pulled
his famous 'moves'," Hutch remarked, laying his fork aside. 

     "We had no choices.  Better for him to take me out than kill that
little girl.  Fortunately, I had one or two of the nine lives left, and I
lived to tell."

     "Unfortunately, Slater was only wounded by the shot I got off.  I
wasn't aiming as well as I should have.  I knew he'd stabbed Starsky at
least twice and he wasn't moving."

     "Seeing your partner go down is probably the worst experience
a cop can have," Starsky said quietly.  "We've both been there too damn
many times."

     "Where was Slater shot?"  Jim asked, hoping to latch onto some
additional characteristic to aid in their search.

     "Left shoulder."  Hutch took a drink of his mineral water and
leaned back in his chair.  "God love the correctional system.  They
made sure he got all the PT he needed.  You can't tell he was ever
injured."

     "It's unfortunate he ended up at Cabrillo State."  Starsky shook
his head.  "They turned that into a maximum security looney bin a few
years ago, since they had more than one scandal about their therapeutic
techniques and the administration was eventually ousted.  The problem
is, you really shouldn't turn an existing building *into* a high security
complex.  There're usually loopholes left over that any really clever
psycho can figure out.  It took Slater three years, but he figured it out. 
And he carved up a ward clerk to do it."

     "Did Slater have any other known associates?"

     "He used to do a little muscle work for a guy named Rudy
Mantego.  He's a fairly successful hood with a good deal of the drug
trade on the West Coast.  Good old Rudy has kept his nose clean since
he moved up to Washington State from LA.  I guess his parents came
from here originally, and he gave his pals back in LA some hokey story
about wanting to 'go home again' But he hasn't been arrested up here to
our knowledge."  Starsky got a confirming head shake from Jim."

     "I'd remember a bust like that.  He's been keeping a low profile. 
I was thinking we could cross-reference any of Slater's known
associates with the listing I've developed of people who might want
revenge against me for some reason."

     "Well, if you haven't met up with Mantego, that pretty much
leaves him off the list--probably a long one, I bet.  I hope you're
including your Covert Ops days and your stint in Vice.  Some of those
creeps have long memories."

     "You checked me out before you came?"  Jim asked, obviously
annoyed.

     "No more than you checked us out, right?"  Hutch responded.  

     "Touche," Blair interjected, back to eating his lunch now that
the talk of mutilations had faded.

     "My Covert Ops files are sealed.  I can't access that material
myself, nor would I be permitted to reveal any names I might
remember.  As for Vice, yeah, I included any of the busts I made while
I was there.  You're right--it's a long list."

     "How about you, Blair?  Any enemies?  Disgruntled students?"

     "Disgruntled students?  Disgruntled enough to hire a serial
killer to murder me?"

     "Well, we have a disgruntled student who's a bit on the psycho
side himself, maybe with some money behind him, who hires some
muscle to deal with you."  Starsky raised an eyebrow.  "How about it?"

     "I...I can't even think of anybody like that.  I had a bad run-in
with a couple of guys I flunked last year, but they were garden-variety
bullies with no great wealth to back them up."

     "How'd you deal with 'em?"  Starsky paused in savoring a large
slice of pizza long enough to ask the question.

     "Well, I stood my ground, and one of them decided to show up
at the loft and hassle me, and ended up slamming me into the wall. 
What he didn't know was that Jim was upstairs sleeping.  I never saw
anybody move as fast as he did when he spotted Jim heading down the
stairs, looking positively homicidal.  Unless it was Jim chasing him."

     "You two live together?"  Hutch clarified.

     "Blair was living in a warehouse that ended up blown sky-high,
so he moved in with me temporarily.  About three years ago now," Jim
explained, smiling more brightly at Blair than the younger man could
remember seeing in a long time.

     "Starsky and I have a house together in Bay City.  It's a
beachfront house.  Pooling our resources we could afford it."

     "How long have you lived there?"  Blair asked.

     "Seventeen years," Starsky replied, smiling.  "We've added on to
it and changed things around to suit us.  It's really home now."

     "You two probably have a lot easier time of it that we did. 
Coming out was out of the question in 1979," Hutch commented,
shaking his head.  "So we kept our own places for a while, then we
played the whole swinging bachelor thing to the hilt with the new
house."

     "So when did you come out?"  Blair asked, as Jim's mouth was
still slightly agape from the admission that the two veteran detectives
were not only a couple, but assumed that Jim and Blair were as well.

     "We didn't, officially.  We let people draw their own
conclusions."  Starsky chewed on his pizza and chased it with some
root beer.  "All 'coming out' means is explaining to people that you're
having sex with each other.  We never figured that was any of their
business.  You can't play smashface on the job anyway, and groping
each other in the car can get you killed because you're too damned
distracted to tend to business if something comes up."

     "And it usually does in that setting," Hutch added quietly,
smiling.  He was rewarded with something neither of the men expected
to see cross Starsky's face: an honest to God blush.

     "Like I was saying," Starsky cleared his throat and took another
drink of his root beer, "coming out really wasn't an option, because the
first thing they'd have done is split up our partnership.  Couples can't be
partners."

     "Captain Dobey operated on a don't ask, don't tell basis.  Taylor
is the same way.  Plus, it isn't the issue now it was then.  They couldn't
fire us for it anyway."  Hutch shrugged.  "It would have been nice not
to have to hide it.  But it hasn't ruined our lives or anything.  We just
stay away from PD events where we're expected to show up with
women.  Or we go with a couple of accomplices who are just good
friends and are willing to be fake dates for the evening."

     "We, uh, haven't been...together very long.  That way," Jim
added awkwardly.  He was more than delighted with the turn of events,
because it gave them common ground and a sense of unity as a working
team, and it took the pressure off Blair and himself to keep up
appearances all the time.  Still, it disconcerted him that they
immediately assumed the two men were lovers because they lived
together.

     "If we made a wrong assumption here--"

     "No," Jim cut Starsky off.  "Not wrong.  You just assumed we'd
been together longer than we have."

     "How long?"  Starsky asked, curiosity piqued now.

     "About 36 hours," Blair responded.

     "*Hours*?"  Hutch choked on his water.

     "Since after the kidnapping," Jim added, finding Blair's hand
under the table.  The nimble fingers splayed to intertwine with Jim's.

     "Sounds kind of familiar," Starsky commented, sitting back in
his chair.  "Sometimes it takes a disaster, unfortunately."

     "We should get moving if everyone's done eating," Jim spoke
up again, still holding onto Blair's hand.  The younger man had his in a
death grip.  "We can stop by the hotel so you can dump your luggage
before we head over to the station."

     Still a little stunned by the lunchtime revelations, the four men
headed for the Cascade Suites Hotel, where the visiting detectives
accepted their suite keys and deposited their luggage.  

     They arrived at the PD only marginally behind schedule to meet
with Simon.  Figuring treating their guests to lunch was an acceptable
diversion, they didn't anticipate the captain being too upset about the
delay.  By the time they made it to the bullpen, they had introduced
their visitors to Rafe and Brown in the garage.  Megan was exiting
Simon's office as they approached.

     "You must be Ken Hutchinson," she said to the tall blond,
extending her hand.  "I attended a seminar last year on profiling serial
killers.  You were one of the panelists.  Inspector Megan Conner."

     "Nice to meet you, Inspector Conner," Hutch replied, shaking
her hand and smiling as he cocked his head slightly.  "Australian?"

     "Yes.  I came to the Cascade PD as part of the officer exchange
program."

     "And they wouldn't take her back," Jim added under his breath,
annoyed at the hold up.

     "Actually, I couldn't force myself to leave after having the
opportunity to work with someone as charming as Detective Ellison."

     "I can see the feeling's mutual," Starsky added, grinning.  "Dave
Starsky, Hutch's partner," he introduced himself and shook hands with
Megan.

     "You both work with a task force on serial killers now, is that
right?  It must be fascinating work."

     "It's the dark side of homicide, if that makes sense, being there
really isn't a light side," Starsky responded.  "But it's pretty fascinating."

     "I did enjoy that seminar very much, Detective Hutchinson."

     "Please, call me Ken.  I'm glad.  I hope it provided some useful
information."

     "Oh, most definitely.  I understand you two are going to be co-authoring a 
book in the near future."

     "It's in the works, but with our schedules, it'll probably take a
while."  

     "I'll look forward to it.  I won't hold you up any longer.  It was a
pleasure meeting you both."

     "The pleasure was ours," Hutch spoke for both of them, just as
Simon opened the door to his office.  

     "Gentlemen?"

     After another round of introductions, the five men sat around
the conference table in Simon's office, exchanging information and
ideas on the investigation.  The slasher film angle was added to the line
up of strategies for hunting Slater, as was the information on his
shoulder wound, which didn't cause him noticeable problems, but
would leave a scar behind.

     Glossy photos of Slater's victims made the rounds along with
their individual profiles.  Engrossed in the meeting, Jim hadn't thought
to filter anything before it reached Blair.  The sharp intake of breath
caught his attention as Blair's eyes fixed on the photo of the bloody
corpse that had made its way to him.

     "He told me about this one," he said in a strained voice.  "He
said he took a long time with her."

     "Renee Olson.  Probably the worst mutilation killing I've heard
of since the Black Dahlia case," Starsky commented, almost
shuddering himself.  "The only thing he didn't do was the complete
vivisection."

     "Excuse me."  Blair pushed away from the table and moved
swiftly out of the room.

     "I'm sorry," Starsky said, shaking his head.  "I keep forgetting he
isn't a cop."

     "He'll be flattered by that," Jim said, smiling affectionately at
the thought of how hard his partner worked at fitting in and being
respected at the PD.  "I'll go see if he's okay."

     Jim hurried down the corridor, figuring there was only one
place someone as white-green as Blair could have been headed.  It
didn't take long for the familiar heartbeat to come into focus, even
though it was hammering at the moment.  When Jim entered the rest
room, Blair was holding onto either side of the sink, breathing heavily,
his face still a little damp from the water he'd splashed there.

     "How're you doin', Chief?"  Jim came up behind him and slid an
arm around his shoulders.

     "So much for lunch," Blair managed, trying to settle the
aftermath of the vomiting that was keeping his stomach tied in a knot.

     "I'm sorry I didn't watch those photos more carefully.  It just
slipped my mind."  Jim moved a hand down to very gently massage
Blair's miserable stomach and midsection.  "Come here."  He pulled the
smaller man into his arms and held on tightly.  "Hang onto me.  Try to
relax, baby."

     "I didn't mean to lose it like that."

     "Those photos were pretty hideous.  They made my pizza flip
over a time or two," Jim said, smiling a little against Blair's hair. 
"Starsky apologized--he said he keeps forgetting you're not a cop."

     "Like anybody ever forgets *that* around here."

     "He was genuine when he said it, Chief.  Those guys have been
around.  You must be doin' okay if they're accepting you as part of the
team so easily."

     "I feel a little better," Blair backed away slightly, his hand going
to his stomach.
     
     "Still queasy?"

     "I got a good kick right there, and when I threw up, God, it
really hurt."

     "You didn't throw up any blood or anything?"  Jim was
massaging the shoulders where his hands rested.

     "No.  I'm just sore.  I'll be okay."

     "Okay, Chief.  Ready to go back in there?"

     "I feel like an idiot."

     "Blair, everyone in that room knows you went through a
traumatic experience.  That rattles a person.  You're doing fine.  You'll
be okay.  Nobody's critical of you for having a few rough spots."

     "It's just...you know, how is anybody going to take me seriously
in this thing if I puke the first time I see a crime scene photo?"

     "They're going to take you seriously because of your
contribution to the case, your brains and your analytical skills.  And the
fact that I'll kick their asses if they don't."

     "That part I believe," Blair agreed, laughing a little.

     "Come on.  Let's go nail that bastard."

********

     "Knowing you were with someone capable of doing this...that's
gotta be enough to rattle ya," Starsky exhaled loudly and gathered up
the grisly photos.

     "Sandburg's come a long way in the last couple years.  When he
started working with Jim, he really couldn't handle the crime scenes too
well."  Simon smiled a little.  "We have yet to get him all the way
through an autopsy without losing his lunch."

     "*I* have yet to get all the way through an autopsy without
losing my lunch," Hutch responded, laughing a little.  "The solution is
not to eat for several hours before you watch."

     "The best solution is to wait for the coroner's report," Starsky
corrected.  "Must need a lotta data to ride with Ellison for goin' on
three years," Starsky commented.

     "You know how those grad students are."  Simon laughed a bit
uneasily.

     "Only too well," Starsky replied, shooting a look at his partner. 
"I've had to put up with him through his Master's."

     "You're next, Gordo."

     "Not in this lifetime, pal," Starsky replied, smiling.  "Eight
years'a night classes for the B.A. was enough for me."

     "Sorry about that," Blair apologized self-consciously as he slid
into a chair at the table, followed by his partner, who set a styrofoam
cup of water in front of the younger man.

     "So Blair--have you got Ellison's list of possibles on computer?" 
Starsky asked.

     "Yeah.  I typed it in while he pulled the info out of the files. 
Why?"

     "Let's do a little searching and see if any of these names match
up."  Starsky held up the large three-ring notebook of data they'd
brought on Slater and his known associates.

     "Okay."  Relieved to be sprung from the meeting, Blair led the
older detective out to Jim's desk.  For a man in his early fifties, Dave
Starsky was in good shape.  With a solid but toned physique, a thick
mop of dark brown curls that almost looked black, deep blue eyes and
strong features split by the occasional dazzling smile, he was more than
capable of turning a few female heads in the Major Crimes bullpen.  

     "Black with sugar, right Detective Starsky?"  Rhonda said
sweetly as she arrived at Jim's desk with coffee for their guest.  Blair
couldn't remember Rhonda ever fetching coffee for anyone in the entire
time he'd hung around the Cascade PD.  

     "That's right.  Thanks, Rhonda," Starsky accepted the drink with
one of those smiles.  Rhonda returned it and slipped back to her desk.

     "You must go for blondes," Blair joked.  To his relief, the other
man laughed.

     "Yeah, I guess.  Although Inspector Conner isn't too hard on the
eyes, either.  I never saw a lady cop who looked like that before."

     "Does your partner know you're scoping out the talent?"

     "You didn't see him batting his big baby blues at Inspector
Conner?  Being in a committed relationship doesn't kill your hormones. 
Looking is okay.  Touching is a hanging offense."  Starsky opened the
notebook and flipped through the pages.

     "It's so weird.  One of the things I was most worried about when
we had to work with you guys is that something would happen that
would tip you off about Jim and me."

     "And you figured we'd be a couple of homophobic, cigar-smoking,
 beer swizzling, seedy old buzzards?"

     "Who knew everything."

     "I figured Ellison would be thrilled with us showing up.  Local
cops never like it when they think the hot shot experts are being called
in because they can't handle things.  That really isn't the purpose of the
task force.  Hutch went back to school to study psychology, and
criminal profiling.  I got my degree in criminology and also went
through some extensive training in profiling and forensic science.  I
mean, when you get sick of rousting winos and driving up and down
the street all day, but you still want to work together as partners, your
options are sorta limited.  So we built up strong credentials, and when
the LAPD joined forces with a half-dozen other West Coast PD's to
form the task force, we jumped at the chance."

     "So what does the task force do?"

     "Consulting work like this most of the time, and if there's a
major case--another Ted Bundy, God forbid, or Green River Killer, we
come together as a team and pool the resources of our departments as
well as our collective intellect and training to hunt the bastard."

     "So Slater was one of the task force's projects?"

     "Yeah, he was the last big one we worked on."

     "Guess we should check this stuff, huh?"  Blair asked, calling
up the information on the computer.

     "Don't be too hard on yourself about what happened earlier. 
When I was a rookie, I considered tying a barf bag around my neck just
so I'd have it handy."
     
     "Thanks," Blair replied, laughing a little.

********

     The meeting in Banks' office broke up soon after Starsky and
Blair left for the computer.  Jim felt a little tingle of jealousy dance up
and down his spine when he spotted Blair at the computer, Starsky
sitting close behind him, both men looking at the screen through
glasses that had been donned for the close work.  Starsky said
something and Blair laughed, then a moment later, he was all gestures,
obviously telling the older man a story about some remote culture
somewhere.  Starsky was a fascinated audience for whatever it was.

     "I guess they're going to handle the computer work," Hutch
spoke up, shaking Jim out of his thoughts.  He wanted to demand from
the other man some explanation for why his supposedly exclusive
partner was so fucking friendly with the first sexy young man that
crossed his path.  "Ellison?"

     "Yeah, looks that way."

     "You want to show me the crime scene?"

     "Huh?"  Jim was watching his partner.

     "The crack house.  You know.  Where you found Sandburg?"

     "Oh, yeah, right.  Yeah.  Let's go."

********

     "You're going to have to lengthen the leash a little," Hutch said
quietly as Jim pulled out into the traffic.

     "Excuse me?"

     "Well, if looks could kill, I'd be missing a partner."
     
     "Is he always like that?"

     "Like what?  Outgoing?  Most of the time.  He likes young
people.  He's younger at heart than most of them are.  Maybe that's one
of the things I love most about Starsk.  He's never going to get old.  Not
really.  His body might give out on him someday, but his spirit's going
to kick time right in the ass til the end."  Hutch smiled fondly.  

     "Let's just keep this professional, huh?"

     "You're safe, Ellison.  We aren't here for a partner swap." 
There was a slightly icy edge in the blond's voice that matched the icy
blue of his eyes.  

     "Look, I didn't mean to insult you."

     "It's probably not the ideal time to take on a major case right
now for either one of you."

     "No, but Slater has to be stopped.  What do you expect to find 
here anyway?"  Jim asked, pulling up in front of the dilapidated house.

     "Something, anything.  Probably nothing.  But you weren't
looking for Slater last time you were here."

     "True." //I would have thought of that if my mind wasn't back
on Blair and Starsky, or somewhere south of my belt thinking about
what I'd rather be doing with Blair right now...// Jim shook his head,
annoyed with himself.

     Hutchinson lead the way to the front door, taking in the terrain
around them.  He was only marginally shorter than Jim, with a slimmer
build, but the long, powerful legs of a runner.  Both of these men were
in great shape for their age, and obviously spent considerable time
keeping fit.  The older man reminded Jim of an iron fist in the velvet
glove.  The soft voice and gentle demeanor belied something hard,
steely and tough that lurked just beneath the surface.  And there was an
element of polish that Jim remembered most often seeing among his
father's snootier friends, despite Hutchinson's friendly, unpretentious
demeanor.  He came from money, and probably old money.  Jim smiled
to himself. //Takes one to know one.//

     "There's something bothering me just a little.  It was an
inconsistency I found in one of the descriptions Blair recalled, and one
of the murder profiles," Hutch explained, stopping to lean on the
painted banister that led up the threadbare stairs.

     "Blair was upset, he was recalling it from memory.  He might
have left something out.  We had to approximate to some extent."

     "Not really.  Blair recounted four murder descriptions.  Three of
them were exact.  To the word.  He's very precise.  Now, when we get
to the murder of Irvin Marx, it departs in a couple of key ways.  First,
Marx was not murdered in a warehouse, nor was his body hung on a
hook."

     "But his throat was cut."

     "True, but all we have is a male victim with a slit throat.  You
didn't happen to see that new slasher movie, 'Carnage at Hillside Park'
did you?"

     "As a rule, I try to avoid movies with the word 'carnage' in the
title.  Why?"

     "One of the victims is killed in exactly the manner that Blair
describes in the summary you've matched with Marx' murder.  This was
also the last description of a crime he relayed to Blair.  I think he was
describing what he *planned* to do.  See, the character in the movie--the 
murderer--is a maintenance man at an amusement park who spends
his spare time slicing up sex-crazed teenagers--not terribly original, but
standard slasher film fare."

     "So you think Slater is holed up in some amusement park?  It's a
little late in the season for that."

     "Precisely.  What better place to hide?  And in his fantasy
world, he can still play that role.  He just needs a victim."  Hutch
sighed.  "Of course, he could have moved down the coast to LA where
he could actually work in an amusement park this time of year."

     "When did you come up with this?"

     "On the ride over here.  I knew there was something nagging at
the back of my mind.  Starsky dragged me to that ungodly waste of
blank video tape a couple weeks ago.  I knew Blair's description fit
something perfectly, but it wasn't the Marx killing.  He described three
completed homicides to Blair, but the fourth one was a work in the
planning stages."

     "Then the next logical step is scouring every amusement park in
the area."

     "And checking with all the local employment agencies who've
recently hired maintenance workers.  He may have just taken on the
occupation in a similar environment--like a warehouse or some other
large complex."

     "You still want to have a look around here?"  Jim asked.

     "Absolutely."

********

     Starsky pulled off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose
as he and Blair sat in the break room, Blair eating a container of yogurt
out of the machine while Starsky polished off a large chocolate bar.

     "Not a single match so far."

     "This really *sucks*, man.  I wonder if Jim and Hutch are doing
any better?"

     "I hope so."

     "Can I ask you a personal question?"

     "You can ask," Starsky responded, smiling.  He genuinely liked
this kid.  Blair was smart, funny, well-traveled and he had guts.  It was
only on a rare moment like this one that Starsky felt a stab of old pain
from a wound he thought had been healed by his life with Hutch.  The
memory of Terri, the woman with whom he would have had children
had she not been murdered by a psychotic madman seeking revenge
against him, rose unbidden from the back of his mind.  Maybe she
always lurked there anyway.  Maybe they would have had a bright one
like Blair--a teacher, just like Terri.  

     "It's okay if you don't want to answer."

     "I'm sorry, I wasn't listening.  My mind is a little mushy after all
that computer work."

     "I asked if you, uh, ever, you know, were interested in a guy
before Hutch."

     "No.  Whether or not I was bisexual, I don't honestly know.  I've
tried to analyze that one for years now, until I finally decided I didn't
care.  I've always loved and appreciated beautiful women.  I still do. 
But I also get turned on by Hutch, and I fell in love with my male
partner.  So does that make me bisexual?  Maybe by definition."

     "I was never into labels.  I never really had anything against
men being with men if that's what they wanted.  And I've appreciated a
good looking man before I met Jim.  But I never wanted one in my bed
before.  Sometimes..."  Blair shook his head.

     "It scares the shit out of you?"  Starsky asked frankly.  Blair
nodded.  "That's understandable.  Jim doesn't seem like he'd push you
where you don't want to go."

     "No, never.  I mean, I love him.  And I want him.  But what
does that mean?  I never did it with a guy.  What if I hate it?"

     "You're gonna love it and hate it.  I can't really lie to ya--the
first time you're on the receiving end, it's gonna hurt and you'll find lots
of reasons to stand for a few days.  But it gets easier.  And there's
nothin' like that closeness."  Starsky let out a long breath.  "The first
time we tried anything in bed, we were so lousy at it that we were
about ready to throw in the towel and forget it.  But I took one look at
Hutch...and I knew it was worth the effort to make it work.  It'll work
for you and Jim, too."

     "You think?  I just feel like it's going to ruin his life."

     "If he doesn't want to pay the fiddler, he won't dance.  He knows
there are consequences for your actions in this life.  You don't have to
protect him from that."  Starsky paused while another cop walked in,
snagged a candy bar, exchanged greetings with them and then left the
room again.  "Going against the flow is never easy.  But it's usually a
hell of a lot more rewarding."

     "I know I'm really out of line asking you about stuff like this."

     "I volunteered most of it."  Starsky took another bite of his
candy bar.  "You eat like Hutch."

     "That's not all bad.  Your partner seems to have a real grasp of
good nutrition."

     "I read somewhere that all that eating right only makes you live
about three months longer anyway."

     "I guess it's just a habit.  My mom was into health food and
natural foods, keeping impurities out of your body.  Well, at least the
kinds that come from unhealthy eating anyway," Blair amended,
smiling.  "I really appreciate your openness.  You know, I have a
couple friends I know are gay, but, they're not like, close friends. 
Friends you talk about sex with."

     "You mean friends you talk *honestly* about sex with."
     
     "Exactly," Blair added, laughing.

     "Don't be afraid of it, Blair.  It's new and it's weird at first, and
it's scarier than hell not being in control, not knowing what you're
doing exactly or what to expect when you're used to being experienced
in bed.  But if you're with somebody you love, it works out.  Jim'll take
care of you.  He'll be careful, just like you will be with him.  Just like
Hutch and I were the first...seven or eight times we tried to get it right." 
Starsky laughed then, remembering how many hopelessly awkward and
mutually disappointing experiments they had engaged in during the
first days of their new relationship.  "If all else fails, jerk each other off
and go to sleep and forget about it.  Try again when you feel like it." 
Starsky smiled at the crimson face that was regarding him with a
mixture of shock and fascination. //Didn't this kid's father ever sit him
down and have *that talk* with him?// Starsky wondered. //Of course
they probably didn't cover anal sex with other men.//

     "It seems so weird.  I haven't been nervous about sex since I
was, like, sixteen."  Blair smiled a little at the memory.  "See, I went to
college early, and there was this girl there--"

     "Ah, the older woman," Starsky interjected, nodding with a
grin.

     "Yeah.  She was all of 20, I think.  I was a virgin.  She got real
turned on by that.  I was real turned on by her.  Between the two of us,
we had a pretty hot time.  But since then, I haven't really had the jitters
about going to bed with somebody.  Besides the usual things you worry
about if you really like the person--whether or not everything's gonna
go well and they're gonna like you and if your deodorant holds out--stuff like that."

     "Kind of puts you back to square one, doesn't it?"

     "Yeah."

     "And?"

     "What?"

     "You want to say something else."

     "What if all this is nothing more than Jim being glad I'm okay,
and he loves me but when we try having sex it's a disaster?"

     "It won't be."

     "I wish I were that confident."

     "I had the same feelings when Hutch and I started out.  Those
jitters don't go away until you try something.  We got together after I
was almost killed in a shooting.  It was a paid hit, and I took three
bullets, right like this," Starsky explained, indicating a diagonal line
across his chest and abdomen.  "It almost killed Hutch.  I was in ICU a
long time, my heart stopped once.  We had been at odds with each
other over a lot of trivial shit in the past several months, so when this
happened, Hutch was all ready to sink into a major guilt trip.  They
always say Jews are good with guilt.  He's got it down to an art form."

     "I'm Jewish--well, I had a Bar Mitzvah.  My mom's family was
Jewish, but she doesn't really practice it.  The Bar Mitzvah was my
cousins' idea."

     "You don't practice either?"

     "No, not really.  I don't believe in institutionalized religion--I
think it's more spiritual than that.  Sorry to interrupt--what happened
with you and Hutch?"

     "My recovery period was hell.  We didn't think I'd ever make it
back to the streets.  I couldn't eat much of anything for a long time, I
needed physical therapy to move normally again, and then there was all
that time spent rebuilding my strength.  It took about a year to get back
to work, and probably two or three before I felt 100% again.  I don't
know if you ever feel 100% after someone tosses your guts around that
way, but I felt good again."

     "So that made Hutch realize he loved you?"

     "It made us both decide to quit playing games with each other
and really look at our relationship.  We've been together 18 years,
Blair--with no end in sight.  So just because Jim's feelings were 
kick-started by the kidnapping doesn't invalidate them."

     "This must be the weirdest consulting job you've ever gone on. 
First day here and you're talking about sex with a total stranger."

     "Beats analyzing demographic data."  Starsky smiled with that
devilish gleam in his eyes.  Blair had to laugh.  "Just don't rush things. 
It'll happen when it's meant to."  He yawned and stretched in the chair
until his joints snapped.  

     "Tired from the flight?"  Blair asked.

     "Yes and no.  We were wrapping up a case in Bay City, and we
stayed at the PD finishing the paperwork until about three in the
morning.  I used to function better on two hours of sleep than I do
now."  

     "Sounds like my schedule."

     "How do handle all the University work and still spend so much
time with Jim?"

     "I don't sleep any more than I have to, let's put it that way,"
Blair responded, laughing.

     "So how close are you to having your Ph.D.?"

     "Close.  I'm in the draft stage with my dissertation right now."

     "Wow.  Getting through my bachelor's was a real trick with
working full time.  That's pretty impressive.  You started at 16?"

     "Yeah.  I traveled a lot, took my time with the undergrad part of
my education.  Took some extra classes."

     "You're what, 25, 26 now?"

     "Twenty-nine, actually."

     "Still, that's a lot to accomplish before the big 3-0."

     "I've always been a science nerd at heart, so I've pretty much
devoted my life to it.  I really like working with Jim though.  It's way
different, but it's fascinating."  Blair laughed.  "Plus it's probably my
only chance to rebel against my mom.  Every kid should have that
experience once."
     
     "Working with the cops didn't set well with her?"

     "Not 'cops', *pigs*.  My mom was a protester in the 60s.  She
was into the whole flower child scene."

     "That makes sense that she wouldn't be too fond of cops then. 
How about your dad?"

     "My mom's single.  She never married."  

     "Single moms have a real battle on their hands.  My mother had
to raise two boys mostly on her own.  My father was killed in the line
of duty when I was a kid.  So she raised my younger brother and me,
and I finally came out to LA to live with relatives when I was a
teenager."

     "I'm sorry...about your dad, I mean.  How old were you?"

     "Eleven."

     "That's rough."

     "I've got some good memories though.  He was a good man."
     
     "That's good," Blair responded, a slightly distant look crossing
his features.  Before Starsky could say anything else, the door opened,
and the two men's partners entered the room.

     "We might have a lead," Jim announced, pulling up a chair near
Blair.  Hutch snagged a chair and sat next to his partner, eyeing the
candy wrapper with disapproving eyes.  

********

     It was almost eight o'clock when Jim and Blair invited their two
guests to a home-cooked dinner at the loft.  They had spent all
afternoon trudging to two closed amusement parks, and several large
businesses with their own maintenance staffs.  Only three had recently
added new hires, and none of them had looked promising.

     "Nice car," Starsky commented casually as he passed the small,
green Volvo parked in the lot behind the apartment building as the four
men got out of the borrowed police sedan and started toward the
entrance.  "Must be a '67, '68," he commented.

     "1968.  It's mine," Blair spoke up, a little bit of pride in his
voice.

     "You like vintage cars?  How about Ford Torinos?"

     "My last car was a '62 Corvair," Blair responded.  "I can't place
the Torino...wasn't it a bigger one--like a sedan or something?"

     "Oooh," Hutch gasped out, hitting his chest with his fist. 
"Yeah, Starsk, tell him about that big old sedan you keep in the garage
while you park the new Firebird out in the driveway."

     "There were four-door models, but this is a 1974 Gran Torino. 
Candy apple red with a white stripe--the stripe is shaped kind of like a
giant Nike swoosh, right down the side of the car."  Starsky's eyes were
lit up like a proud parent.  "And the engine--"

     "I remember those cars.  Real muscle cars," Jim added, leading
the way through the entrance to the building and punching the elevator
button.  "My cousin had a '76, I think.  You could have wallpapered his
room with speeding tickets.  My uncle finally took his keys away."
     
     "It wasn't a Sunday driver kind of car," Starsky agreed, shaking
his head.

     "I figured when the engine died, we could give the thing a
decent burial, but NO."

     "People who drive fifteen-year-old squashmobiles shouldn't talk
about burying other people's cars."

     "At least mine runs."

     "Barely," Starsky countered.  "Mine'll run too after I finish
working on the engine."

     "Probably get you to the auto parts store and back, provided you
don't go over 35."

     "It's a work in progress," Starsky defended.

     "This is really an interesting place," Hutch commented as they
walked into the apartment.  Taking in the high ceiling, open loft
bedroom above and the view of the water, he nodded with obvious
approval.  

     "We like it," Jim replied, hanging up the coats on hooks near
the door.  "How about beer?"

     "Count me in," Starsky spoke up from where he was examining
one of Blair's souvenirs on the shelves near the stairs.  "This is really
beautiful," he commented, turning a small, lidded jar in what were
surprisingly graceful hands.  "It's...Mayan, right?"

     "Yeah--how'd you know?"  Blair smiled, pleased to have found
yet more common ground with the detective he'd come to think of as a
good friend in just a matter of hours.

     "I love Indian and Southwestern art.  I once spent a summer on
an Indian reservation in the mountains back in the late 60's."

     "I never would have guessed that."

     "Well, it was a long time ago."

     "That was a gift from one of my professors--a mentor of mine,
really.  Dr. Stoddard.  He found it at an auction, wildly underpriced,
and he gave it to me, since at the time I didn't have much of anything in
the line of worthwhile artifacts.  I was always ogling his trinkets like a
kid in a candy store.  I have a handmade wall hanging in my room you
might like, if you want to take a look."

     "Sure."  Starsky and Blair passed Jim and Hutch where they
were talking over the case, still standing in the kitchen.

     "I guess we could take the load off," Jim suggested, heading
into the living room.  

     "I really thought this lead was going to pan out," Hutch said
through a yawn.  "Sorry.  Two hours' sleep last night."

     "I was thinking we could just toss some steaks on the grill if
that's all right."

     "Sounds great.  Beats take-outs again."  Hutch spotted Blair's
acoustic guitar sitting in the yellow chair near the window.  "You
play?"  he nodded toward it.

     "No," Jim responded, laughing a little.  "It's Sandburg's.  Ask
him about his mom's guitar later.  He loves to show that off."

     "His *mom's* guitar?"  Hutch raised his eyebrows.

     "Naomi isn't your average mom type.  She managed to get a
guitar autographed by Jimi Hendrix.  She was into the whole 
hippie-flower child scene in the 60's."
     
     "That has to be worth a piece of change.  I hope he doesn't show
it off too much."

     "More than he should, probably."  Jim took another drink of his
beer.  "Do you play the guitar?"

     "Yes.  I think I probably would have pursued music if my old
man hadn't considered it a waste of time.  I was told I was majoring in
business when I went to college.  I didn't have the balls to tell him what
he could do with his tuition money."

     "Music is a hard business to make money at."  Jim exhaled
loudly.  "I had a set of drums for one summer.  I got pretty good."

     "For one summer?"

     "Yeah.  My dad spent a summer in Europe when I was fifteen. 
It was just my brother, Stephen, and Sally, our housekeeper, and me. 
She didn't mind the racket, so I spent most of the summer practicing. 
They lasted a week after my dad got back.  I went to school one day
and came home and they were gone."

     "Couldn't handle the racket, huh?"

     "Nope.  So that was the extent of my musical career.  If you
want to play, go ahead.  Blair never minds if somebody wants to play
it."

     "Maybe another night.  I'm not sure my brain and my fingers are
communicating anymore today.  You're from Cascade originally then?"

     "Born and raised.  I was gone for a few years for the military,
but I've been here most of my life."

     "I'm from Minnesota originally.  I've been in LA since the late
60's."

     "What made you go into profiling?"

     "Well, neither Starsky nor I are cut out for desk jobs, so we had
to find some way to stay in the action when all the guys our age were
ducking out for desk assignments and promotions that took them off
the streets.  Plus, rousting the nickel and dime hustlers gets a little tired
after you've done it for 20 years.  So we got some more education
under our belts and some specific training from the FBI in criminal
profiling.  I do a little seminar work once in a while.  Brings in some
extra money.  And when we get called out on cases like this, it gives us
a chance to travel, work with other departments."

     "When'd you get paired up with Starsky?"

     "We met in the Academy, but went through the whole rookie
routine with different partners.  As soon as we got the chance to move
up to detective status, we worked on getting assigned as partners. 
Starsky was first, then he requested me, and a mentor of mine, Luke
Huntley, had enough pull to make sure I got to work with him."

     
********

     "Beautiful.  There's nothing like the authentic, handmade stuff," 
Starsky opined, examining the wall hanging.  Stepping back, he
glanced around the cluttered but interesting little room.  His eyes fixed
on a photo.  "Who's that?" he asked, moving closer to it where it sat on
the shelf.

     "That's my mom.  And me--I was 3 or 4 I think."  Blair squinted
at the photo himself.  

     "I met your mom at a music festival...back in '68," Starsky
responded, looking up to have eye contact with Blair.  

     "Seriously?"  Blair's eyes widened, and there was a little smile
creeping across his face.

     "Yeah."  Starsky stared at the photo, shaking his head.  "I lost
her in the crowd...there was so much...pandemonium there."  He sat on
the edge of Blair's bed, still holding the framed photo.  "We spent two
days together...and then, just like that, it was over."  There was a
distinct sense of loss in those words.  "I had no idea where to look for
her.  All I had was the name Sunflower, which I knew couldn't be any
person's serious real first name."

     "Sunflower?"  Blair asked, eyebrows raised.

     "Blair, nobody was feeling a lot of pain there.  It was either
booze or dope, but nobody was thinking straight.  She was a little
spacey, and when I asked her for her name, she said Sunflower.  And
then giggled uncontrollably.  I'm not sure what she was on, but she was
in a good mood."  Starsky looked up from the photo.  "Oh, wow.  I'm
really sorry to talk about your mother that way.  I don't mean any
disrespect to her.  I just mean that everyone was--"

     "It's okay.  I know my mom was into the 60's counterculture up
to her neck."  Blair sat on the foot of the bed, not far from where
Starsky still examined the photo.  "She's still traveling a lot."  Blair
smiled.  "She doesn't stay in one spot for long."

     "I couldn't even begin to figure out where to look for her.  I
asked around a few communes, but I didn't fit in all that well.  I mean, I
had short hair--a lot shorter than it is now," Starsky's eyes flicked up to
the unruly mop of dark curls on his head that stopped at his collar, "I
didn't dress like a hippie...  I ended up at the festival because I knew it
was something big, and I loved the music.  I was already in the police
academy out here in LA.   My cousin was working security at the event. 
The way I really got Sunflower's attention was that I could get her
through security to Hendrix's dressing room."

     "Seriously?  Oh, man, then you've gotta see this!"  Blair dove
under his bed and dragged out a guitar case, which he opened to
remove a white electric guitar.  "Check the back of it."  He handed it to
Starsky.

     "She didn't have this while I was with her.  She must've gotten
backstage again, or gone to see him somewhere else.  This is a real
treasure, Blair."

     "I still can't believe she gave it to me."

     "Do you play?"

     "A little.  I'm better on the acoustic guitar, though."

     "I play guitar too.  So does Hutch.  He has the most amazing
voice," Starsky opined, smiling fondly about his partner.

     "I never would've pictured you guys as musicians," Blair
commented honestly, sitting on the foot of the bed again.  

     "We never did anything professional, and Hutch is better at it
than I am.  I just like to fool around with it a little."

     "So that was it?  You never saw her again?  How'd you get split
up?"

     "It was during one of the shows.  I don't honestly remember
who was playing.  But there was this fight between a couple of guys,
and it was getting ugly, so I went to help the security guy who was
trying to break it up.  I was almost through the academy, so I felt I had
some responsibility as an almost-cop to do something.  I was a little
smashed--I'd been drinking most of the afternoon--but I still knew a bad
fight when I saw it, so I tried to help.  We got the two guys split up, and
sent them on their way.  I looked around for Sunflower, but she wasn't
there.  I really hunted for her--everywhere.  But it was a sea of people. 
There were so many girls with long, straight hair and love beads that it
would be impossible for me to have found her by just looking around. 
I hoped maybe she'd come looking for me, but she never did.  Or
maybe she did and couldn't find me.  The campgrounds were a mess,
too, but she knew where my tent was."

     "How?"  Blair asked, not really meaning to be that blunt, but
still wondering if this man who had known his mother for all of two
days had also been one of her lovers.

     "We met the first day, and we spent the night together.  Blair,
you have to understand, the whole atmosphere there--you did things
you wouldn't normally do and--"

     "You don't have to explain.  I'm an *anthropologist*, Starsky.  I
study culture and behavior patterns and social phenomena.  I've read
about the hippie movement.  I understand."  Blair shrugged.  "I
wouldn't be shocked by that anyway," he said quietly.

     "Meaning?"

     "Meaning my mom dates a lot of different guys, and she never
commits to one--at least not for long.  She's a free spirit.  No strings."

     "I hate to break up the party in here, but the steaks are almost
done," Jim said, poking his head in the doorway of Blair's room.

     The four men shared a tasty meal, the conversation moving
from new ideas on pursuing the case to classic cars, music, politics and
the general meaning of life.  After relaxing a while when the meal was
finished, Hutch stood up and with thank-yous for the meal, said his
goodbyes.  Starsky joined him in the thanks and accepted the keys to
the police sedan from Jim so they could return to their hotel.   
     
     "That wasn't so bad, was it?"  Blair asked, starting to clear the
table.  "You were expecting this to be a disaster."

     "You certainly were enjoying yourself with Starsky," Jim
responded, a definite edge in his voice.  Blair, somewhat preoccupied,
registered the words but not the snippy tone.

     "I like him.  We had a good talk this afternoon."  Blair rinsed a
few plates and put them in the rack by the sink.  "It was interesting to
talk to someone else who's been in the spot we're in now."

     "Which is?"  Jim probed, still not moving very far beyond the
jealousy he felt at Blair's instant liking of the other detective.  It wasn't
that he really suspected anything inappropriate about it.  Maybe it was
just seeing Blair so taken with another aging cop that made Jim feel
like maybe the kid was suffering some sort of hero-worshiping
complex, or God forbid, wanted a male role model, instead of a lover. 
Maybe anyone could be plugged into Jim's role in Blair's life and end
up his lover...

     "You know, just starting out together.  As a couple."

     "He talked to you about that?"

     "Well, yeah.  I mean, who else am I gonna talk to about it?"

     "Me, for starters.  I'm the one you're sleeping with."

     "You're *jealous*?"  Blair turned around from the sink, his
expression stunned.

     "No, I'm not jealous.  I just found it a little odd that you two
were suddenly long lost buddies.  You seemed to get awfully cozy,
awfully fast."

     "He knew my mom."

     "You didn't know that until tonight."

     "You were *eavesdropping*?"  

     "Not intentionally.  Give me a break here, Chief.  I have
heightened hearing and I was in the kitchen grilling steaks.  I probably
would have heard you if I *didn't* have heightened senses."

     "Hutch didn't hear us."

     "He was talking."

     "So if you had been listening to him instead of tuning into what
I *thought* was a private conversation, you wouldn't have heard us."

     "What's the big deal, Blair?  I didn't hear anything you weren't
going to tell me anyway."

     "That's not the point and you know it."  Blair shook his head. 
"It's a matter of trust.  Respecting my privacy."

     "Okay, I was sick of seeing you pair off with that guy and look
at him like he was Superman!  If that makes me jealous, then fine, I'm
fucking jealous!  Is that what you want to hear?"

     "What's *wrong* with you, man?  I've never slept with a man
before.  Why would you think I'd suddenly be lining up a new lover
because I was friendly with Starsky?"  Blair sighed.  "What kind of a
whore do you think I am?  We're just starting to discover what's
between us, and I go off and have a quick fuck with some guy from LA
just to see what it's like?  Thanks a lot for the vote of confidence in my
character."

     "This isn't about you," Jim responded quietly.

     "Like hell.  Who's it about then?  Starsky?  You think he
dragged me into the nearest rest room and groped me while you were
out with his partner?  What were you and Hutch doing all day together? 
Getting a motel room?"

     "You don't have to make fun of me here, Sandburg."

     "You don't have to insult me by suspecting me of screwing
around behind your back when we haven't even *done* anything yet!" 
Blair shouted back, his anger building.

     "I didn't necessarily think you were screwing around."

     "Then what?!"  Blair demanded, throwing the dish towel he'd
been holding on the counter.

     "I don't know.  I can't explain it.  I just...didn't like it."  Jim sat
at the table, pushing a dirty plate out of the way to rest his arm there.

     "There has to be a reason," Blair pressed, his tone softening a
little as his angered cooled.

     "It was...the way you...*took* to him."  Jim let out a long
breath.  "Like you don't even know I'm in the room when he's there," he
mumbled.

     Blair stood by the counter, shocked into silence.  Not only was
he shocked that Jim would make such an admission, but also by the
fact that Jim had probably been more insecure all this time than Blair
had about their relationship and its lasting power.  Had he always lived
with the worry that Blair would just walk away someday?

     "I *always* know when you're in the room, Jim."  Blair moved
over to sit at the table, then tentatively reached out and took Jim's hand
in his.  "I love you.  Nobody could ever 'step in' for you with me. 
You're the one I want.  I like Starsky a lot.  He's smart, he's funny, and
we have some things in common.  But I don't feel the things I feel when
I'm with you, with him."

     "Such as?"  Jim prodded.

     "You're gonna make me work for this, aren't you?"  Blair asked,
grinning.

     "Absolutely," Jim said, the corner of his mouth twitching
upward briefly.

     "Well," Blair began, stroking the back of Jim's hand with his
thumb, his face serious now, "I don't feel like my whole world would
collapse without him, and I don't feel like my whole world is made
right just because he looks at me the right way.  He doesn't make my
heart flip over just by smiling at me."

     "Come here," Jim held out his arms, and Blair grinned,
straddling his partner's lap and wrapping his arms around Jim's neck. 
"I'm sorry I acted like such a jerk," he whispered into a ringed ear, and
then proceeded to kiss it and nibble on the lobe.

     "I love you, man.  You know that.  But you've got to cut me a
little slack here.  I'm going to be meeting people all my life, and I
might like some of them."

     "I know," Jim responded, chuckling a little.  "Maybe it's the
timing.  Maybe I thought you just had a thing for old cops."

     "You're a good ten years younger than Starsky."  Blair pulled
back to look at Jim.

     "Thirteen," Jim replied, deadpan.

     "But who's counting, huh?"  Blair laughed, hugging Jim tightly. 
"Are you always gonna be this jealous?"  Blair asked against Jim's
neck.

     "Probably, because you're the most precious treasure in my life,
and I don't want to give you up to anybody else."

     "I can live with that," Blair responded, his voice strained, as he
pulled back to look into Jim's eyes.  "There isn't going to be anybody
else you ever have *good reason* to be jealous of.  Nobody's in your
league as far as I'm concerned."  Blair leaned in for a kiss, and the two
men spent long moments exploring each other's mouths before pulling
back for air.  "Did you pick up on anything about him that made you
think he was interested in me that way?  I didn't get that at all.  It was
more like...like what talking to my dad might have been like."

     "No, I didn't pick up on anything.  I'm sorry I acted like a
jealous asshole before."

     "That's okay.  I love you anyway.  You're *my* jealous asshole." 
Blair smiled sweetly, and Jim laughed.

     "What am I gonna do with you, Chief?"

     "I dunno.  But I've got a few suggestions."