Disclaimer: Simon Banks, Jim Ellison, Blair Sandburg, sentinels et al belong to Pet Fly. No money has changed hands. The story, turns of phrase, theories etc. however are mine. Any similarities with persons living is a matter of circumstance, and no offense is intended.

Warning! Jesse Helms doesn't want you to read this. Camille Paglia would like more description. Contains language the FCC won't like. In reality, this is an R. Call it a clean NC-17. If you are under the age of majority in your county, territory or principality, wait until you are older. Use your local library or bookseller the way we all did. I don't play an anthropologist on TV, but I do have a degree. And the novel is real. On with the story.

Haywire

The well-muscled shoulder shifted again, contrasted by the darker blankets. *Where is that damn kid?* Ellison disliked semesters' end; it reminded him of Blair's other responsibilities, and how much he depended on the young anthropologist. *And take him for granted.* He'd gotten used to Sandburg trailing around, at the station, on cases, even on stake-out. Sitting up he glanced at the LCD display of his clock. "3:24. Where the hell is he?"

Jim knew Sandburg was stopping at the loft sometime during the day, most likely to shower and take a nap. Otherwise his scent would have completely dissipated, instead of just being diffuse. He tried rolling over and falling back asleep. "Like I need to wait up for him." Listening to the stillness. No additional breathing sounds, heart beats, clack of computer keys, scratch of pens or rustle of pages. Peace and quiet. So why couldn't he sleep?

"Where's your shadow?" Brown made to look out the door of Major Crimes.

*I'd like to know.* "University. Classes." He headed for his desk.

"Tired of playing cops and robbers?" Jim turned at the comment. "Hey, easy there. I like the kid. Just hoping he hasn't gotten scared off, that's all." The look on Ellison's face calmed. "Just tell him we miss him, okay?"

*Me too.* "Sure. After finals." Which looked like when he'd next see him. He lowered himself into his chair. *What is it this term?* Oh, he remembered what college could be like, and it would be only more so for a graduate student. But they'd been through this before. Alarms telling Sandburg to _go_ to sleep, Jim having to get the kid a special late-night pen set. *Training him to keep track of it.* He looked at the pile of paperwork on his desk.

"Ellison, in here." He entered his Captain's office, and sat seeing the expression on his face. "This isn't official, we don't know anything, but..." *G-d, I hate this part.* "There's been an explosion, over at Rainier. The building collapsed, and someone fitting Blair's description was seen entering. *He hasn't broken anything, yet. That can't be good.*

"What building?" He stood, and moved towards the door. "Which one, Simon." He had his hand on the door knob.

"Jameson Hall."

*Not the Anthro building.* The thought kept going through Jim's head. "Have you called his office?" It wasn't Blair. "I'm going over."

"I'll drive."

"What the hell happened?" Behind the fireman, that was a pretty fair description. It was hard to tell how much was smoke and how much heat and steam coming off the ruined building.

"It was slated to be pulled down; make room for a new building. It pretty much caved in on itself, but it may catch again." He turned back to the crews working on the building.

Simon got off the phone. "Jim. They confirmed it. Blair went in, but didn't come back out. Jim." Either this was shock, a zone-out, or both.

"I'm going in."

"Are you out of your mind?"

"He's in there."

"Jim..."

"I'll find him. You just pull us out."

The smell was intense, even under the char. Jameson had been the chemistry building until sometime in the '40s, and then it became the theater and home to half the art department. 'Until finally, even Philo and Religious Studies wouldn't risk it. Too bad, it has major character, but it's too far gone to rehab. Cheaper to start over.' He picked his way through the splintered beams and rumble, stopping to listen again. *Where are you, Chief?* Blair had wanted to show him the building, but admitted it wasn't a good idea. 'Floors aren't too good, and its not exactly a rose garden in there.' "Why did you come in?"

He needed to make sense of what he was hearing and seeing. *Chief, this is your field.* Okay, if it became the theater after housing chemistry, there should be a lecture hall on the first floor, and then maybe oversized classrooms for the labs, and some smaller office spaces. "Unless the lecture hall was dug down, which would account for the collapse." He focused his hearing once more. Now, how to get there?

When he finally saw the curled form he was taken aback. The entire space was maybe the size of two precinct desks, held up by what looked like a giant game of pick-up-sticks. Gently easing himself through, he checked over his partner. *Eyes look normal, so no concussion.* Turning his sense of touch up to maximum, he made sure there was no back or neck trauma to worry about. Smelling for ignitable vapors and finding none, he opened his cell phone.

"Simon. Yeah, he's got half the building on him but he's okay. I'm going to wait with him. Actually, I collapsed part of my route in." He shut the phone after detailing as best he could where they were. "Chief, looks like you have the right idea." Crouching even as long as he had was making his back and knees rebel. Careful of the broken beams supporting the ruins above, he lay down behind Blair, tucking himself around the smaller man.

"I can't believe you fell asleep down there."

"Maybe I need a new mattress. Hey Chief, they let you go already?"

"Look, I've got to run to class. Don't worry, I'll call as soon as I'm out." He hurried off with a slight stiffness on the left side, swimming in Jim's police jacket.

"How does he manage it?" Simon shook his head. When he didn't get a response he tapped Jim on the shoulder.

"Which? Having a building fall on him or walking away?"

"Getting it to fit his class schedule." After a moment both men started laughing. "Any idea why he was in there?" They walked back to the truck.

"It better be good. What do they think brought it down?" "

Doesn't look like a crime, but it'll take time to confirm it."

"You didn't have to come and pick me up." Blair was stuffing things into his backpack from the scattered piles on and around the desk.

"Trust me, the way your Corvair runs, it was simpler. I have a one rescue per day clause. Why were you in there anyway?"

He mumbled something too low for even a Sentinel's sensitive hearing.

Jim just stared back at him. Softly he said, "I was chasing a rabbit."

"A rabbit? You almost get killed because of a rabbit?" Jim was stalking around in the very small space between the desk and the door.

"Not just any rabbit, man. It was a test subject." He led Jim out of the office and locked the door. They started down the hall.

"I'll try to keep that in mind. Where have you been, with the rabbits?"

"The sleep lab. I told you about that. Left you a note? The psychology department runs a sleep deprivation class, but it's murder with the class schedule so I've been helping Lisa out."

"Lisa?" *Forgot his third full-time job.* "Aren't your other women going to get jealous?"

"Right. Seriously, she's a friend. Not that I'd complain if she wanted to get friendlier..."

At five am, Jim told Blair to knock off for a few hours before breakfast. *Asleep before hitting the bed.* He drifted back to sleep shortly thereafter.

"You are entirely too happy this morning."

"Ah, but I had a full night's sleep. When was the last time you did?" Jim finished serving up breakfast and brought the two plates to the table.

"Not counting hospital stays and recouping? It was the 80's, I think."

"Besides helping Lisa, and chasing rabbits, what else extra have you gotten into? Or are you a subject of the sleep lab?"

"Enough about the rabbits. No, it's just logistics; Corvair's a little cranky, that's all. Doesn't like the cold anymore than I do."

"Just don't wait for another building to collapse before you touch base."

"Your senses behaving okay? Zone-outs? You'd call, right?"

Jim started to cuff the seated man, but changed the gesture into three raised fingers. "Come on, I'll swing you by campus before work."

Simon looked out of the blinds on his office into Major Crimes. He couldn't believe the good mood Jim seemed to be in. *Proof that Blair can find his own trouble?* Admittedly, it hadn't even required a trip to the hospital, but usually the Detective took anything happening to the kid hard.

He couldn't believe the preliminary report. 'Chain reaction, started by bat guano.' Brought new meaning to the phrase, 'Shit happens.' Of course, had it been foul play, the lab would have taken days to isolate anything. He looked back to Ellison's desk. *Maybe it's the fumes.*

Blair gently placed his keys in the basket by the door, slouched out of his shoes and made for his room. Not that his stocking feet didn't still make noise. What he really wanted was a long, sinfully long, hot shower. *The water heater would finally have enough time to recoup.* He thought about making tea instead, but decided it would take too long. At least he could sleep in tomorrow, or rather later today. *Everything graded, recorded and alphabetized on the department secretary's desk.*

Finals had just gone on forever this semester. Okay, that two professors had been called out of the country and he'd had to take on their classes as well... *And the sleep lab.* Though it hadn't really cut into his time that much. 'Have laptop, will travel.' Pretty much like a stake-out.

Blair bit back the expletive as he finished undressing. *The Station.* So much for sleeping in, he thought as he slipped into bed. He thought a moment, deciding Jim was going to get first shower. *I am one with the bed.* He started to drift, muzzily welcoming sleep.

His eyes were wide open. He glanced at the clock. What had woken him up not an hour after he got home? Then he heard it. "Jim?" He whispered quietly. Nothing. Another noise. He moved out of bed, grabbing his robe. Once, he would have felt foolish, peering through a barely opened door, but now he was just cautious. Months of being attacked, held hostage, ambushed, shot at and so forth had taught him to be wary. Living with a cop, well, there was a flipside to the adage about a man's home being his castle.

Living room looked fine, and light glinted off the chain still in place on the door. He heard the noise again. *Upstairs.*

"Jim, wake up." Blair had learned never to turn the light on before rousing his roommate. Ostensibly he knew Jim would never fire without knowing what was in his sights. Just like intellectually he knew Jim slept with a gun at the ready. Still, he never wanted a repeat of that night, the first time he'd had to pull Jim out of a nightmare. "Jim." Blair leaned down to grab the larger man's shoulders. Normally, Jim was such a light sleeper, and simply making him aware it was a dream pulled him right out.

*What the...* Blair realized only after the fact that he'd been pinned. He tried struggling, but he was outclassed. "You are having a nightmare. I am not the enemy." He figured it must have gotten part way through, as he was still breathing, basically normal. "Jim. Wake up, man." *I hope he hasn't zoned.* No way. The thought was out of the question. He worked at finding his center, bringing the panic under control.

*He's gone back to sleep.* Blair went through the check list another two times, and concluded that was exactly the situation. "Jim?" He said it softly, knowing it should be enough to wake him from his own room. "Great, I guess I could have taken that shower after all." Still nothing. He still couldn't budge his arms. Somewhere there was a hand-to-hand instructor who'd be very proud. "Goodnight, Jim-boy."

"Morning." Blair stretched his arms broadly, noting he wasn't too worse for wear. "Is that standard training, or a Covert Ops thing?"

"Not going to tell me about your nightmare?" He pulled himself up, re-cinched his robe and started to flex his back.

"Sorry, Chief." Jim was still at a loss, having just woken above Blair.

"I've got dibs on the hot water." With that, he bounded off the bed and down the stairs.

"Sure, Blair." He mumbled to himself. Jim got up, and absently remade the bed. He breathed deep and decided he'd forgo the shower. What his nose didn't mind, nobody else would notice. Not that he wanted to brave the water that would be left, judging from the sounds downstairs. He grabbed some clothes, dressed and headed down.

"You didn't have to make me breakfast. I should have left some hot water." Blair dug into the eggs. "How's the station?"

"Not paperwork!" Everyone in Major Crimes looked up, turned around and otherwise noticed Sandburg. "This is cruel, twisted and sick. This is a nightmare, and I insist on waking up." He looked around when it didn't work. "What do you think I've been doing for the past two weeks?"

"You know the drill. See, no red pens."

"Thanks, man. Just stop me if I start taking points off for clarity of prose. Tell me you haven't been letting this stuff pile up."

"Um."

"Jim..." "Not on purpose." He was saved from having to further explain himself by Simon calling them into his office.

Blair was more than a little confused. First Jim had seemed pleased to have him around again after semester's end. Then he comes up with some bull about renovation work at the loft, asks Simon to take in Blair for a week or two. "Couldn't say it to my face." He hoped it was just some sort of post holiday blues, but reality kept telling him he'd be looking for a new place.

Now he was heading back to Cascade, back to the precinct to see how things stood. "Simon, thanks, but I've got some friends been trying to get me to visit. I'll just crash with them." The week had been fun, but strangely more chaotic than he remembered.

*Great, he's in the field.* Blair sat at the desk, thinking maybe Jim had just stepped away, or might be coming in soon. He futzed around, noting a singular lack of paperwork.

*Sandburg.* Kid must have came straight here from where ever. Before he could ask, Simon waved him into his office. "I sent him home a few days ago. Is there anything going on I should know about?" Of course there was, but did they think he'd understand it? As he saw the expression on Blair's face he came to an unsettling conclusion. Jim had put the kid totally out of the loop.

"I'm going to need a pair of cuffs."

"What!?"

"For some reason he doesn't want my help, and unlike him I can't make him accept it." He might not understand the Sentinel-Guide thing, but he knew Jim. First, that he pushed people away when he needed them most, and Blair had been the exception. He put down a set of handcuffs and the key.

"You call me."

Blair tried to be calm as he went up to the loft. He banked the self-recriminations for later. He needed to be focused to help Jim. His concern grew when he reached the door. *You're spooking yourself.* Still, he opened the door slowly, closing it just as carefully.

"Jim." He said it more to calm himself, to avoid saying something more startling. "Jim, you don't want to do that." He worked at taking in the situation, feeling the false calm war with the panic. "Please talk to me."

There was Jim, sunk on the floor past the couch, dark circles under red eyes, with several days of stubble, holding his gun under his chin. He didn't respond, or even look up.

"It's me, Jim. You know how I feel about... Set it down, everything will be okay."

"Got to protect Blair." He shifted his grip. Blair needed to do something drastic.

"I won't forgive you. You kill yourself in front of me, I'll hate you."

"Chief, I'm hearing your voice. Don't be upset."

"Upset? I'll be pissed-off if you splatter your brains." This was worse than bad. Delusional had been covered, but not what to do if their senses were off-line. He needed Jim to know he was really there. "Jim, I think you are having some technical difficulties. It's confusing you, but we can work it out."

"Chief?" The muzzle was not so firmly directed at his brain. "You shouldn't be here."

"Give me the gun."

"I can't do that. You better leave."

"I'm staying, and so are you." He started walking forward, slowly and evenly. Jim cocked his head around but didn't seem to focus anywhere. Blair reached for the gun and Jim's back at the same time. "Let me have the gun, Jim." It tumbled into his hand as the older man crumbled.

Slipping out the clip and checking the chamber, he slid the gun aside, pocketing the ammo. "You need to get away from here." Jim was sobbing. "I don't want to hurt you."

Blair moved to direct him to the couch. "No. You've got to leave."

Blair fished out the nearly forgotten cuffs. This wasn't how he'd imagined he'd use them. *Just don't make me put them behind your back.* He snapped them onto the detective. He was then able to get him settled.

Gathering the gun he went into the kitchen to collect his thoughts. He started looking in the cabinets and the fridge. He reached for the phone. "Simon. Yeah. I don't know. Uh, could you come over, bring some groceries? I've got to go, see you in a bit." Filling a tumbler with water, he went back into the living room.

"How is he?" Simon looked over at the couch as he was led into the kitchen.

"Remember when he first got his senses?"

"That bad?"

"Worse. I don't know what is happening, but he's too out of it to run any tests. He kept going on about not wanting to hurt me." He picked up a dish towel. "Could you take that for the time being?" He held out the ammo for the revealed piece.

"Blair..." He started again. "I'm going to have to take a statement."

"No incident, just safety first."

"Unofficially?" He saw Blair weigh that.

"He was going to kill himself." He turned away. "Something's been going wrong for awhile, but I don't know what or how long. I think he does, but either didn't notice or decided to hide it."

This should have never happened. *I'm his Guide, I should have been here, seen signs, something.* Now all he could do was work backwards, determine the symptoms and find a cause. From what simple tests he could run, taste and touch were all but shut-down. Jim could sense tactile pressure, but not heat or cold. Sight and hearing seemed to be channel-surfing, with blockout of the normal visual range and volume evened out to conversational. Only smell seemed to be its usual, enhanced self.

"Jim." He reached down to get his attention. "Jim. I brought you a mug of soup. Can I unlock the cuffs?"

"What kind of soup?"

"Chicken and stars." *Main ingredient: sodium*

"Leave them on and put the cup in my hands." He drank some. "Sure it's chicken?"

"What do you think it is?"

"All I can taste is salt. You didn't make it, did you?" He drank some more. "Could be beef from what I can tell. If not for the salt, I'd say ostrich."

"It's chicken. I could set the can on the counter."

"I trust you." He continued drinking his soup.

"Then why did you send me away?" He handed back the empty cup and turned on the couch. Blair sat the cup down. "Look, I'm the Guide, but I can't do it in the dark, under fire, with my hands tied behind my back."

"What?" He turned around out of habit.

"That would be mastery level. Talk to me. Describe what happened to your senses, and under what conditions." He waited a moment, then went to refill the mug. "Were they basically normal, for you, when I left?" He placed the mug into Jim's hands.

"I think so. Things got pretty noisy, then sound started cutting in and out if I didn't concentrate. I still had sight until just recent."

"What about zone-outs?"

"Nothing dangerous." He sipped at the soup. "Things would catch my attention, hold it for awhile." He paused. "It stopped before Simon sent me home."

"What about touch and taste?"

"First they went real intense, except I could eat spicy things. Then I couldn't distinguish very well, and then they just were gone."

"What couldn't you distinguish?"

"How hot or cold my coffee was, different flavors, if something was itchy or soft."

"What was different between not distinguishing and gone?"

"I could tell if something was bland or strong, if it was too hot or cold but not which."

"What about pain?" That had been a problem before, when he turned down his sense of touch to avoid distractions.

"I had to check. I could tell something had happened but not what."

"This is non-negotiable. Either no handcuffs and I sleep in my room, or I stay close by if you insist on being chained to the rail." Jim tried yet another protest. "Dammit, if something happened, could you wake me fast enough? Would you even notice? You're functionally blind, can barely tell which sounds are in the same room and wouldn't know you were on fire except from the smell. I'll do this, but only to keep you calm. But it's my rules. Understand?" Jim nodded his head.

"Understood." He tested the cuffs again, seeing how well his movements were controlled. Hopefully two sets of cuffs would be enough. *Maybe he'll stay downstairs.* He realized Blair was holding with his plan, and just collecting his things.

Blair really wanted a shower, but not to deal with wet hair. Or leave Jim chained helpless for that long. He got ready as quickly as possible and headed back upstairs.

"I'm an anthropologist, not a mad scientist." He unlocked one cuff from the rail and closed it over the other wrist. He repeated with the other set. "Come on, out of bed. Amnesty International says you get a bathroom break before the guards shower."

"Seeing the humor in this?"

"Laugh a minute. How long are you going to make me leave those on?" Blair navigated them safely down the stairs, and to the bathroom. "Cuffed or uncuffed?" I would not make a good prison guard.

Finally Blair felt more human if not humane. He'd gotten his shower, using up the hot water in the process. Breakfast had come and went, and now it was time to think this through.

"Pre-civilized man!" He should have anticipated this problem, but why would it kick in now? Blair walked over to the couch. "I think I've figured it out. Remember what I told you about Sentinels when we first met?"

"Alley Oop and I are cousins. That I was a genetic throw-back."

"I think this may all be a physiological problem stemming from modern life."

"This is an allergy?" It was the stupidest thing he'd ever heard, and he was close to laughing in case it was true. Watery eyes? No, I have to watch foreign films from two blocks away.

"I think it's a sensory deficiency, brought on how much space modern culture puts between people. I mean, the kinds of societies I have accounts for historical Sentinels, sleep in long houses or other communal structures. In the field, the most common reaction is a kind of people-claustriaphobia. In small societies, one is rarely ever alone."

"That would drive me mad even without my senses. Think again."

"No, I think this is it. Details need some work, this is the hypothesis stage." Blair started rattling off tests, controls, inquiry angles, environmental variables. "Of course a Sentinel would be further out, maybe with a small party a day or two's walk from the village or band, most of the time."

"You've contradicted yourself, Darwin." Too alone? He easily was around tens maybe hundreds of times as many people as these other Sentinels. The allergy idea was looking better.

"It's proximity, not quantity. Highlanders roving would sleep four to a pile of plaids, to keep warm on the moors. Small camps, small wigwams, close quarters, and a limited coterie of people. Instead you're dealing with faceless transactions, large personal boundaries, tenuous kinship ties. I mean, it's a wonder something like this hasn't happened before."

"No. It's not." It was very quiet, tinged with guilt. "Maybe it did." Even quieter, and tentative.

After a long minute Blair remembered Jim couldn't see his expression, and asked the question out loud. "What do you mean? This has happened before, you know why it has again?" The shock of the revelation removed any need to school anger out of his voice. A possible answer to the problem was enough.

"Not since we got them under control." He really wished he could judge how Blair was taking this. Say too little, the kid would think he didn't trust him, and would go into oscillating anger-guilt tirades. Too much, and Sandburg might do something truly regrettable.

"You think you had a milder case when your senses went all crazy at the beginning?" He looked at the larger man meekly nodding from the couch. Blair ran the data through his head, decided it had a certain logic to it. But why wouldn't it have happened again?

"There's something else. What aren't you telling me?" No response.

He decided to switch subjects. "You said you didn't want to hurt me. What did you mean by that?" *Whoa, that hit a nerve.* He waited for Jim to say something, but he left the flash of fear unexplained. "Why did you want me out of the loft?" Blair pushed aside his own fears regarding the answer.

What could he say? He could lie to protect Blair, and leave him hurt, or tell him the truth and hurt him. He had half a mind to answer with name, rank and serial number, but figured with the cuffs Blair would take it as an accusation. "I'm tired. I haven't been sleeping well for weeks." He made his way to the loft stairs.

"Hang on, Daredevil. Humor me, okay?" He felt Blair snake an arm around his waist. "You get hungry, need anything, give me a yell." He found the bed behind his legs, and heard the sound of Blair's retreat down the stairs. He sat down, and made himself as comfortable as possible.

His patience was nearly gone. He'd gone from a week of late night philosophy sessions to keeping his partner in chains. Jim still wouldn't say what he was worried about, or why it wasn't surprising this scenario hadn't happened before. There was some improvement, but not enough for Blair.

"Dammit, Jim! Help me out, why hasn't this happened before? How do you explain it? There nothing like this in any of my sources, so it's got to be the modern angle. What changed?" The maelstrom died down. "If this is a relapse, what solved it before?"

"I found a Guide. I don't know why this is happening. But it doesn't surprise me that it hasn't before." He could imagine the look on Blair's face and it pushed him to continue. "You barged into my loft, and the last thing I hear as I go to sleep is your heart, and it's the first thing I check for when I wake." He turned, hiding from the visage he couldn't see.

"I've been gone longer than a week before. And I wouldn't have gone this time but you wanted space or something. It hasn't affected your senses before, not like this. It hasn't affected your senses before, has it?" He could see Jim hiding something like that from him. The ramifications... What if he'd gone to Borneo? Jim had told him to take it. If he knew...

"Blair. Blair, listen to me. This has not happened before, not since you moved in. I would have told you, and we'd have figured something out. Blair, say something. All I've got is tempo and rhythm. Come on, talk to me. Boy Scout's honor, they go on the blink, I tell you. I've had a sense or two switch off, you helped me through that. I've had them go off the scale, overwhelm me. I've zoned in some of the most dangerous places, and also on some of the stupidest things. And I've always told you, and you've never let me down. Blair, answer me." He was about to get up when he heard the intake of air. "With me there, Chief?"

"It hasn't happened before?"

"No. What happened to you, was that a zone?" All he got was a questioning sound. "Did you hear any of what I just said?"

"You tell me when they go on the fritz?"

"Always. What did you zone on?" *Great, the blind leading the Guide.*

"Nothing." Blair went into the kitchen to put on the kettle, and run some water on his face. Regrouped, he went back into the living room. "You can hear my heart beat?"

"Like a drum, a background beat. Right now I can't tell when it's loud or quiet, but speed and pattern come through."

"What else about hearing my heart beat?" It was strange doing ethnography about the sound of his own heart, but he needed to do this right. He pulled out a note pad and started jotting.

"I can pick it out in a crowd, I can hear it at a distance. I can tell if you are resting, anxious, hyped."

"How far? How many people?"

"I can pick you out from across a Christmas shopping frenzy, but not whether you've found the right Solstice something for Naomi. From the parking garage I'd generally notice you."

"In the Station?"

"I don't keep tabs there, except when we're in Simon's office, or something like that. Maybe know that you got off the elevator. I think your water is ready." Saved by the whistle.

G-d. He'd known privacy was a relative term, especially around Jim. Not that was a problem, he really was much less nosy than tribal peoples, but this... He made his mug of tea, and another for Jim. Maybe he'd thought Blair needed space? He went back out with the two mugs.

"Can you tell where I've placed that?"

"One thirty. How do you do it?"

"Ancient secret." In fact, it was a piece of scotch tape. "It's hot, so give it some time. Does my being in the loft bother you?"

"At first, but you're housebroken. Look, in the army, you don't have a lot of space, so rules replace walls. That part you got real quick, even though you thought I was being a tough-ass. I follow my own." Most of the time.

"Such as?"

He almost tried to stop this, but realized the writing sound was in synch with Blair. Which made it work. "I don't listen in. If it seems private, I tune it out. If I shouldn't be able to hear it, and it isn't you or Simon, I tune it out. Sometimes I'll track things in the kitchen, or the living room, but otherwise it's very generalized. The exception are your studying noises. I am not a bloodhound, though I'll admit to checking for food in your room a few times, and identifying the scents of the tea you were drinking. Otherwise, if it isn't annoying me, it's background noise. I don't read over shoulders except newspapers, or books you'd leave around. Sometimes papers you're grading."

"Thanks, man. Tea should be cool enough. Let's recap. You are aware of my presence, pretty much anywhere in the loft, and often times on the approach. Whatever is going on with your senses hasn't happen since I moved in, if it did before. Not sure what to do about that if. I was gone for a week, but I've been gone for longer at a stretch. We need to isolate the variable. Maybe we should go over the weeks prior."

He was not going to scream. He was going to find his center, relax, and move on. After all, the important thing was open inquiry, not assessing blame. "You were having insomnia, strange sleep events and then full-out sleep deprivation. G-d, do you have any idea how many feed-back loops this might be? Jim, I'm going to have to get some help on this. Dammit, I almost thought of running some tests after that nightmare. Okay..." *Lisa!* It was perfect. She owed him a favor, wasn't busy and just might be charged up by something this big.

"Blair." He had some of his sight back, but everything was blurry. *At least I can read the paper while it's in the same room.*

"Trust me. Lisa is in psych and pre-med. Okay, so she's a little, challenge-motivated. Confidentiality, all that. The cuffs, those I'm not explaining. This is serious. Either we do it this way, or it's down to the hospital for MRIs, PET & CAT scans, the whole bit."

Who could argue with that? Once, he would have. He knew it wasn't an idle threat however. "Go ahead, but I'll be listening to your end."

"Blair, 'George', please sit. Um, 'George', Blair has explained the situation a bit. I'm going to bring in a friend of mine, an intern, to do some tests. Nobody Blair knows, won't be in the state as of next fall. Now, do we have a Human Research Subject release on file for George here?"

"Release form?" Jim was a little confused.

Of all the stupid... "Actually, no. Can we read the form to him..."

This had completely slipped his mind. Jim's sight impairment could be a significant problem depending on how accommodating the law was.

"Let me grab a tape recorder to be on the safe side. George, sorry about this. I'll be back in a bit."

"Sandburg, is there something I should know?" He'd never had to sign any paperwork before.

"Just a glitch because the faculty aren't in for the legal opinion, what with your sight on the blink. This lets the powers that be know that you are aware of the types of information that might be gained and what kinds of safeguards surround the collection and use of the data. Things like you won't sue the university." Jim kept looking at him. "I'm an anthropologist. You're my informant and my obligation is to not lie to you, and not betray your confidences."

There was a knock and then Lisa came back in. "Okay, we will all speak, George, you just say 'the subject.' Then I'll leave, Blair will read the form to you, you'll attest you heard it, give your real name and then sign. He can leave it all for the secretary. Is that acceptable? Hope legal thinks so too. First I have to explain what we have planned."

"So, what did you think?" Blair directed Jim back to the couch.

"About what. I don't get what you think this accomplished."

"This was just the formalities. It's like when I had to do all the observer paperwork. There isn't any physical impairment, so it's just getting your senses working again. But actually, I was referring to Lisa." He suspected the older man was feeling like a lab rat, and wanted to distract him a little.

"Blair, you dream big. Or did you mean professionally?" She had to be 6' 2" or so, and the blur was not a willowy shape. More like someone that could snap the kid like a twig.

"What is that supposed to mean? It's the shorter women that give me problems. Seriously. Below 5' 9" they totally buy into the 'guy should be taller' thing. Above that, they realize it may not happen. And I've never had good luck with ones shorter than me."

"Can't be too many of those. Maybe you should try picking someone your own size. What is this about me being your 'informant', I'm a snitch on myself?"

Blair laughed at that. "Well... No, it's just anthropology showing its slip, the mystique angle of private eyes and muckraker journalism. Want me to put a chair in the kitchen so we can talk as I make dinner? So, you trying to figure out the secret world of anthropologists?"

"Seems only fair. I guess I never really thought about it. How far would you go to protect an informant?"

"Straight for meta-ethics. From stuff I learned, as far as I could foresee."

"From the law?"

"The authorities, yes. I would disobey a court order to testify. I won't pretend I know how long my resolve would hold if they locked me up for contempt, though." Couldn't you have started easy, like my thoughts on imperialist collaboration charges? "I wouldn't study a criminal sub-culture, period. I don't need the bad karma, I find enough guilt already. Considering... I would be that much more careful with my informants, now."

"Because I'm a cop."

"Because you are my friend."

"How much does being a police observer compromise your being an anthropologist?" Why had he never asked, or known to ask?

"It doesn't. Really. I just need to not misrepresent myself. Not nearly like you having me as backup."

"No. Except for the danger it poses to you, you're great backup. Remember that. Got it, Chief?"

"Sure."

They weren't getting anywhere or at least that's how it felt to Blair. Jim's senses were coming back, but they seemed no closer to why they had gone so drastically wrong. It was just so frustrating, not having any answers or even an idea of what questions to ask. He'd really thought he'd been on the right track with the modern thing. Now, he wished Burton had spared a word or two about the Guides.

"Hey, Chief, you hungry? Thought I'd make dinner, hamburgers okay?"

Now that his vision was basically normal, it was time to start making things up to Blair. Burgers he could manage; no ingredients to add 'to taste'.

"Fine." He almost offered to help, but realized Jim probably needed to reassert autonomy. And he really needed to work on his notes. *Sulk.* He tried relating the results from the battery of tests Lisa had conducted with everything that had gone wrong with Sentinel senses. He turned instead to the after the fact sleep log Jim had recorded for Lisa. She'd dismissed it as next to useless, of course not saying anything to 'George'.

"Jim? Do you know what that nightmare was about? Have you had it before, or reacted that way to nightmares before?"

"Reflex, Blair. Must have freaked the hell out of you."

"The notion you'd zoned out inside a dream concerned me more." How would I get you out of one? Blair had never determined how long a zone could last before becoming physiologically harmful. If Jim would snap out eventually without his Guide.

"Could that happen? Chief, should that ever happen again, you worry about yourself. It could have turned real ugly. It didn't, right?" Blair hadn't said anything, and he'd looked okay so Jim hadn't asked.

"No, but if I'd had the tea I almost made... I don't know. We should run some tests, maybe encourage a zone out under controlled conditions. Not anytime soon, but it might be a good idea."

"Ask a simple question... Food's ready, set that stuff aside and sit at the table." Jim brought in the burgers and a large salad bowl. "You might need to fix a dressing for this."

"Blair, I want you to take a look at this." She pulled up a computer model. "Here's the area, what do you see?"

"Lisa... Well, these two seem connected, but only here, here and here. What is this recording? It seems too erratic for a life sign."

"It's you. This over here is the control. Notice the difference in the way they affect the readings."

"Me? What did you base this on?"

"I started logging your presence, departures and returns to the lab. At first I thought it was an apparatus effect, like the Pauli problem. Now look at this section." She keystroked in some commands and pulled up another model. "Notice these areas. This is from the night I had you test the mobile monitor. Blair, can you give any hypothesis for these results?"

"What is this recording?" He was staring at something exciting, but needed to throw Lisa from it.

"Whether the mike was open. Blair, I want you to think very carefully about the importance of 'George' to your project. Maybe he's not tertiary, and you're protecting his anonymity. Regardless, while the sensory disturbance could be the result of sleep problems, look at the pattern of effect and tell me there isn't something potentially very wrong. Psychosomatic results such as he's experiencing shouldn't be taken lightly. Consider encouraging him to get some professional help. Okay? Here is a copy of the files; tell me what parts you need me to delete from my set."

He should have seen it, hell, he had seen it happen before. Senses going off-line, in that case guilt for non-admissibility during a cop-killer case. No, it was just becoming apparent the selective nature of extent and duration of the sensory disturbance. The other results however were unexpectedly encouraging.

Blair pulled out his schedule calendar and set to comparing it with Jim's sleep log. He noticed a marked improvement in sleep for several days following the collapse of Jameson Hall, and then a strange decline starting a few days after the nightmare incident. Which became more profound after Christmas when Blair was out of the loft.

"Jim, I want you to stay on leave a little longer." The loft door opened, Jim leading, followed by Simon. "Sandburg, do you think he should be coming back to work this soon? No, Jim, get this under control, then we'll talk." Jim started to differ. "End of discussion. Blair, how long do you think it will be?" Captain Banks thought how much things had changed since Jim first tried pulling a fast one before explaining his special senses and need for Blair's help. Now, as much as he wouldn't admit it, he respected the kid.

*Asking my opinion? Spooky. Kind of nice, but spooky.* "At least a week. Then I'd like to run some exercises, simulations, that sort of thing."

"Simon."

"That's Captain. Jim, anybody else would have said two or three weeks at the very earliest. I'm out on a limb, so don't push it. I'll see you two later." He turned to Blair. "Could you drop by the station tomorrow?"

"Sure. See you then." Simon left, hoping the kid knew what he was doing, or could fake it convincingly.

"Jim, I think I've got some good news. Well, I hope it is good news. We've talked about you being aware of me when I'm in the loft. Do you have trouble sleeping when I pull a late night?"

"You mean from the noise you make? No, I've gotten use to it and you're pretty quiet. Sometimes I'll wake up, but fall back quickly." "What about when I stay at the office? Or go away for the weekend?"

"Where is this going? No, that's never been a problem. I mean, you have a life to live."

"What about when I stay out late, say two, three hours later than you expected, does that affect your sleep?"

"No. Well, not generally. After a night class, students might have got to talking or something."

"So sometimes my being out later is a problem? Okay, think about the end of this term. Why was this semester worse?"

"You'd know better than I would, you were never around." He realized too late how that sounded. And that he meant it. "Uh..."

"Jim, don't sweat it. It's a physiological response. This term I got half a dozen extra things on my plate last minute, stopped coming into the station and never said anything. You expected me to turn up eventually, but I didn't. Frankly, I'm surprised you didn't put out an APB after a few days of that."

"I knew you had come home."

Blair had been wondering how Jim slept during longer trips. "What? How did you know?" He really thought he'd gotten better at cleaning the bathroom up after a shower and shave.

"I could smell it. I hope you were getting another nap over at school."

"Yeah. What could you smell?"

"You. It's like how I know Simon's approaching, because of his cigars."

"Um, how, well, how much do I smell? Jim, help me out here. Sight and hearing I have plenty of analogies to run with, but this..."

"It was pretty faint. Could we go back to the physiological response?"

"I got some interesting results from Lisa today. Seems that I can affect your sleep. Without running a battery looking for it, I'd say it is partly pattern recognition. If I left on an errand, little blip, like the hundreds people have every night. But if I was there, and then you noticed I was gone, bigger blip. Unless you knew I was going on an errand. You should see what happened when Lisa snuck up on me while I was reading a King novel."

"How could you affect my sleep patterns?"

"You said you kept track of my heartbeat, and I suspect you do so with smell also. Certainly would explain some of the other results. I was a little worried that my weird hours were a problem, but either studying is close enough or you've learned it as a normative input and accept it. I mean, otherwise it would be hard for a Guide to take watch, right?"

"Now, when I come home late, unexpectedly late, suspiciously late, it gets a reaction of worry going. Enough of that could get your sleep pretty screwed up, and your senses with it." The next part was going to be hard part. "The only problem with this theory, is that a few days after finals finished, you started having trouble sleeping again, while I was here. Unless it was something you didn't want me to know about and that was why you wanted me to stay with Simon." Which I didn't do, so you... "Jim, can you tell if someone has been around someone else?" And if you can, do you know that you can?

"Oh." He had really overreacted. "I'm not sure. Guess I did exactly the wrong thing. So, Chief, think I can get back to work sooner? We'll talk about the exercises, but right now I could use a beer. Want one?" Jim headed to the kitchen.

Blair had tried to start the conversation several times. Each time Jim found some way to deflect it. Which almost worked, almost. A year ago, it probably would have, but now it just made him more determined. "You tried to kill yourself. Jim, if I had have been any later, you might have succeeded. Or botched it. I need to know what you meant by 'have to protect Blair'."

"Blessed Protector. You know. Look, I was out of my mind, with my senses whacked out. Can't we put this to rest? We know why it happened, so what's the problem?"

"What's the problem?! Get this straight, we haven't fixed this. You still have two senses working sub-par. Not just sub-par for you, but sub-par, period. You started having trouble sleeping again, won't say why, but it led you to put me out of the loft. But you wanted me to stay with Simon, and must have been persuasive, because you got him to do the asking. Then I get back, and you are trying to kill yourself, to protect me! So you want to know what's the problem? That's what I want to know, why the two senses that haven't come back are taste and touch? The only time something like this happened it was a guilt response. Something your Sentinel senses couldn't stop, couldn't avenge. I am your Guide, dammit. This is my fault, but I can't fix it if you won't let me."

"It's not your fault, Blair. I pushed you away and you pulled my butt out of the fire."

"I left, I should never have done that. You needed me here, but I left." What did they do to Guides that abandoned their post? Maybe it was best he'd never found any records.

"I told you to. It was stupid, now we know. Get this straight, Chief. Don't blame yourself when I do dumb things. I am not your responsibility. Eventually, you'll leave, and somehow I'll manage. You'll come up with something. I'm going to bed."

"Like hell you are! This is what I was expecting when I came home that day, why do you think I had cuffs?! If I was acting like you, you'd have me pinned against a wall so fast your ears would ring. I can't do that, but it makes you think you can just dismiss me. Get this through your thick skull. I'm in this up to your neck. I have been dropped in elevators, drugged, shanghaied, and why? For a dissertation? Because I have a death wish? Friendship, man. So, think about that, and decide if you still want to brush me off. I'm going downstairs and will come straight back."

"Blair, thought I'd see you at the office?" Simon decided whatever it was, had to be pretty serious for him to be on his stoop so early of a morning. He directed the shorter man in. "I take it the week was over-optimistic?"

"How'd you know? Right, I wouldn't be here except for Jim. I thought we were real close, but he's put up this stone wall. Did he tell you why he wanted me to stay here? Not the renovators story, but the real reason?"

"Sorry. I thought it was pretty strange myself, but he was; I thought it was just one of those things. Don't get me wrong, Sandburg. He was giving me custody, designated guardian, protector... That was it, but not the way I thought?"

"G-d. Damn it! Do you think he planned it? He wouldn't plan it, he wouldn't. G-d, would he really have..."

"He wouldn't have waited." Or chose the loft. "Blair, sit. Ellison would only... if he was defeated. I presumed some nut out of his past had returned, someone he couldn't tell me about, and would take every advantage. Possibly even that he wasn't sure of the outcome. That he wanted to keep you out of it. Clearly, it was some other kind of fight, and..."

"Bushido. Honorable death while he could... Simon, he said he had to protect me. Could, could you talk to him? He won't tell me anything, and it's affecting his senses. The only thing I can think of is it involves me, so he won't talk about his fears or whatever. Normally, I'd suggest a professional..."

"Which he wouldn't see. And there's Sentinel stuff."

"You put too much curry powder in this. Since when do you use this type..." Jim caught the smile that was reaching Blair's eyes. *G-d, it's been too long.* He had been a terror, and he knew it. "Is this your idea of a joke?"

"Consider it a test. It's too much? I thought it was the right level, maybe your taste buds are sensitized, or I'm out of practice. You are right, that's not the normal blend for the dish. Should I make you something else?" Blair was half out of his seat, when Jim put a hand on his arm.

"It's alright, Chief. I'll just mix some of this in, and it should be okay. So, how's my progress?" Jim took another bite; it was a little strange tasting, but right now he didn't mind. "Think you can clear me for duty?"

"That would be the paperwork. An M.A. signing off on a medical leave." Jim smiled at that. "I told Simon he could have you back in a day or two, but whether he believes me is another story." Blair paused. "Is there, anything you'd like to tell me?" He hadn't asked Simon what the two men had talked about, but now it seemed dealt with, he was somewhat curious.

"Nothing. Just worries and fears that got out of control. Like my senses. Which I think are enough to keep my Guide on his toes. Okay?" Blair seemed a little subdued. "However, we do need to talk. You've had a lot thrown at you, and haven't had a chance to deal with it. We've both been too wrapped up in my senses, to consider how you're doing."

"I'm fine. Just don't pull anything like that again? I know I called you my 'Blessed Protector' but don't let it stress you out. Remember, I'm your backup. Seems someone thought I was pretty good at it too." Blair started clearing plates to the kitchen.

"Chief. You'd tell me if this got to be too much? I mean, before I was worried about the danger, still am. But I've realized there's a lot more going on, stuff I should have noticed, that I was too busy, or self-involved..."

"I'm your Guide. Just like you are a Sentinel. Speaking of which, I thought it might be good to run some simulations just to make sure everything is working the way you remember."

"Sure." Jim paused. "But it isn't the same, is it? This isn't supposed to be your life. This isn't the research you expected. It's dangerous, time-consuming, exhausting..."

"And pays next to nothing. Sounds like grad school. You didn't expect having a long-haired neo-hippie witchdoctor punk living in your spare room. Now, go sit in the living room. I have to prepare the last test of the evening. Put the blindfold on, and don't listen in."

"Yes, Masster." He limped off in a very poor Igor impersonation. The incongruity set Blair to laughing. Then he started arranging the ice cream.

"I think your tests are getting better." He now had the blindfold off, having correctly identified the offered 'samples', and was eating the remaining 'material'. "Major Crimes has yet to solve a case by ice cream, however."

"Could happen. Besides, what other opportunity would I have to fill the freezer with pints of ice cream? And open all of them at once? It solved the variables of texture and temperature. Was there anything else you thought we needed to discuss?" Blair cleared the coffee table, wiping and drying the surface in deference to the no food rule. "In that case, I'm going to turn in. Night."

Blair looked at his bed and grabbed his laptop. He really needed tosort through the data from the last month, highlighting what could go in the dissertation, and what belonged in the shadow file. Sometimes he felt he was writing three or four books-- the dissertation was by far the smaller of the text files. Finishing with that he looked at the stack of books by the bed. He picked up the top one and started flipping through the pages.

Jim woke up. What was Blair still doing up? He listened and decided it was time to go downstairs and deal with this. For several nights the younger man had tossed and turned part of the night, after studying late. Pulling on some clothes he headed for the kitchen.

"Thought you'd like some hot chocolate. Warm milk, sleep? Humor me, Simon's putting me on desk duty."

"Why not?" Blair pulled himself off the bed, still dressed. *Right,drift off during a dull passage but not soundly enough to actually sleep.* He kept going over notes and the events of the last month. Somewhere there was an answer but damn if he could find it.

"Keeping you up? Sorry about that. Thanks." He accepted the mug and sipped. "You actually made cocoa?" Blair sipped it some more.

"Wouldn't be hot milk otherwise. Chief, what's going on?"

"Guess I'm just obsessing. Don't worry about it. Is there more cocoa?"

Jim went back into the kitchen and returned with refilled mugs. "Talk about it? Hey, who's supposed to guide the Guide?" Blair wasn't talking so he pulled the smaller man over. "Come on, Chief."

"Just trying to reconstruct Guides without anything but the most elliptical references. Come up with a theory to account for some of the remaining inconsistences. Like why it took several days after finals for your sleep to get erratic, or that your sense of smell didn't go on the blink. Whether you could zone-out in a dream, and how, if, you could be gotten out of it. I keep finding more questions and I don't have answers."

They sat there in silence, holding their mugs of cocoa.

"Do something." Jim was startled by the small voice, and looked at the younger man.

"Blair?" Jim listened to the smaller man's heartbeat and breath, both were speeding. He was confused by the look in his Guide's eyes. "Blair."

"Do something." The sound of those words, said that way, mixed with everything else, registered deep. He took Blair's hand in his own, feeling the skin stretched over the knuckles, the rush of the pulse in the wrist, the soft hair on the fingers. He brought the hand to his lips and pressed them into the palm. Which led to kissing the fingers each in turn, the wrist and part way up the inner forearm. Not releasing that hand, he picked up the right hand, again starting with the palm, the fingers, wrist and what of the arm not pegged beneath the shirt's long sleeve.

He looked at Blair's face, and brushed his lips along the offered neck. The scent there was strong, shampoo, shaving cream, sweat and something that was just Blair. He moved across the Adam's apple to the other side of the neck. The faintest caress with his nose. He pulled away to see Blair's expression. It was almost edible, and he ducked back to rub his jaw against the other man's face. Noticing the gleam of the two small hoops, he caught them in his lips and gave a gentle pull. Heartbeats were a roar rushing in his ears. He sat back, releasing the right hand. "Not down here." He felt the other hand tightening its grip as he stood. He hesitated as Blair almost levitated off the couch and followed up the stairs.

Beside the bed, Jim started kissing along the cheeks and jawline, going up to the sensitive flesh behind each ear. Blair reached up with the other hand and started leaning back, pulling the larger man forward. Jim stepped forward, laying Blair out atop the blankets. Working his way from the chin down to the open collar, he started unbuttoning the shirt, kissing and nuzzling the exposed skin, spreading the shoulders as he went. Effortlessly, the shirt was gone, revealing the t-shirt underneath and plenty of unattended to arm, which attracted Jim's undivided attention. Finally, he pulled at the T-shirt and Blair lifted up enough for it to be removed.

Shoulders to nip at, biceps to kiss, chest hair to stroke with hands and face. Blair's mewling noises were intoxicating, as he drifted across the torso. Spotting the glint of the small gold ring, Jim dived in to tease it with his teeth. The resulting sound was enough to encourage Jim to lose his own shirt. He was lost to the feel of hair tickling his chest, kisses roaming wide, hands bringing arms up into range, teasing nipples or reaching into silky hair.

"More. ... Now!" Blair was arching half way off the bed, hips bucking, tortured by the languorous progression of Jim's attentions. Reaching down for a long, thorough kiss, Jim unfastened the stud on Blair's jeans, pulled the zip down and husked them and boxers off him, pulling the blankets out from under the writhing man. He broke away to quickly rid himself of his remaining clothes, and lay full length covering Blair, taking most of his weight on his forearms. Kissing more insistently, darting to an ear or other spot that caught his attention, they moved against each other, hard need against hard need.

Blair gave a unvoiced scream, followed by Jim's low growl, muffled by the shoulder at his mouth. Jim rolled to the smaller man's right. As he came back together, he looked over with a wide grin, and kissed at the near eye.

Salt. He lifted a finger to the other eye and brushed through tears.

He started to speak, to have his lips stilled with two fingers. "Just..." The voice was shaky. "just hold me." Jim gathered him close and smoothed his hair, kissing the top of his head. While tears pooled over his heart, rolling across his chest.

Slowly he woke up, drifting in a happy, warm space. Opening his eyes he saw Blair sprawled across his chest, long hair draping Jim's torso. It brought to mind Italian angels. If only he could save this moment, and live in it forever. He glanced over at the clock. He had some time. Let his senses be etched by it all. The feel of breath on his chest, the multitude of sounds, smell, the still face, the taste yet on his lips. Eyes staring back breaking the enchantment.

Blair moved off, back turned and scrunched away from the larger man.

The change in his heartbeat and breathing was unsettling. Before, Jim had stayed his hand so as not to wake his peaceful angel. Now fear held it, the dried tears on his chest making their scratchy presence felt.

He could feel the shift of the bed and the breath on his back, words trying to form. Pulling at the top sheet, Blair sat up. "Shower and breakfast first." He swung his legs over the farside of the bed but didn't get up, the top sheet's lower corner now free from the blankets hanging above his feet.

Jim pulled the sheet free on his side, expecting Blair to bolt. Instead he just tugged on the sheet, but not enough to really claim the rest of it. "Shower." It was so faint he almost thought he was imagining, save for the attitude of impatience which even from the back was pure Blair. Another tug on the sheet. Gingerly Jim moved to the far side of the bed pulling the sheet with him. When he was nearly beside Blair, the shorter man stood, keeping his back to Jim.

He found himself being kept at a set distance; if he lagged, Blair stopped and tugged at the sheet, if he got too close, Blair walked faster to regain the distance. Realizing it kept him just close enough not to inadvertently see more than shoulder blades, yet out of Blair's space.

Jim was finishing making breakfast, wondering if Blair was going to make an appearance from his room. He had slipped from the shower after washing the younger man's hair, leaving him the last of the hot water. By the time he had come back down dressed, the bathroom was empty but the chain was still on the door.

Blair clumped loudly into the kitchen, still averring from Jim, but gathering things to take out to the table. Things clattered more than usual, but not obnoxiously so. *Telling me where he is and doing what without having to use Sentinel senses.* Jim brought in the rest of breakfast and sat at the table.

"About..."

"After breakfast. Thanks for cooking."

Blair was sitting crossed-legged on the couch, still facing away from Jim. Uncertain, he went towards the couch. "Sit." He sat, aware that the space left was closer than earlier.

"Do you have a problem with last night?" It was a stupid question, but he wanted to know what the problem was.

"Shouldn't I? We're straight. I always have been. You?"

"Than a laser level." There wasn't anything to say. It couldn't be forgotten, or taken back. The only thing he was sorry for was out of his control. As were his two regrets.

"Why?"

"I don't have an answer. Blair, I'm sorry this is a problem. Tell me how you want to handle this. If you can stay in the loft, the room is yours."

"Jim. Don't you have a problem with this?"

That I may have lost everything? That I've hurt you? That last night won't come again? "Of my own, no. Are you going to be alright? I'm supposed to go in today."

"I need to think. Errands to do." He turned around, his hair in his face. "When should I expect to see you?"

"Chief, I brought take-out and groceries." He glanced in the basket by the door. So he was home. He sat dinner on the table, and continued into the kitchen to put away the rest. "Chief?"

"Hi. Chinese? Hand me a beer. Thanks. How was the station?" Blair grabbed some plates and started opening cartons. "Simon say how long on paperwork patrol?"

"He wanted to give you a breather, so probably until next week."

"A breather?" Since when did Simon arrange Jim's work around him?

"I quote, 'Ellison, he's been on hazard duty for two weeks straight. You are not to get into trouble...' You get the idea." Simon had said, 'until he's ready to watch your back. I'm not explaining to him-- he's just as bad as you are.' Was Blair even going to come back?

"Oh." He'd hoped to get things back to normal sooner.

"You getting back on schedule with whatever you planned to do over break?" How did you spend your day? What did you think about, what did you decide, are you going to tell me, do I want to hear?

I'd planned to run some tests, read a good book, spend more time at the station and get my lesson plans in order. "Close enough. How's about ice cream? What flavor or flavors?"

It was early when Jim couldn't take it any longer and headed upstairs. He noticed the stack of clean linens on the stripped bed. He dropped down heavily, noting the clothes were gone as well. Inhaling he was hit with the lingering scent, exhilaration quickly dispatched by grief. Clearing the bed he flipped the mattress, mechanically putting the sheets and blankets on it. It was just as strong, but now he hopefully wouldn't curl up in the center of the bed. Pulling out a rarely worn pair of pajama bottoms, he readied to lie down in the bed he'd made.

Downstairs, Blair tried to accomplish something. He couldn't deal with straightening notes, or even reading any half a dozen books piled around his room. He picked up the novel he'd started who knows how long ago, but after half a page of the protagonist searching his trailer for the bone bullet, had to put it down. Like he could read a tribal detective mystery. After fumbling through the texts on his shelves, he gave up and started brushing out his hair.

"Hey, we thought you'd given up on us to study some tropical island."

"Heard things were getting dull here, no reports on the 11 o'clock news. Thought it was time to give you guys a hand." He saw Brown chew that one over. And start laughing. Blair joined in.

Eventually Blair made his way over to Ellison's desk, stopped by people wondering how he was, where he had been. He saw a few new faces, and their questioning glances. He was about to sit down when Simon came out of his office.

"Sandburg, in here." The towering man continued after closing the door. "I was just telling Jim about this new case, like you two go to the scene, see if forensics missed anything. ..."

Blair was nervous. He hadn't been this nervous since... Ever. He pulled his bare feet on to the bed, tucking them in the backs of his knees. Here he was, sitting in Jim's room, on his bed, waiting. How much longer until he got home? Blair squirmed around and put his feet back on the floor. *The worst that can happen is he'll get mad and throw you out.* Surely, he was losing Jim already.

Jim was keeping him at arm's length instead of in arm's reach. First, it annoyed him from a Guide's angle. Then, Blair felt it personally. He'd catch Jim start to give a good-natured shoulder slap and turn it into a stretch to rub the back of his own head. *Like he can't stand to touch me.*

"Or thinks it's forbidden!" He'd come to the realization during a lecture, which fortunately he was giving, or it'd have been even more embarrassing. It was just so obvious, they had broken a serious taboo. The question was how to deal with it.

So here he was, dressed and groomed, in a carefully orchestrated attempt to save the most important relationship he had. Had ever had. Details precisely calibrated for a Sentinel, presentation based on sound anthropological principles. Now he just needed Jim to show up before time had its way with his careful preparations.

Jim opened the door to the loft and hung up his coat. Why were all the lights off? *Candles.* He went upstairs to investigate. "Hi, Jim." Blair had a quirky smile, and was dressed in black jeans and a full, white shirt. There were about a dozen candles burning, one and only one of which was scented. This wasn't what it looked like. There was some weird explanation; he tried smelling for sage but didn't find any. His distraction was enough to allow Blair to slide a step over and plant firmly on his lips a very intense and vigorous kiss, with a significant amount of tongue.

Blair pulled back to judge Jim's reaction. He went for another, constrained by the library half-step he'd borrowed and tricked-out. Having not been pried off, he moved to administer to the neck. Finally, Jim moved his hands, skimming across the back of the shirt and gently caressing the curly locks. Having liberally kissed and sucked both sides of the neck, he loosed the top button of Jim's shirt.

When he got to the third button down, he got off the step and skittered it out of the way. Kneading and kissing, he was teased by the light circuits Jim's hands were making on his back, and his nuzzling of his hair. Blair moved them towards the bed, pushing Jim to sit. Sliding the older man's shirt down his shoulders, he partly unbuttoned his own. Rubbing his hands across the short, spiky hair, he guided Jim's head to his neck.

Eventually, both men were shirtless, Blair pressing Jim down on his back, surveying the expanse of chest below him. He shivered as Jim unexpectedly walked fingertips through his chest hair. In response he swept the curtain of his hair over Jim's pecs and nipples.

Flipping his hair back, he moved off the bed to unbutton his jeans, and undo Jim's belt and pants. Still wearing his open jeans, he got back on the bed to pull down the prone man's pants and socks. At the end of the bed he rid himself of his jeans. Crawling his way back, his slid up Jim's chest to claim his mouth in a crushing, hungry kiss.

Boxers were removed, and after some awkward movements, Blair rolled Jim on top, squirming down into alignment, firmly grabbing the larger man's buttocks. Demonstrating excellent abdominal control and hip coordination, he moved both of them in an increasing torrent of motion.

Jim rolled over. *Bed.* Rolled over some more. *Empty bed.* His eyes snapped open. He looked around, spotted his discarded boxers next to the more or less neat pile of clothes, put them on and ran downstairs.

"You have time for a quick shower." Blair was working on cooking breakfast, in boxers and an open hapi coat. He made shooing motions at Jim. He was filling plates when Jim came back out wearing a towel. "Eat. How are you this morning?"

"Confused." He started playing with his food. "Blair,"

"What, Jim? Didn't I say eat? Essen." He followed his own instructions, smiling and keeping an eye on Jim.

"I thought... About last night... Where did you learn to move like that?" Why was that the only complete sentence he could get out?

"Snake charmer. Plus some fieldwork. About last night...?"

"What about us being straight?"

"Decided it was time for a paradigm shift." Blair took a bite. "We're still the same people. Just added a conventional type of intimacy to the Sentinel-Guide brand. I can live without the labels."

Is that what this is, a 'conventional intimacy'? "Chief." He started shoveling food in his mouth. He didn't want to think of the answer to the question. This was Blair, self-appointed G-d's gift to women.

"Jim. Look at me. If you have a problem with this, tell me now. I might be able to convince myself last night was a restoration of boundaries."

"Huh?" *Might.* "Your women..." I have no right to get possessive. If he thought it enough times, maybe he'd act like he believed.

"Leave when they've had what they want. Or find something better."

"Blair, this is hard for me to put into words. I need you. I worry for you, I cherish you, I defend you. I've also regularly endangered, overworked, and taken for granted you." You deserve someone who loves you.

"Do you want me?" He sipped at his juice. "Desire."

"Yes." Like that was a question. Blair's entire face smiled. *There's my beautiful angel.*

"How'd you find so many stupid women?"

With the smile on Jim's face there was only one fitting answer. "Luck of the Irish. Luck of the Irish."

The End... Hardly. ;)

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