THE WAY THE WORLD ENDS
PART V

by R'rain


Jim woke to Blair's warm breaths against the back of his neck.  It was with 
regret that he got up out of that sanctuary and left Blair there alone, making 
his way down to the shower.  Sure he could call in and say he couldn't make it 
in to work, and Simon might even understand, but it just wasn't something Jim 
could do right now, not even with Blair at home.  As he showered, he began to 
hear Blair moving around upstairs.  Waking. 
 
"Jim?"  Blair's voice was still soft and sleep-blurred, having just noticed 
that Jim wasn't there.  Jim hurried up, wanting to spend what time with Blair 
that he could.  He wasn't even going to ask if Blair was going in to the 
station.  Even if Blair had been willing at this point, his injuries were 
enough to keep him away. 
 
Wrapping a towel around his waist after running it roughly over his hair, Jim 
took the stairs two at a time and took a still-waking Blair into his arms.  
Blair's arm come up around him again, but Jim wouldn't let him drift back to 
sleep.   
 
"I've got to go to work now," he whispered. 
 
Blair nodded.  "I know."  Still, he snuggled in next to Jim's damp body and 
Jim couldn't bear to pull away.  "You working on that case?" 
 
"Yeah," he said quietly.  "Maybe we'll be lucky and get a break today.  At 
least no one else died." 
 
"Jim...d'ya think everyone else is getting on with their lives now?" 
 
"I don't think anyone has any choice." 
 
Blair nodded, satisfied with the answer, and started the long process of 
getting up and getting out of bed.  Jim helped by getting up first, but then 
looked helplessly at the pile of clothes he'd set out for himself.  "Um, 
Blair...I've got to get dressed." 
 
Blair swung his legs over the side of the bed.  "I'm okay with that," he said, 
not quite looking at him.  "Go ahead." 
 
Jim knew that Blair had seen him naked before--more than once--but that had 
been different.  Blair was going to be looking at him with a different set of 
eyes now, and Jim knew that he was going to be asking himself questions.  What 
will that feel like?  What will that look like?  What will he want me to do?  
He didn't waste any time showing off his body, pulling on his underwear and 
then his pants, not hastily, but efficiently. 
 
"If you have any trouble today," said Jim, "you know how to get ahold of me.  
My cell phone before anything, all right?  You aren't planning on going 
anywhere, are you?" 
 
Blair shook his head.  "I'm still tired," he admitted. 
 
"That's fine," said Jim, turning around as he zipped his pants. 
 
"I'm going to try and get something done on my dissertation.  I have a lot of 
notes to organize yet...guess that's what I get for following you around on 
the job and jotting things down all the time."  Blair paused and shook his 
head.  "Why couldn't you work in a nice safe lab or something, man?" 
 
"Because then I wouldn't be a Sentinel, now, would I?" teased Jim.  He knew 
the adrenaline rush that Blair got working with him, knew how much the younger 
man got out of the experience.  The work certainly wasn't one-sided.  Blair 
definitely knew more than most rookie cops now, and probably more than a lot 
of the others too.  Neither one of them was planning on giving it up any time 
soon. 
 
"At least my notes would be in order," grumbled Blair, but it was good-
naturedly.  "Hey, Jim?" 
 
"Uh huh?"  Jim pulled on his socks, then pulled his shirt on over his head. 
 
"Can we do something tonight?  I mean, I'm gonna be cooped up in here all day-
-might be nice to get out just for a little while.  Together."  Blair looked 
nervously at his hands.  "I've been feeling a little claustrophobic this last 
while.  Like my whole world has been concentrated inwards." 
 
Jim nodded.  "How about dinner, then?  Nothing too strenuous.  I, um, can't 
guarantee that the press won't hound us though.  I'm sorry." 
 
"Don't apologize," said Blair.  "I'm tired of all the apologies that we've 
been giving one another.  Can't we just...live?" 
 
Jim held out his arms, and Blair was in them before he could think about it.   
 
"We can certainly try," murmured Jim.  "That's all we can do.  Now how about 
that Chinese place that you like so much?" 
 
"I've got a better idea," said Blair.  "There's this Mongolian barbecue that 
I've been dying to try for a while now.  Could we maybe...?  I mean, if you're 
not interested that's fine, I'll live." 
 
"That sounds good.  It's not gonna break me, is it?" 
 
"Ah, no way, man.  Even *I* could afford this place.  I've just had no time.  
This'll be kinda like my reward for putting in a full day's work on writing up 
my dissertation; it's been a long time since I've been able to do that." 
 
"It can be a reward for a lot of things," said Jim.  "But right now...I've got 
to get going.  You'll be all right?" 
 
"I'll be *fine*, Jim."  Before Jim could pull away from Blair, the other man 
pulled him back for a long, slow kiss.  Jim's eyes widened in surprise.  "You 
didn't think I'd let you go without a kiss, did you?  You are my lover, after 
all."  Jim just looked at him in silent contentment.  "Well, we are," he added 
stubbornly, maybe mistaking Jim's silence for disagreement, and Jim wondered 
just who he was trying to convince. 
 
"Yeah," he replied, "we are.  I love you." 
 
"I know.  I love you too.  *Now* you can go to work.  Knock 'em dead, Jim."  
Blair winced.   "Oops, bad choice of words." 
 
Jim laughed.  "Perfect choice of words.  I'll see you later."  He gave Blair a 
last, brief kiss before heading down the stairs and out the door. 
 
Blair watched the door for a few moments, then, instead of getting back into 
bed, went downstairs and into his room for something.  Rummaging around next 
to the bed, he came up with a small, bound book and immediately went back 
upstairs.  Crawling back into the bed, he opened the journal and began to 
write. 
 
 
~~~~~ 
I can't say when everything began, I can only say where I am now, and where I 
plan to be.  The past is important, my immediate past even more so, but if I 
don't concentrate on my present alone I'm going to go crazy.  And that 
wickedly wonderful present includes an old friend, but a new lover.  Jim 
Ellison.  There's a lot of shit happening, too, but I'll write about that 
later.  Only the good stuff for now, the love and the caring and those secret 
feelings that come bubbling up every so often from inside me.  Half the time I 
don't even know what to do with them.  Sometimes I want to touch him so bad 
and sometimes even the barest caress feels awkward, as though maybe I want it 
too much and have this hidden guilt inside me for feeling that way.  Jim 
doesn't know I'm writing about this, not yet, and I don't know if I'll tell 
him for a while.  He'd understand, and he probably wouldn't be surprised in 
the least, but for now this has to be my space, and my space alone.  The bad 
stuff is coming to mind right now, so I'll leave things here.  I can write 
about that once it's dealt with, once it doesn't bring a stabbing ache to me 
when I think about it.  My neglected dissertation awaits, but I'll be back.  
Soon. 
~~~~~ 
 
He closed the book and ran a hand over the cover, tracing the patterns on it, 
becoming almost mesmerized by them.  He'd had it for a long time, tucked it 
away on countless trips all over the world and rarely did more than look at 
it.  Things always excited him, but never moved him the way this moved him.  
He smiled a bit sadly as he opened it up and realized that the last time he'd 
written in it, it had been about Maya. 
 
There were dozens of journals around his room that documented his travels; 
this was the only one that had a piece of his soul.  Closing it again, he went 
back downstairs to his own bedroom, and lovingly placed the journal on top of 
Jim's before lifting an intimidating pile of notes up off his desk and 
carrying them out into the kitchen to begin his work. 
 
<><><><><><><><><><> 
 
"Ellison, I need those forms filled out *yesterday*," barked Simon from his 
office door.  "Where are they?" 
 
"I don't have them, sir." 
 
"What?" 
 
"I don't have the requisition *or* the incident report forms.  You haven't 
gotten them to me yet." 
 
"Well, why the hell not?" said Simon before slamming his office door, him on 
the inside. 
 
Brown raised his head from the papers he was reading and mouthed "PMS."  Jim 
couldn't help but laugh, and Brown looked pleased with himself.  "Are the Jags 
on a losing streak or something?" 
 
"I think he had money on last night's game," said Jim with a bit of a smirk.  
"Found anything?"  Jim's eyes were still on his computer screen as he scrolled 
through page after page of nothing--personnel reports on their suspects, 
financial transactions, phone lists.  Hell, next thing they knew, they were 
going to be looking at grade school report cards.  Nothing was fitting.  Jim 
didn't really expect it to, but there was procedure to be followed when a case 
seemed to be at a dead end and they were following it to the letter. 
 
Brown threw his pen down.  "Is it lunchtime yet?" 
 
Jim didn't have a chance to answer him after taking a glance at his watch; 
Meyers came up to the desk and slammed his hand down.   
 
"My doesn't *this* look cozy!"  He lowered his voice to a hiss.  "You Jim's 
new boy toy?" 
 
Brown looked him right in the eye.  "Nah, I'm not pretty enough.  Maybe if I 
grew my hair out a little, though...."  Jim tried not to snicker and failed. 
 
"Fag." 
 
"Yeah, like I haven't heard *that* one lately," said Jim.  "Aren't you late 
for your lobotomy or something?"  Meyers snorted and Jim thought about adding 
something to that, but the ringing phone distracted him.  As Meyers stormed 
off looking angry and wounded, Brown picked up the phone. 
 
"Hello?...yeah...where? when?...uh huh...uh huh...absolutely...all right... 
thank you."  He hung up the phone and looked briefly at Meyers' still-
departing form before looking at Jim. 
 
"Who was that?" 
 
"Lee Hardin...he's guarding at the Downey place.  They say there was someone 
lurking there for a little bit last night; they're faxing over the report 
now." 
 
"Damn." 
 
"Damn?" 
 
"I wanted to see the scene," explained Jim shortly. 
 
"Well, look, Jim, it's not like we're doing anything here that can't wait an 
hour or three.  If you're so hot to get over there, then let's go." 
 
Jim shook his head, realizing that he didn't really have a good explanation 
for why he couldn't go without Blair.   
 
"It must have been hours ago.  Why are we only hearing about it now?" 
 
"Well, they didn't find anyone, and didn't find anything left behind.  For all 
they knew, it could have been a neighborhood kid checking out why the cops 
were there.  You know how people are, man." 
 
//Maybe I should still go.  I don't need to go far under just to do an 
examination of the scene.  I'm not going to zone out.//  "Yeah, then, why 
don't we stop by and then head to lunch." 
 
"I'm *in*," said Brown with a grin, closing everything up.  "Let's get out of 
here.  It's so *stale* in here, know what I mean?" 
 
"Yes," said Jim.  "Yes, I do."   
 
Picking his jacket off the back of his chair, he led the way out. 
 
<><><><><><><><><><> 
 
The house was on a shadowy street just far enough away from downtown to have 
trees lining it and children playing outside in the neighborhood.  There was 
no mob at the scene this time--just a single officer indoors without even a 
patrol car to show for it.  They looked up and down the walk and around the 
edge of the house before anything else. 
 
The officer who called in the prowler came outside to greet them.  "Hi," he 
said.  "Jason Hutchinson.  You're the pair from Major Crime?" 
 
Brown stood up from where he'd been crouching and offered his hand. 
 
"I'm Detective Brown," he said, "and this is Detective Ellison." 
 
The young officer raised an eyebrow.  "You're Ellison?" 
 
"The one and only," said Brown with a grin as Jim offered his own hand.  It 
was a tense moment before it was taken and shook with the same respect and 
camaraderie given Brown. 
 
"Is this the window?" asked Jim, gesturing towards the side of the house. 
 
Hutchinson followed the gesture.  "Yeah, that's the one.  I wish I'd seen more 
but it was barely a shadow and as far as I can tell, it never came back.  
Whoever or whatever it was." 
 
"Thanks."  Jim's manner was brisk, bordering on rude, but Hutchinson didn't 
seem to take offense. 
 
"I'll be back inside if you two need anything."  He waited for both of them to 
acknowledge that they'd heard, then left through the back gate and reentered 
the house. 
 
Brown waited until he heard the door slam shut before he said anything. 
 
"Just let it go, man," he said quietly.  "You're letting it get to you; you 
can't go your job that way." 
 
"I can't help it," said Jim.  "You wouldn't understand." 
 
"Wouldn't I, Ellison?" Brown challenged him.  "Do you know how many people at 
the precinct still look down on me because I'm *black*?  You just live with 
it...and try not to bloody any noses when the urge comes upon you.  You're 
better then that." 
 
Jim pondered that one in silence, and was a bit embarrassed to find that he 
almost liked it better when he could believe that he was the only one to 
suffer under the weight of prejudice.  It made his own reactions more 
palatable, at least to him.  He didn't like that rage inside himself, and 
wanted to have a reason for it.  An excuse. 
 
"I hope so," he said finally, looking Brown in the eye and smiling a little. 
 
"We'll have to share stories some night after a few beers," he said 
companionably.  "In the meantime, we have a killer to catch...and believe it 
or not, I want him locked away as much as you do." 
 
It wasn't so hard to believe, not when he was a detective himself, and knew 
that driving need to get the criminal element off the streets.  It was as 
strong as any personal vendetta and, in the end, more satisfying. 
 
Jim crouched down next to the window and began examining the wall, the ground, 
the plants, the smell that wafted off of them, the sounds the leaves made as 
they scraped against the siding in the gentle breeze... 
 
 
"Jim?  Jim, man, you with me?  Jim!" 
 
Jim blinked his eyes and looked at his friend.   "Yeah?" 
 
"You were *gone*, Jim.  Hope it was damn interesting." 
 
He shook his head in frustration.  //Damn, damn, damn.//  "Not a thing to 
find...guess I was concentrating pretty hard, huh?  No, there's nothing here."  
Jim stood up from where he had been examining under the foliage at the edge of 
the house.  "We may as well get some lunch." 
 
"Now wait a second here.  Are you sure you're all right?  You don't have any 
kind of medical condition I don't know about?"  Brown looked genuinely 
concerned. 
 
"No, no," said Jim, his mind scrambling for an explanation.  "I guess I'm 
still a little preoccupied, with everything.  It won't happen again." 
 
"Yeah, sure," said Brown, looking dubious.  "It's gotta be getting to you.  He 
clapped a hand on Jim's shoulder.  "Let's get something to eat, then slog 
through some more papers this afternoon." 
 
"Um, I was thinking about heading back to my loft for lunch, checking on 
Blair," admitted Jim. 
 
"Oh.  Well, do you want to go pick up your truck at the station, then?" 
 
"You're, um, welcome to come eat with us.  That is, if that won't be a 
problem..." 
 
"After what I've been through with you the last couple of days?  Trust me, if 
I'd had a problem you would have known it *long* before this, Jim." 
 
Jim smiled.  "Why don't we head over there, then.  I'm starved." 
 
Brown shook his head ruefully.   
 
"You aren't the only one, man.  You might regret inviting me, I'm gonna eat 
you out of house and home." 
 
Jim gave him a grateful look.  "It would be worth it.  Thanks." 
 
"Hey, nothing to thank me for!  Let's go." 
 
<><><><><><><><><><> 
 
They listened to the sound of the wheels against the street for a while, a 
somewhat awkward silence falling over them.  Brown shifted restlessly, his 
eyes slipping to glance at Jim every so often. 
 
"I, uh, talked to Rafe last night," he said finally. 
 
No response. 
 
"He's been doing all right." 
 
Jim just grunted. 
 
Henri sighed.  "I'm sorry man.  I know what he did....but he's a friend, you 
know?" 
 
"Not mine," said Jim flatly, his eyes trained on the road. 
 
"I'm not excusing him." 
 
"I know." 
 
"But he's been my partner for a long time.  There's got to be some reason...I 
just wish I knew what..." 
 
"The only reason," said Jim icily, 'is homophobia and hate.  He sat there and 
*watched* them do it, H.  I can't forgive that." 
 
Brown shook his head.  "I know, man.  I know.  It's just not so easy..." 
 
"If it were you, it would be," he replied. 
 
Silence descended again, and neither man looked at the other. 
 
"I'm sorry," said Henri finally.  "I just wanted to get it out in the open, 
man.  Because having it hanging there...it was in the way.  You know?" 
 
"I know," said Jim.  "Maybe a couple months from now I'll even be able to talk 
about it."  Knowing *Henri* needed to talk about it didn't even matter.  He 
couldn't, not with any semblance of reason.  The hurt was still too fresh. 
 
"All right," said Brown.  "That's all we need to say for now, then."  Just 
when the silence began to return, Brown's stomach rumbled noisily and Jim had 
to chuckle a bit. 
 
"I'd say lunch is calling," he said.  "We're almost there." 
 
Jim never did look at him. 
 
<><><><><><><><><><> 
 
Blair heard the door open and turned around, peering over the railing to see 
who was there.  He hadn't been expecting to see Jim until that evening at the 
earliest; seeing that he wasn't alone was just a mixed blessing.   
 
"Jim?" he called down. 
 
Jim looked at the wide expanse of papers spilling off the edges of the table, 
then looked up at his roommate.   
 
"Hey, Chief, we're just here for some lunch.  You doing all right?" 
 
"I'm doing fine, Jim.  You didn't need to be checking up on me." 
 
"I'm not checking up on you.  I'm hungry." 
 
Blair grinned.  "I'll be right down."  He pulled on his sweatpants and grabbed 
one of Jim's t-shirts out of the drawer.  It was a little big, but not so much 
that he was swimming in it.  It was actually a rather comfortable size.  The 
bandages that circled his arm were clearly visible, but a clean, bloodless 
white.  For once, seeing them didn't throw him into a brief, terrifying 
flashback. 
 
He took the stairs quickly, then strolled confidently into the kitchen to 
greet Jim.   
 
"How's *your* day going?" 
 
"Long," interrupted Brown.  "Very long.  How're you doing, Hairboy?" 
 
Blair shrugged.  "I'm doing all right.  You guys waiting for me to make you 
lunch or something?"   
 
Brown looked faintly embarrassed. "Well, uh..." 
 
Blair rolled his eyes and dug around in the fridge, pulling out a tomato and 
some only-slightly-wilted lettuce.   
 
"Uh, Jim?  We are, like, *desperately* in need of some groceries.  I can make 
you some sandwiches, though." 
 
"That'll do," said Jim.  "Let me give you a hand there.  You think we should 
skip that dinner tonight and do some shopping instead?" 
 
Blair considered that for a moment.  "No," he said finally.  "I don't think I 
want to miss that dinner for anything.  I've been looking forward to it all 
morning.  But hey, our grocery store is open to eleven...we can go afterwards.  
You shouldn't shop on an empty stomach anyway, Jim." 
 
Jim cut off the lecture with a kiss.  "Did you get much done?" 
 
Both were aware of the fact that Henri had backed away and sat down at the 
table, watching them.  Both were also a little hesitant, their kiss fleeting, 
but their banter comfortable and natural.  Blair didn't answer Jim's question, 
instead looking at him with a steady gaze.   
 
"I won't let them make me afraid," he said quietly, then kissed him again.  
Despite his declaration, Jim could feel the minute trembles that wracked 
Blair's body.  He caressed his lover's shoulders comfortingly, then went about 
putting the sandwiches together. 
 
"No, I didn't get much done," answered Blair finally.  "I'm just so damn 
tired.  Maybe this afternoon..." 
 
"Don't push yourself too hard.  Your body's healing, you're *supposed* to be 
tired.  Remember when you were shot...?" 
 
"Yeah," said Blair.  "How could I forget *that*?" 
 
"Well, you slept for a week.  I rest my case.  Henri, sandwiches are okay, 
right?" 
 
"Huh?  Oh, yeah, of course, sandwiches are fine with me.  Need my help with 
anything?"  He didn't look particularly anxious to get up, but the offer was 
sincere. 
 
"No, we're fine," said Blair.  It took longer than might be expected, but only 
because Blair and Jim paused at random moments to touch, or kiss, or just 
look.  Henri felt a bit awkward at first--he'd known these guys for a couple 
of years now, and seeing...*this*...was a bit of an eye-opener--but as the 
minutes passed, it just seemed more and more natural.  Not that he suddenly 
felt like he'd be seeing it all his life...more like he thought that he should 
have been. 
 
Jim set down a plate in front of him.  "How many more dead ends can we 
possibly hit in one day?" he asked, shaking his head ruefully. 
 
"Do *not* say that.  You *know* what happens when someone says that."  Brown 
took a bite of his sandwich as his eyes scolded Jim.  "We'll get back to the 
station and...all the papers will be gone.  Or your computer will have 
crashed.  Or something." 
 
"Do not even *joke* about computer crashes," said Blair, sitting down at the 
table.  Brown noticed that he ate awkwardly, first trying to lift the food 
with his injured arm, then remembering to switch. "They are the bane of 
students worldwide." 
 
Brown nodded.  "And there's no way I'm letting you out of the precinct again, 
Jim.  Not after what happened at the Downey place.  You sure that was 
nothing?" 
 
Blair stopped in mid-chew and looked at Jim with wide eyes.  Jim bit back a 
curse.   
 
"Yeah, I'm sure it was nothing."  His eyes were locked with Blair's, and the 
younger man was looking increasingly suspicious.  "I'm *positive* it was 
nothing," he repeated emphatically. 
 
Blair gave him a last, lingering look, then chewed, swallowed, and stood up.   
 
"Henri, if you'll excuse us for a moment, Jim and I have something to 
discuss."  Brown's expression was a study in confusion, but still he nodded.  
Jim groaned as he stood up to follow Blair into his bedroom. 
 
"What the hell is going on, Jim?"  he asked, both angry and afraid. 
 
"Nothing," said Jim, raising his hand and rubbing his temple as though he felt 
a monster headache coming on.  "They spotted someone prowling around on of the 
places we have officers stationed at.  I went to check out the scene...had a 
little bit of a zone-out, I guess." 
 
"Oh *man*, I though we had those under control," said Blair, agitated.  "Tell 
me exactly what happened." 
 
"Blair, you don't need to worry.  I was just a little overfocused...I didn't 
go too far under or anything.  Henri shook my shoulder and I was out of it 
like that." 
 
"And what if he hadn't?  Jim, that's dangerous.  You haven't had a zone-out in 
a long time, why do you think...?" 
 
"I don't know," interrupted Jim.  "Stress?" 
 
"Yeah, I guess.  You've got to be careful, Jim.  On top of everything 
else...well, you know what I'm getting at.  I can't be there with you right 
now; you've got to watch out for yourself." 
 
"Henri's a good man.  He's watching out for me." 
 
"But he doesn't know about your *senses*, man," he protested, tapping Jim's 
chest with both hands.  "And *that's* the problem.  How are you gonna explain 
it if you suddenly go under and he has to deck you to get you out of it?  For 
that matter, how *are* you explaining it?" 
 
"I told him I was just a little distracted lately.  It's the truth." 
 
"You can't use that as an excuse forever.  Neither of us can."  Jim leaned 
over to kiss him, but Blair backed away.  "Not now, Jim, I'm not in the mood.  
Now what are we going to *do* about this?" 
 
"Blair, there's nothing to worry about.  Henri's taking me back to the station 
where we're going to sit with a pot of coffee and go through reams of 
information on our suspects while fending off bigots who, I swear, don't have 
two brain cells to rub together.  And then I will come home, and we will go 
out for dinner, and if you are *still* worried, *then* we can talk." 
 
Blair shook his head.  "And what if that's too late?" 
 
"It won't be.  I give you my word that we won't go out again." 
 
"You can't *do* that, Jim.  You can't know what's going to happen." 
 
"Well...I can't stay here, and you can't come in, so where does that leave 
us?" 
 
Blair just crossed his arms over his chest and looked thoughtful.  Then, 
without a word, he left the room and walked back over to the table where Henri 
was still sitting.   
 
"All right," he said.  "If something like that happens again, and Jim seems 
like he's too focused, just shake his shoulder and call his name.  If that 
doesn't work, *call me*.  All right?" 
 
"Yeah, sure," said Brown.  "Mind telling me what's going on?" 
 
Blair looked back at Jim, behind him, who just shrugged.   
 
"I can't really explain it," he replied.  "Jim gets a little overfocused when 
he's under a lot of stress.  It's no big deal, just watch out for him." 
 
"Sure, I'm *thrilled* to be Ellison's babysitter," said Brown, but his grin 
showed he was teasing. 
 
"Listen," said Jim testily.  "This isn't something you need to be discussing 
with anyone, all right?" 
 
Brown saw the severity in his expression and nodded.   
 
"Of course.  Say, you got any more bread?  I'm gonna make myself another one 
of these." 
 
"On the counter," said Blair with a sigh of relief.  "Help yourself.  You want 
anything to drink?" 
 
"I know where to find it," Brown replied, his head already in the fridge. 
 
Standing behind Blair, Jim carefully laid his hands on his shoulders.  "Feel 
better?" 
 
"A little," said Blair, leaning back against his lover.  Jim's arms came 
around him in a loose embrace.  "I'm your Guide; I'm supposed to worry about 
this." 
 
"Not right now, you're not," he said decisively.  "You have enough to worry 
about without adding my senses to the list.  Hell, so do I.  Don't give it 
another thought.  The most excitement I'm likely to see this afternoon is 
another idiot commenting on...well, you know." 
 
"Do I ever.  I haven't checked the messages yet, by the way.  You might want 
to do that before the answering machine commits suicide on us." 
 
"Let it," said Jim.  "Brown and I have got to get a move on anyway." 
 
"All right," said Blair.  "I guess I'll see you later." 
 
"You get lots done on your dissertation this afternoon," said Jim.  "Hey, 
Henri, better make that one to go, we've got a bit of a drive ahead of us to 
get back in good time." 
 
"Yeah, sure," mumbled Brown, slapping his sandwich together.  "I'm ready 
whenever you are." 
 
This time, when Jim turned Blair around to give him a kiss, the other man 
didn't pull away.   
 
"I'll see you later.  Take care of yourself." 
 
"You, too," said Blair, sitting down to finish his lunch as the two detectives 
raced off to make it back to the station.  Once they were gone, he left the 
remains of his sandwich on the table and went into the living room to pick up 
the phone.  He punched in the number from memory and waited. 
 
"Banks." 
 
"Uh, hi Simon.  It's Blair." 
 
"Sandburg?  Something wrong?  Jim's not in right now..." 
 
"No, no, Jim just left here. He came by for lunch.  I, uh, wanted to ask for a 
bit of a favor."  He chewed on his lip a little while he waited for an answer.  
He hadn't talked to Simon in a couple of days, not since it had happened, and 
didn't know quite where the captain stood on everything. 
 
"What kind of a favor?" 
 
"It's Jim...he had a zone-out this morning, Simon.  And I need someone to keep 
an eye on him who knows what the deal with him is." 
 
"What do you mean by zone-out?  How did he get out of it if you weren't 
there?" 
 
"Brown was there.  He still doesn't know what it was, and we aren't planning 
on telling him.  I just need to know that he's going to be all right if I'm 
not there.  I don't know, maybe I *should* be there..." 
 
Simon paused.  "I can't say I'd recommend that, Sandburg.  Maybe in a few 
days, when things cool off.  Jim's getting a hard enough time as it is." 
 
"What *kind* of a hard time?" asked Blair urgently. 
 
"Nothing you need to worry about.  People are just saying things, that's all.  
Look, I'll do what I can to make sure Jim stays safe, I just want you taking 
care of *yourself*.  I heard what happened...are you all right?" 
 
"You heard...? Yeah, I'm okay." 
 
"Good to hear.  Was there anything else?" 
 
"No, no, that was it," said Blair.  "I guess I'll see you soon." 
 
"Good-bye, Sandburg." 
 
"Bye."  Blair hung up the phone and went back into the kitchen, sitting down 
at the cluttered table with his laptop and his reams of notes.  There was 
nothing left that he could do now but wait. 
 
<><><><><><><><><><> 
 
Six hours and a quite a few thousand keystrokes later, Blair heard Jim's key 
scratching at the front door and got up to flip the deadbolt.   
 
"Hey," he said mildly, pulling the door open. 
 
"Hey, yourself," said Jim.  He looked around reflexively, saw the haphazard 
piles of notes around Blair's laptop, and smiled.  "Productive afternoon?" 
 
"Yeah, I guess," he said, a bit dejectedly.  "It's all coming together." 
 
"Whoa, what's with the long face?  This is a good thing, isn't it?" 
 
"Yeah, of course.  I think I'm still a little down, I guess.  I hate things 
coming to an end, you know?  Once I finish this...I'm done.  That's it." 
 
"Whoa-ho.  You don't really believe that, do you?  Aren't you the guy that 
told me he has enough material in me to keep his career going for a good 
thirty years?" 
 
"Yeah," admitted Blair. 
 
"Chin up; let's go for that dinner.  We can talk about it then, if you'd 
like." 
 
"I'm not even sure what I need to talk about, Jim, but dinner sounds good."  
Going back to the table, he shut the laptop down and closed it, standing and 
stretching out a little. 
 
"Sore?" 
 
"Everywhere," he admitted.  "A couple more days and it'll feel fine, though.  
We should get going; we're already running a little further behind than I 
thought we'd be." 
 
"Yeah, I'm sorry about that," said Jim.  "We managed to get a psych consult on 
the case.  Give us more of an idea where we're going with this one." 
 
"I thought you didn't like that kinda outside influence, Jim," commented Blair 
as he picked up his coat from by the door. 
 
"We can use anything we can get.  It's just so...random.  Well, not random, 
just--because of circumstances, even someone who might not normally have done 
this could have been driven to.  There are too many people with not enough 
evidence, and we're getting nowhere." 
 
"That sucks," said Blair, without his usual enthusiasm or energy.  Then, 
suddenly, he smiled and took a few steps forward to kiss Jim.  "You know," he 
said, "sometimes I'll just be doing nothing, or feeling bad, or thinking about 
something else entirely, and then suddenly you'll be there in my head.  And I 
feel all this...stuff...like a wave going through me.  And it feels so good."  
He paused, the bright smile still on his face.  "I'm glad we're together, you 
know." 
 
Jim could do nothing more than reach out and hold him.   
 
"Me too," he whispered.  "Me too."  They stood there like that for a long 
time, just holding and breathing and thinking about nothing but the other. 
 
Until Jim's stomach rumbled. 
 
They pulled apart, laughing.  "Okay," said Blair.  "Now we've *really* got to 
get going.  Especially if we want to get any shopping done after dinner."  Jim 
agreed, and they were on their way downstairs to the truck within moments. 
 
<><><><><><><><><><><> 
 
The restaurant was dimly lit and sparsely populated, despite Blair's dire 
predictions.  They were seated quickly at a nice table near the wall, lit with 
a bowl candle in the center of the table.  Soon they had picked out their food 
and were waiting for their heaping plates of meats and vegetables to be 
delivered to the table.  Jim reached out and held his hand open, as though 
waiting for Blair to entwine their fingers.  After a moment, he did. 
 
"You sure this is such a good idea?" 
 
"What does it matter, now?" he asked, but after a lazy moment just looking at 
his lover, he pulled his arm back again.  "Oh God..." he said, spotting 
something somewhere past Blair. 
 
"What, what is it?" he asked, looking around nervously.  Jim could hear his 
pulse begin to race. 
 
"Nothing you need to worry about," said Jim, beginning to get up out of his 
seat. 
 
"Jim?"  Blair swiveled in his seat again to try and see what was going on.  
This time he spied the camera crew making their way towards them.  "Oh, man," 
he said.  "This is just *too* much." 
 
"Detective Ellison, I'm Gerri Hicks from Channel 27 news.  Can we ask you a 
few questions?" 
 
"You had better have a damn good reason for interrupting my dinner," he said 
angrily. 
 
"Detective, just a few short months ago you were named Cascade's Officer of 
the Year.  Now you're in the news for a whole new reason..." 
 
"No, you listen to me," said Jim, pointing a finger at them.  "You want an 
interview, then fine.  You'll get your damn interview.  But at least have the 
common courtesy to wait until I'm finished eating.  It's just inexcusably rude 
to interrupt my meal, as well as the meals of everyone else in here.  Is that 
clear?"  There was a smattering of applause around the restaurant from people 
who were within earshot. 
 
"This will only take a couple of minutes..." 
 
"Out," said Jim with finality, crossing his arms over his chest in an 
unconscious imitation of his Captain.  Gerri tried to stare him down, but was 
utterly unsuccessful.   
 
"I'll catch up with you later, detective," she said, smiling sweetly and 
ushering her cameraman out of the restaurant.  After watching her leave, Jim 
sat back down at the table. 
 
"That just sucked," mumbled Blair into his waterglass. 
 
"Yeah," agreed Jim.  "But what do you do?" 
 
"You really gonna give 'em an interview after that?" 
 
Jim shrugged.  "I don't know.  Maybe.  Feels like sooner or later I'm going to 
have to, and I think I'm starting to have something to say.  They're going to 
print stories regardless; why shouldn't I have some sort of say in it?"  He 
was interrupted by their meals, steaming plates heaped with food.  "Blair, 
this looks *great*." 
 
"Boy was I right about this place.  I'm starved."  Jim watched Blair dig into 
his food for a moment, happy to see his appetite return.  Pretty soon, 
everything else might get back to normal too.  Or as normal as things were 
ever going to be. 
 
"Did you find time to put together a grocery list?" asked Jim as he began to 
eat his own meal. 
 
Blair nodded, his mouth full.  A moment later, he was able to answer.   
 
"Yeah, I scribbled something down.  It's in my pocket.  I figured we'd earned 
the right to pick up a few impulse items, too..." 
 
"Hey, if we haven't earned that right, then what's it all been for?" teased 
Jim.  His food was quickly disappearing; Blair wasn't the only one whose 
appetite was reemerging.  "Listen, Blair, I was thinking..."  Blair lifted an 
eyebrow as he chewed.  "With, you know, everything...we haven't really had a 
chance to talk about *us*.  At least, not without the other stuff getting in 
the way." 
 
Blair nodded thoughtfully.  "It's not exactly getting in the way, Jim.  It's 
just *there*, and it's not going anywhere either." 
 
"You know what I'm saying, don't you?" 
 
Blair smiled.  "Yeah, I think it's time we talked about us again.  Now that I 
can at least *think* about us again without remembering the rest of it, too." 
 
"But not here," said Jim, cleaning off his plate.  "Later." 
 
"At home," agreed Blair.  "With a blazing fire and a cup of tea and *no* 
distractions." 
 
"Besides each other," amended Jim with a gentle smile.  Seeing Blair finishing 
off his own meal, Jim dropped some money on the table and tilted his head 
towards the door.  "Why don't we get out of here before the press hounds make 
a return visit?" 
 
"Sounds like a plan to me."  Blair stood up with Jim and they made their way 
out the back doors of the restaurant.  They halted halfway to the truck. 
 
"Well, shit," muttered Jim angrily, suddenly starting off again towards his 
vehicle where Gerri Hicks and her cameraman had been camping out, waiting for 
them.  "What is it you want from me?" he asked her brusquely. 
 
"Just a few words," she said brightly.  "That's all we need.  Believe it or 
not, Detective Ellison, we're on your side." 
 
"If you were on my side," he muttered, "you'd let us live our life in peace."  
Blair had caught up with him by this time and stood by his side. 
 
"Okay, roll," she said.  "Detective, considering the events of the past couple 
of days, how has your life changed?" 
 
Jim sighed.  "My life hasn't changed, only the way people see it.  I still do 
my job and eat my dinner and do hundreds of other things that everyone else in 
this city does every day.  It doesn't change anything that the person I choose 
to be with is a man and not a woman." 
 
"And what about the murders?" 
 
"You'll have to talk to the investigating officer about that," said Jim, back 
on familiar territory. 
 
"But you do know something about the case, considering how closely you're 
related to it...?" 
 
"I don't have anything to say on that subject, and I believe this interview is 
over.  Chief?" he said, holding out his arm to his partner.  "Let's go get the 
shopping done.  If you'll excuse us?"  Gerri wisely backed away, though she 
kept the camera rolling until the two men had driven out of sight. 
 
<><><><><><><><><><><> 
 
Grocery shopping took over an hour, and when they were finally done, they had 
a half dozen bags to haul back out to the truck.  Of course, the grape fight 
in the produce department hadn't sped things up any, and neither had their 
age-old coffee versus tea argument, but in the end, they had both walked away 
in good cheer. 
 
"Last one," said Blair, dropping the bag on the table.  Jim had already 
started putting things away, and Blair watched him with a bit of an amused 
grin.  He'd always been entertained by Jim's neatness fetish.  "You need any 
help?" 
 
"I think I've got things under control," he said.  "You shouldn't have been 
carrying anything...how's the arm?" 
 
"The arm is fine, Jim," he said, rolling his eyes.  "It's as fine as it was 
half an hour ago, the last time you asked." 
 
"Can you blame me for asking?" 
 
"If you stopped asking, maybe I'd stop thinking about it." 
 
Jim looked him over with a slightly worried eye, but didn't ask him again.  
The groceries didn't take long to put away; it took longer to clean out 
everything in the fridge that had gone slightly bad.   
 
"Do you want to put some tea on?" 
 
"Not just yet," said Blair, taking his hand.  "There's somewhere I think we 
should go first." 
 
"Go?" asked Jim, puzzled.  "But we just got back." 
 
"I meant upstairs, Jim.  On the roof.  It's a beautiful night; we should take 
advantage of it." 
 
Jim remembered the last time they'd been up there.  Had it really only been 
about three nights ago?  They'd lived forever in less than a week, it seemed.  
Twice forever.   
 
"You're right; we should." 
 
"Don't worry," said Blair quietly.  "I'm remembering, too."  He held out his 
hand to Jim and together they left the apartment. 
 
<><><><><><><><><><> 
 
There was a cool breeze blowing across the rooftop, but it was more of a 
caress than a distraction.  Jim was lying on his back on the pebbled roof 
while Blair sat next to him, sometimes playing with his hair and sometimes 
just looking at him. 
 
"So what are we?"  
 
"What do you feel like we are?" 
 
"I'm not looking for riddles, Jim.  I think we're lovers.  Partners.  Friends.  
Pretty much everything to one another." 
 
"So why did you ask?" 
 
"Because I wanted to know what you would say." 
 
"Ah.  Blair, you're...when we first got together, I knew that I was in love 
with you.  But now...my God, the things you've gone through for me, the things 
you've done.  Even when you're upset and afraid...  Blair, I don't think I 
could ever stop loving you now.  You're my whole world." 
 
Blair exhaled softly.  "Wow." 
 
"I mean it.  You are."  Jim leaned up on one elbow and looked at him 
earnestly.  "I don't know how I'd have coped with it without you." 
 
Blair leaned forward and kissed him softly, then deepened that kiss.   
 
"So this is permanent, huh."  It wasn't a question, it was a revelation. 
 
"Yeah," breathed Jim, waiting for another kiss.  He wasn't disappointed.  
Blair's lips descended to touch his over and over again, parting just enough 
that he got a taste of the moisture within.  For most of his life, the kiss 
had been just the beginning of something else, but Blair's kisses were a whole 
experience in themselves.  "I don't want to ever lose you." 
 
"You're not going to.  I've come this far, and I want to take it all the way.  
'Til death us do part, Jim." 
 
"'Til death us do part," he whispered in agreement, stealing another kiss.  
And another.  Blair continued to give them freely, his fingers brushing along 
Jim's hairline then caressing his cheek. 
 
"So what happens now?" 
 
"I don't know," admitted Jim.  "I guess we play it by ear.  Do whatever feels 
natural, or feels right.  It'll be easier for us, when this case is over, when 
there isn't a constant reminder over our heads." 
 
"You know, maybe that reminder doesn't have to be such a bad thing.  It's not 
like it's a lie, Jim--we *are* together.  We *are* lovers." 
 
"Blair, you can't tell me you're ready to declare that to anyone who sticks a 
camera in your face, to everyone who walks up to you on the streets, even to 
every person you already know." 
 
"No," said Blair.  "No, I guess I'm not, but the shock is fading...it's not 
like a monster looming over us anymore." 
 
"No monster, but still looming, I'm afraid." 
 
Blair smiled.  "When I stepped out of my closet, I evicted all the monsters, 
too." 
 
Jim laughed and held out his hand to Blair, who stretched out along the 
rooftop next to him and looked up at the stars.  Jim's arm cradled his body 
carefully, not letting the bruised bits press against the hard roof.   
 
"Pretty nice night." 
 
"Yeah," smiled Blair.  "It is, isn't it.  You know, it's awfully convenient 
that I already live with you..." 
 
Jim snickered.  "Yeah, you say that *now*, when we're in that whole 'first 
blush of true love' sort of thing.  Wait a month." 
 
"Shush, I'm finally able to enjoy this.  Let me."  Blair snuggled in closer 
and Jim began running his fingers up and down Blair's good arm.  "Feels nice," 
he murmured, a little drowsily. 
 
//He's healing,// Jim told himself.  //Don't begrudge him his rest.  And if 
you'll admit it, you're healing too.//  Jim really didn't want to admit how 
much he had been torn to pieces, and how much work was going to have to go 
into rebuilding his relationships.  On the outside, things would get back to 
normal.  On the inside, it was a long road ahead. 
 
Blair mumbled something that Jim couldn't decipher, then his eyes fluttered 
shut and he fell deeper into sleep.  Jim continued to lie there, looking up at 
the sky and holding his lover in his arms.  For a moment, it was perfect.  
Then the breeze picked up, and he felt the prickle of goosebumps on Blair's 
arm.  With a wholly content sigh, he got to his feet and picked up his partner 
to carry him back into their apartment. 
 
Grunting slightly, he managed to free a hand to open the apartment door, 
handling Blair a little indelicately.  Dead weight was hard to manage, no 
matter how pretty a package it came in.  Glancing briefly at the couch, and 
not at all at the downstairs bedroom, he carried him up the stairs to his loft 
and lay him gently on the bed. 
 
"Blair," he said aloud, savoring the name for a moment, his mouth twisting 
into a smile.  Carefully, he pulled Blair's shirt off over his head and lay it 
beside the bed.  The bruises on his torso were still an angry purple, but they 
were beginning to yellow at the edges.  Not as fresh as they had once been, 
but still vicious.  Jim winced in sympathy. 
 
He took off Blair's pants and socks with the same care, laying them down as 
well, and pulled the covers overtop of him.  Stripping quickly, he crawled in 
beside him and curled up next to his lover again.  His hand brushed over one 
of the bruises on Blair's side, his sensitive fingertips picking up the 
swelling without seeing it.  Careful not to hurt him, he moved his hand away 
and rested it against smooth skin while burying his face in Blair's neck.  
Even so, Blair moaned in his sleep. 
 
<><><><><><><><><><> 
 
"Blair.  Honey.  You've got to let me go."  Jim lifted Blair's arm off of him 
and tried to get out of the bed. 
 
"Nooo, just a few more minutes," whined Blair, but his grip on his lover 
wasn't strong enough and Jim slipped out of his grasp. 
 
"Work," he said simply.  Blair moaned and flipped over onto his stomach, 
hiding his face in the pillow.  "I need to get washed."  When Blair didn't 
answer, Jim tied his robe tightly around his body.  He looked beautiful lying 
there.  He looked untouched.  Jim had to tear himself away to go downstairs 
and shower. 
 
They had made it though Day One.  Day One together of their life, their real 
life.  And Day One had turned out to be pretty damn good.  So why didn't he 
feel so good about the beginning of Day Two?  It wasn't Blair; there was just 
this *feeling*, deep in the pit of his stomach.  Like dread without the 
anxiety. 
 
Shaking it off, he got into a steaming hot shower and scrubbed himself down 
quickly.  He couldn't help fantasizing about what it would be like 
if...when...Blair joined him there.  His cock swelled, but he didn't give 
himself the satisfaction of doing anything about it.  Blair was upstairs and, 
right at the moment, Jim decided that his next time would be with him. 
 
He heard a shout from outside the bathroom and, without thinking, hopped out 
of the shower and raced towards it.  Blair was sitting bolt upright in the 
bed, the blankets pooled around his waist.  The hair at his forehead and 
temples was damp with sweat.   
 
"Blair?  Blair, what's wrong?" 
 
Blair looked at him, but his eyes didn't focus for a while.  "I'm sorry," he 
said.  "I didn't mean to scare you.  I just..."  Jim sat down on the edge of 
the bed, but didn't touch him.  "I just sort of remembered."  Jim let Blair be 
the one to reach out and touch him, gently, on the thigh. 
 
"It's okay.  It's all over."  Jim didn't know the right words to say to soothe 
him, if indeed he needed soothing.  Despite the physical evidence, Blair 
seemed as composed as he ever was. 
 
"Look at me, Jim.  It's not *over*." 
 
"You're beautiful.  And it *is* over, if you let it be." 
 
Blair sagged back onto the bed.  "Sometimes, it's really hard to let it."  
Smooth sailing was a myth; nothing was ever as easy as you thought it would be 
in the best of times.  "Guess it's my turn in the shower huh."  He rolled over 
and suddenly encountered Jim's sopping wet body.  "What the--?" 
 
Jim chuckled.  "Sorry," he said simply, standing up and leaving a huge wet 
spot on the bed.  He didn't seem to realize that he was standing there, naked, 
in front of Blair, and neither of them were bothered by it. 
 
"Oh, man, what a way to say good morning," muttered Blair, getting out of the 
bed on the other side, his back to his lover.  "You couldn't have grabbed a 
towel on your way or something?" 
 
"I was worried," said Jim, not letting Blair's attitude hurt him in the least.  
"I thought something was happening to you.  You're okay?" 
 
Blair paused.  "Yeah, I'm fine.  Just give me a minute to get dressed and I'll 
go down and make breakfast."  He didn't turn around, looking for his clothing.  
"Um, Jim?  Where are my pants?" 
 
Jim leaned over the bed and handed them to him.  "Right here.  I'm gonna go 
get that towel now," he added with a grin that Blair couldn't see.   
 
As he made his way down the stairs, Blair pulled on the sweatpants and 
rummaged through Jim's drawers for a comfortably oversized T-shirt--he still 
preferred loose clothing that wouldn't irritate his injuries, and probably 
would for a while. 
 
"Toast and eggs all right?" he asked as he hit the bottom of the stairs.  Jim 
emerged from the bathroom, nodding. 
 
"Sounds good." 
  
He didn't want to go in to work.  Every fiber of his being was telling him to 
turn around, spend the day with Blair, be somewhere else when it--whatever 
"it" might be--happened.  But years upon years of training kept him on his way 
there, despite what he, and his body, wanted. 
 
He supposed it was this residual feeling of dread, the knowledge that this day 
would hardly be any better than the last, and that whatever people were 
thinking about him yesterday, they were still thinking about him today.  
Nothing will have changed overnight, no matter what had happened between him 
and Blair, no matter what he had said to the press. 
 
It was an oppressive thought, but one he couldn't shake.  And so it was with 
that same heavy sense of impending doom that Jim drove to the station. 
 
<><><><><><><><><><> 
 
"Hey, Ellison, my man," said Brown with a broad smile as Jim walked through 
the bullpen. 
 
"What's with the good spirits?" he asked suspiciously.  "Did you get some last 
night or something?"  //Oh, yeah, smooth.// 
 
"Looks like we might have this case in the bag," he said without resorting to 
the cheap shot he could have.  He waved a file in Jim's face.  "Sit down."   
 
Jim hung up his things carefully before sitting down, leaving Brown 
frustratedly shifting his weight every few moments.   
 
"'Bout five o'clock this morning," he said when Jim was finally attentive, 
"they got a call in downstairs about an armed b&e and robbery.  They picked up 
the guy and when they ran his name through the computer, they flagged this." 
 
Jim looked at the information in front of him.   
 
"Clark Rose."  He looked up.  "He was on our list." 
 
"Exactly, man," said Brown triumphantly.  "I think a little questioning is in 
order; it looks like we might have our man." 
 
Jim breathed a sigh of relief and finally smiled.   
 
"H, I don't think you could have given me better news."  Standing up, he 
gestured towards the elevator.  "Let's get this over with." 
 
"My pleasure." 
 
<><><><><><><><><><> 
 
They sat in an interrogation room, across from a very uncommunicative man in 
his early thirties, regional chairperson for a large national charity.  Last 
year he'd been awarded the city's humanitarian award for his work; now he was 
here. 
 
"You two again," he said bitterly. 
 
Jim didn't want to lay into him, but what this guy had done was just 
atrocious.  Brown took the lead.   
 
"Yeah, us again.  Got something you want to tell us this time?" 
 
"I didn't do it." 
 
"Yeah?  Well let me remind you just why you were picked up today."  Brown 
looked at his notes.  "Let's see, first you smashed out the rear window of the 
store, then you pulled out a loaded gun and went inside, then--" 
 
"Yeah, I know what I did, and I know what I *didn't* do.  And I didn't kill 
anyone."  He looked tired.  No, more than that, he looked like he'd aged a few 
years just in the couple days since they'd seen him.  "I just can't believe 
all this is happening." 
 
"Hey, buddy," said Brown angrily, "you're the one who--"  Taking a deep 
breath, he calmed himself down.  Some suspects would only respond to threats, 
some would only respond to a quieter atmosphere.  It was all too easy to just 
threaten everyone to try and get what you wanted. 
 
Rose shook his head angrily.   
 
"I don't care what you *think*," he said.  "I didn't do it.  What kind of 
monster do you think I am?"  Brown caught Jim's eye and Jim nodded slightly.  
"What?  What are you thinking?" 
 
"We're gonna give you some time to think about it," said Brown succinctly.  
"Things go a *lot* smoother when you confess, you know.  Hell, they might even 
knock a year or two off your sentence." 
 
Rose jumped to his feet.  "Hey, I said I didn't do it!" 
 
Jim left the room, but Brown turned back for a moment.   
 
"Just think about it," he repeated. 
 
 
"What do you think?" asked Jim when they had left and the duty guard had gone 
back in to retrieve the suspect. 
 
"Book him and let a jury decide," he said.  "I'm ninety-nine percent sure he's 
the one."  Jim nodded.  He'd stayed quiet in there and monitored Clark's 
responses.  If he was innocent, he was the most nervous innocent man Jim had 
ever met.  "Feels good, doesn't it." 
 
Jim didn't answer.  Yeah, sure, it felt good, but all his problems hadn't been 
miraculously solved just because the case was over.  At least now, though, he 
might be able to extract himself from the media circus a little more.   
 
"Tell me again how many forms there are to fill out when charging a prisoner 
already in the custody of another department...?"  asked Henri, to break the 
silence. 
 
They looked at one another and groaned. 
 
"Hey, Jim!"  Jim heard Michael's voice behind them and turned.  "Jim, can I 
talk to you for a sec?" 
 
Brown looked from one to the other.  "Jim, I'll meet you back upstairs in a 
few, all right?" 
 
Jim nodded.  "What's up?" he asked his friend. 
 
"I just wanted to, you know, apologize.  For the other night."  He looked 
uncomfortable, unable to look Jim in the eye. 
 
"Look, Mike, there's nothing to apologize for," said Jim.  "If I had to 
apologize every time I had *feelings* for someone, I'd probably spend the rest 
of my life doing it." 
 
Michael looked up and smiled.  "Thanks, Jamie, I think I needed to hear that.  
I really do love Gregory, you know." 
 
"Yeah, I know." 
 
"He's home now, too.  Just needed to clear his head a little, be with family 
and all.  And I think I needed to give him that space, too..." 
 
Jim chuckled a little.  "You're preaching to the choir, Mike.  I'm glad things 
are working out for you." 
 
"Well, I'm guessing it's gonna be a little rocky for a while, but we've both 
still got our careers and hopefully a long future ahead of us.  I just wanted 
to clear the air with you, make sure everything was cool." 
 
"Everything's cool," Jim reassured him.  "Listen, I've got to get back 
upstairs and start on some stuff, but give me a call later tonight and we can 
work something out so we can all get together sometime.  Sound okay?" 
 
"Sounds great," he agreed.  "Thanks."  Jim was the one who turned to go on his 
way, and Michael watched until he had rounded the corner to the elevator 
before going back to his own work. 
 
<><><><><><><><><><> 
 
"Ellison!"  It was a knee-jerk reaction to feel a bit unnerved when Simon 
Banks said your name like that.  "In my office." 
 
Jim and Henri exchanged a look.   
 
"Yeah, on my way," he muttered, getting up.  He shrugged in response to 
Brown's unvoiced question and made his way into Simon's office. 
 
"I had an interesting little tidbit come across my desk just this morning," he 
said mildly as he closed the door to the office.  "Care to take a look?"  As 
Jim reached out for the piece of paper Simon was holding up, the Captain 
snatched it back.  "What the *hell* were you doing visiting David McGuinness?" 
 
"What are you talking about?" 
 
"Are you denying that you went to see him?" 
 
"No, no I'm not.  But what does that have to do with you?" 
 
"Jesus, Jim.  You were a former suspect on this case and you go visit one of 
the men under police protection, alone, early in the morning, and have an 
argument with him.  What were you *thinking*?" 
 
"Simon, listen to me on this one.  David called me up and *asked* me to come 
over.  Or doesn't it say that in that report of yours?  He said if I came then 
he'd leave me alone, for good." 
 
"What, was he harassing you?  Threatening you?  What?" 
 
"No." 
 
"Then what is it?" 
 
"Simon, don't ask questions you don't want the answers to." 
 
Simon crossed his arms.  "I never do." 
 
Jim waited for him to qualify that statement, but he never did.  He sighed.  
"David and I were in a relationship for about 5 years, about the time we were 
in college.  It ended badly." 
 
"Yeah, I see that."  Simon didn't look particularly surprised. 
 
"No, he wouldn't have done this as petty revenge," argued Jim.  "This was 
because of some twisted conviction of his."  He sighed again.  "I just wanted 
him out of my life.  Is that a crime?" 
 
"Not a crime, just an incredibly stupid thing to do." 
 
"You don't have any grounds for reprimanding me, sir," Jim reminded him.  "I 
didn't do anything wrong." 
 
Simon leaned towards him.  "What were you *thinking*?  Do you know what kind 
of suspicions could have risen from that?" 
 
"Something *worse* than what's already going on?  I can't imagine that.  I did 
what I had to do and it's *over*.  I don't see what I'm doing in here, no 
disrespect intended." 
 
"Look, Jim," said Simon.  "I know we've been clashing a bit these last few 
days, but this is *really* in your best interest.  You hear me?  I don't care 
*what* you two had going on way back when, you just don't go visiting people 
under police protection without reason, and without authority.  You got that?" 
 
"Yes, sir," he replied, looking straight ahead and not at his captain at all. 
 
"I'll talk to you later." 
 
Jim was very familiar with dismissals, and left the office with expediency.  
Brown was still sitting at the desk, but he didn't talk about the conversation 
he'd just had.  It was still bothering him, probably because he knew that 
Simon was right. 
 
<><><><><><><><><><> 
 
When the phone rang, they both looked at it.  Finally, Henri answered.  
"Hello?  Yeah, he's...uh huh?...just a sec..."  He handed the phone over to 
Jim, covering the receiver with his hands.  "It's IA," he said quietly. 
 
Jim nodded, unconcerned, and took the phone.  "Ellison.  Yes...that's fine 
with me...yes, yes it was...I'm happy to hear that...I'll see you then."  When 
he hung up the phone, he didn't precisely have a smile on his face, but he 
certainly looked in better spirits.  "The hearing's tomorrow," he explained. 
 
Brown nodded, not looking half as pleased as Jim.  "I know that's good news 
for you and all, bringing some guys to justice...but Rafe's still my partner.  
You know?" 
 
"I can't forgive him, Henri.  At least, not yet." 
 
"I don't expect you to.  I just can't be as happy about this as you." 
 
"I'm not happy, just satisfied," said Jim.  "Nothing about this situation 
makes me happy.  I'm just glad that things are almost over.  All I ever wanted 
was my life.  Is that too much to ask?" 
 
Brown gave him a half-shrug, then reached out and squeezed his shoulder.  It 
was a pretty daring move, considering the events of the past few days, and 
considering just where they were.   
 
"I think it's going to be all right," he said quietly, but with conviction. 
 
"Well, I have to testify tomorrow," Jim went on.  He wasn't ignoring the 
gesture, just acknowledging it the best way he could--with a slight nod and an 
even smaller smile.  "One p.m.  We should be all finished with this by then, 
right?" 
 
"Hell, if I have my way, we'll get it done by the time I go home tonight, and 
*you* can get back to work on the cases you're actually assigned to."  Jim 
looked a bit guilty.  He'd done a bit of work on one of his cases the previous 
day, but by and large his time had been devoted to this case and this case 
alone.  "We'll all be glad to have this one over with." 
 
//Me most of all.//  Jim nodded his head, hoping that would be enough to 
convey the depth of his agreement.  "Where do you need me to sign?" he asked 
picking up an intimidating pile.  "God, you'd think they'd want us out there 
getting the bad guys, not in here pushing pencils." 
 
"I just keep telling myself this is how we *keep* the bad guys," said Brown 
ruefully, handing over a few sheets.  "Just be thankful we weren't the guys 
discharging the firearms." 
 
Jim dove into the work, wishing he were somewhere else doing some*thing* else, 
but still thankful to be working at all.  And working free of harassment, 
though the looks were still there--the angry, confused or disgusted gazes.  
Seeing what happened last time, no one was really willing to do anything 
physical, but the intent was still almost tangible in the looks and the 
silences. 
 
There was a hush over the bullpen, a noticeable decrease in volume, and Jim 
looked up to see what was going on.  The last thing he expected to see was 
Blair walking towards him, weaving his way through the desks.  Only Jim would 
have been able to notice the signs of nervousness in him; Blair's expression 
was set in stone--in itself a sign of something wrong. 
 
"I brought your messages," said Blair, handing him a semi-organized sheaf of 
notes.  "You never checked the machine, so I figured I'd better do it for you.  
There are a few of these you ought to return right away.  We've really got to 
remember to get that number changed." 
 
Jim nodded silently, so Brown took it upon himself to break the ice.   
 
"Hey, Hairboy, how's the arm?" 
 
Blair looked at him gratefully.  "Doing better," he said.  "Still pretty gross 
to look at, but I'm using it a bit again.  Holding down the fort by yourself, 
man?"  Blair looked around belligerently.  "Doesn't look like anyone else is 
getting much done." 
 
Jim couldn't help snickering and right then the grumbling started, but it was 
better than the silence.   
 
"You could have just called," he said, not reproachfully but curiously. 
 
"Well, I thought I'd take you to lunch while I was at it," he said.  "I had to 
stop by the university and pick some things up to get ready for my classes 
next week anyway.  You up for a bite?" 
 
"I'm up for a few," he said, understanding what it was that Blair hadn't said.  
He'd gotten up and left the apartment, alone.  He refused to be afraid.  Jim 
could have kissed him right there if they hadn't been at the station, among 
his peers. 
 
"H, you wanna come along?" Blair asked him. 
 
"Nah, I'm gonna finish up here, maybe grab a sandwich at the corner.  You need 
a little extra time to make those calls?" 
 
Jim looked at the stack of paper in his hands and chuckled a bit.   
 
"I just might.  I'll try not to be too late; some of them I can make from 
here, I'm sure.  See you in a few, man." 
 
"Yeah, see you later."  He gave them a half-assed wave as they left together.  
The real conversation started as soon as they'd entered the elevator and were 
presumed out of earshot. 
 
"That kid has got a *lot* of nerve showing up here," said Harris, frowning. 
 
"Shit, Jas," said Rachel, "he's been working here for two years.  He has as 
much right to be here as you do." 
 
"He's a fag!" 
 
"So?" said Brown, standing up.  "What's it to you?" 
 
"What the hell do you mean by that?" 
 
"I mean what does it matter to you whether the kid sleeps with guys or not.  
He ain't gonna be sleeping with *you* any time soon." 
 
"It's not normal." 
 
"Oh get *over* it," said Rachel frustratedly.  "Like it's really gonna affect 
you.  At least *he* can get a date." 
 
"Yeah," snorted Harris, affecting a falsetto.  "Oh, Jim!  Fuck me, baby!" 
 
"Oh, so it was *you* I heard last night," growled Brown, moving towards him 
menacingly.  Harris shoved his chair back and stood up, too.  Most of the 
Major Crime bullpen began moving away from them. 
 
"And you," said Harris.  "You've been spending *all* your time with Ellison 
lately.  "You two got something going on?" 
 
To his surprise, Brown laughed in his face.   
 
"No way, man.  Even if I was interested, Sandburg would kick my ass.  Now 
what," he said, moving closer and invading Harris' space, "are you afraid of?"  
Harris moved back an inch.  "Thought so.  Who's the sissy ass man now?"  
Shaking his head, he moved away.  "You're not worth it, man." 
 
Rachel wasn't strong enough to hold Harris back when he went lunging for 
Brown, but Simon's office door slamming open stopped him in his tracks.  "Back 
to work!" 
 
Dead silence descended, then everyone slowly went back to their respective 
desks, picking up the work they'd left behind when they went to watch the 
action.  Simon stood in the doorway until the last person had gone back to 
their desks.   
 
"Detective Harris," he said, loud enough for everyone to hear.  "I don't care 
*how* you feel about it, if I *ever* hear talk like that in here again, it's 
you who's going to be on his way out.  Got it?" 
 
Harris looked at him darkly and gave him a curt nod.  Simon went back into his 
office, satisfied, but not before catching Brown's attention and giving him a 
slight smile and a nod. 
 
<><><><><><><><><><> 
 
"I brought this back for you," said Jim, tossing a cellophane-wrapped sandwich 
on the desk.  Brown looked at it expressionlessly.  "I know you--you would 
have waited until after work and then gone out for some greasy burgers and 
fries." 
 
"Yeah, yeah, and you wanted to make sure I loaded up on some low-fat shit," he 
grumbled, but despite his protests he began unwrapping the sandwich and 
munching on it. 
 
"Ellison." 
 
"What *now*?" Jim burst out without thinking, coming very close to blushing 
when he realized what he'd done. 
 
"Easy there," said Simon.  "I just wanted to ask you when the kid'll be ready 
to come back to work here." 
 
"Back here?" 
 
"Yeah," he said.  "Actually, it's the Chief who's asking.  I had to tell him 
Sandburg'd had a bit of an accident, right when there's a case we could use 
him on." 
 
"What kind of a case?" asked Jim, hardly able to think of what to say.  He'd 
half been expecting Simon to discourage him from coming back, now here he was 
trying to speed up the process. 
 
"Some thefts from the museum," he said.  "Technically, it's not one of ours, 
but he thought maybe Sandburg might be able to find some kind of pattern in 
the incidents.  Right now they're looking awfully random." 
 
"Well, I can't speak for him," he said, "but I'd imagine he could come back 
soon if it doesn't involve anything strenuous.  Give him a call if you want to 
know--you know where to reach him." 
 
"I'll do that," said Simon.  "Just thought you might like to know..." 
 
Jim appreciated the gesture, and hoped it was genuine.   
 
"Thanks, I did." 
 
"Back to work, Ellison," said Brown, giving him a nudge.  "I, for one, want to 
get home before the sun goes down and spend some quality time with the 
family." 
 
Jim smiled in silent agreement and got back to it. 
 

<<<<< END PART V >>>>>