Just Retribution

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Jim woke dripping with sweat that felt cold as ice on his skin. He stared into the darkness of the loft, instinctively reaching for the comfort of Sandburg's tiny sounds: the small snuffles as he breathed, the rustle of cloth as he turned over. He met only the pounding of blood in his ears as his own heart beat. That and the echoing emptiness of the space below. He ached with grief as he remembered. The emptiness was permanent. Blair was gone.

Not dead, thank God, although he so easily could have been. And it would have been Jim's fault. After all the times he'd saved Blair's life, a single moment of anger and stupidity had come so close to taking it. Some Blessed Protector he'd turned out to be. And now Blair... Blair was afraid of him.

He shivered as the image of Blair's face earlier that day drifted before his eyes. Sick with shame, he saw the half-hidden doubt that lay below Blair's calm surface, the barely visible flinches when Jim moved. He had done this. He had allowed this to happen to his Guide. And he couldn't even remember doing it.

A choked sound echoed through the loft as he sat up. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, pulling the blanket around his shoulders as he sat there. He knew he'd done it. Everyone knew he'd done it. He'd given Blair over to the sadistic bastard who had brutalized and nearly killed him. But for all his trying, for all the probing IA had done in the many interviews he'd undergone, he *could* *not* remember his betrayal.

Blair would say he'd repressed it. He supposed Blair would be right. If his Guide was there, all it would take would be a few words, a gentle touch, perhaps, and all the veils would lift. He would know what he had been thinking when he'd committed the act that would forever taint his life. He laughed, short and bitter. If Blair was there, that would mean he'd never committed it, wouldn't it?

A shuddering breath filled his lungs, and he stood abruptly, discarding his blanket. Heading downstairs, he flipped on the light in the kitchen, sitting down with a pad of paper. It took a while to write the first word, but then the words came faster. He didn't want to resign. All he wanted was to find some way to go back, to fix this. But Sheila Irwin was right. He was going down for this, there was no way around it. If his resignation could save Simon? He would turn it in. And the sooner the better.

"What do you mean it's too late?" Jim stared at Simon in disbelief. "It's seven in the morning."

Simon shook his head, looking up wearily at Jim, his skin gray with fatigue. "They were here at six-thirty. It's official, Jim. You're fired, I'm suspended for six months and my reinstatement, with demotion, is subject to review." He leaned back, scrubbing his hands over his face, then looked at Jim again. "It could be worse."

"How..." Jim began, then shook his head. "Never mind. You're right. It could be so much worse." He dropped into a chair as Simon continued unpacking his desk. "How did this happen, Simon? How did we *let* it happen?"

"I don't know, Jim. We were careless. And stupid. And Sandburg paid the price for it."

"Yeah," Jim said tightly, flicking a glance at the couch where Blair had huddled, bleeding and in pain. Simon followed his gaze.

Jim nodded, but his tone was doubtful as he remembered the shadows in Blair's eyes. "I hope so, Simon."

The two men were silent for a minute, then Simon turned back to his task. "You better go clear out your desk, Jim," he said, not looking up.

Jim sighed. "I guess so." Standing, he tossed his resignation onto Simon's desk. "Try and use it, Simon. I'm the one they really want."

Turning, he walked out of the office, ignoring the protest from behind him. The low noises that normally filled the bullpen at this hour stilled as he walked through the door, and he flinched under the glances cast his way. For the first time, he was glad he'd lost his senses. He could imagine what they were whispering, but at least he didn't have to hear it.

Keeping his face blank, he walked to his desk, sitting at it for the last time. He stared at the bare surface, wondering when the last time he'd seen it without a coating of active case files was. After a moment he shook his head and pulled open a drawer. His breath hissed as he looked into it.

Atop a jumble of paper clips, pens and other assorted desk-type things lay a hair-clip. Not one of Blair's leather thongs or rubber bands used out of desperation, this was a silver and turquoise adornment. The blue eyes stared accusingly from the wolf's face as Jim's gaze fixed upon it. His breath came short and harsh, hurting his throat as the air moved through it's tight passage. He had given it to Blair for Christmas, not sure why, just knowing that it was right.

He reached out, picking up the piece, the cold metal almost burning his hand. Staring at it, he bit his lip as he remembered Blair's face when he'd opened the box, eyes shining with delight and warm affection. Later Blair had explained why it meant so much.

"It means that you accept me, Jim. Long hair and everything, it's okay. It's wonderful, big guy. It's," Blair had shaken his head, "it's just wonderful. You have no idea how much this means to me."

Jim closed his hand over the silver face, closing his eyes as he did. Bowing his head, he struggled to control himself, refusing to break down in front of the bullpen. Almost succeeding, he jumped at the gentle touch on his shoulder.

Joel nodded. "Sure. And don't worry about picking it up, I'll run it by the loft tonight."

"Thanks. And," Jim opened his hand slowly, holding the wolf clip out to Joel. "Make sure this gets to Blair?"

He strode from the bullpen quickly, waiting until he reached the safety of the truck to let the shaking begin.

Blair shuffled slowly to the door when the bell rang. He hadn't bothered to dress yet, even though it was after five in the afternoon. He supposed Carly wouldn't mind.

He'd managed to pull himself together shortly before she'd come back the night before, shoving the anger and pain back down to where he could hide from it again. Not healthy, he knew. But it was all he could do right now. Later. He'd deal with it later. When he could do it without falling into a thousand tattered shreds of who he used to be.

He shrugged as he reached the door. The nightmares were the price he'd paid for the facade of normalcy that had greeted Carly last night. They'd left him exhausted, and he'd just not been able to do anything today, not even put clothes on.

The big man shifted his weight, his face tense under the tentative smile. "Hey, Blair. Your lawyer said it was okay for me to stop by, but..."

"No. It's okay, Joel." Blair studied the other man, waiting for the rush of fear to come. He smiled when it didn't, realizing that he could never be afraid of Joel. There was too much gentleness in the man, too much compassion. "Come on in."

Joel's smile widened, becoming real. He stepped into the cottage as Blair moved back, looking around. "Nice place."

The question was quiet, the concern real and deep. Blair felt tears prickle his eyelids as he looked at the open face that held only caring. Joel had always been kind to him, but Blair had never realized how much that meant.

Joel nodded. "Okay." He looked down, then up again. "You need any help unpacking?" He gestured toward the pile of boxes still stacked in the corner.

Blair shook his head. "I'm not even opening most of them. Just what I need right away. I don't know how long I'll be here and I don't want to get too settled in." Not like I was at the loft, he thought angrily.

Pulling his mind off that track, he smiled at Joel. "Thanks, though. Can I get you some tea, or something?"

Joel smiled briefly. "Kind of. I - I unpacked Jim's desk for him. I told him I'd bring the stuff by the loft."

"He got fired this morning. When I got there, he was just sitting there, he couldn't even get past the first drawer."

"Fired." Blair turned and headed into the kitchenette, his mind in turmoil. Gleeful gloating warred with regret and worry. Filling the tea kettle, he turned the stove on, his actions automatic.

"What he did to you was wrong, Blair." Joel settled into a chair. "You know it, I know it, hell, Jim knows it. Being fired was inevitable."

Blair pulled two mugs out, putting teabags in them. His hand shook as he got the tea, pulling it from the box that Jim had so carefully packed for him. His voice was even. "Simon?"

Joel sighed. "Six month suspension without pay. If he comes back, it will be as a detective, not a captain."

"That's got to be hard for both of them." Blair watched steam begin to curl from the kettle's spout.

Joel shrugged. "After what they let happen to you? They're both getting off light, and they know it." He leaned forward. "But I don't think that's what was bothering Jim."

Blair turned off the stove and poured the water into the mugs, inhaling the sweet fragrance that rose from the herbs. "Oh?" His voice was noncommittal.

"There were some things of yours in Jim's desk. He asked me to make sure they got to you." Joel pulled an envelope from his pocket. "Mostly papers. But when I got there, he was holding something in his hand, Blair, just looking at it. I don't think I've ever seen him look so lost."

Blair placed a mug in front of Joel, sitting in the chair opposite with his own. His eyes studied the surface of the hot tea.

Joel reached into another pocket and slid an item across the table to Blair. "This is what he was looking at."

For a long time Blair just looked at the silver wolf in front of him. Then he looked over at Joel. "He deserves this, Joel."

"I know that, Blair. And I know that it's too soon to even think about forgiving him. But I'm afraid.... He's hopeless, Blair. I've seen that look in men's eyes just before they shoot themselves. And if I can tell him that..." Joel shook his head. "I don't know. Maybe just that it won't always be too soon to think about it."

"No!" Blair rose, pacing angrily. "I am not the one responsible for this. I didn't do *anything* wrong, Joel! And if facing up to what he did makes Jim feel bad, then I'm glad of it. He *ought* to feel bad about it. God knows I do."

"So if you tell him anything, Joel, you tell him this. For him to kill himself isn't nearly enough to make up for what happened to me. What he *allowed* to happen to me, because he couldn't be bothered to even make it clear that this was supposed to be some kind of sick joke when he had me sent to booking. So he'd better not even think about it. He owes me more than that."

"You do that. Now if you don't mind..." Blair looked pointedly at the door. Joel rose obediently and walked toward it. Reaching it, he looked back.

Blair sighed and lowered himself into the chair again. Looking up at Joel, he nodded. "Just... not for a few days, okay?"

Joel pulled the door open, stepping out slowly before closing it behind himself. Blair closed his eyes, sagging with exhaustion. The brief spurt of adrenaline and anger had faded, leaving only weariness behind. Reaching blindly for his tea, his hand brushed across the hairclip. Picking it up, he cradled it in his hand, opening his eyes to study it. The face seemed sad somehow, the eyes cold and lifeless. Blair shivered at the thought.

Martin Cooper looked up at his partner's voice and smiled. "Morning, Tom." He handed Tom Branson the cup of coffee he'd had waiting. "What are we up for today?"

"Not much," the younger cop answered. "Catching up on some stuff, winding up loose ends. Hopefully it'll keep us out of the station, though. I'm sick of hearing all the noise about what's going on up in Major Crime."

"I hear you," Martin agreed. "It's like a pack of wild dogs around here. Ellison's a damn good cop, and when Banks was on the street, he was too. Losing the two of them is going to hurt the city."

"What the hell happened, anyway? I mean, first Ellison's observer is booked for drug dealing, then he's out and sueing for police brutality and Ellison's fired. It doesn't make any sense. Hey, weren't you down in booking when Ellison brought Sandburg in?"

Martin Cooper sighed. "Yeah, I was. And I wish to God we hadn't gotten that domestic violence call right then."

"Ellison turned the kid over to me, Tom. He made it clear to me that it was to be a joke, something to maybe scare the kid a little, get him to think about who he was trusting." The uniformed cop laughed bitterly. "Guess he'll think a lot before he trusts another cop."

"We got that DV. The call operator said it was urgent, so we had to get rolling, remember? I handed Sandburg to Freemore."

The two men sat silently for a minute, then Branson turned to his partner. "Didn't you tell him the score?"

Cooper nodded. "Oh, yeah. I told him everything Ellison had told me. This was a handle with care situation. I guess Freemore just didn't care. At least he got fired too."

"I guess so. IA hasn't called me up there, at any rate. So I guess I'm in the clear."

Swallowing the last of his coffee, the cop stood. "Let's get going. I don't like this station a whole lot right now."

Jim looked at the piece of paper he held, locking the pain down yet again. He'd known it was coming. It had to be. And yet, somehow, reading the official notice of the lawsuit against him still hurt like hell. Maybe because the charges were true, he thought. Reckless endangerment, abuse of his position, false arrest... the list went on inside his head. Didn't really matter what you called it, he thought dully. It all just added up to hurting Blair.

What the hell had he been thinking? He knew the general plan, he and Simon had agreed on it. They would teach Sandburg a lesson, make him look before he leaped the next time. What he didn't know was how he could have gone through with it. Freemore was a first degree bastard, always had been. Jim had known that. So how the hell could he have blithely turned Blair over to him and walked away?

The crumple of paper startled him and he looked down at his hand. Pulling the sheet from his fist, he smoothed it and read it again. His shoulders slumped, he reached for the phone.

"Stephen? It's Jim. Yeah, not so good. Look, I need a lawyer. No, not a good one. I need one who will do what I tell him to. Got a name for me?"

Blair stared at Carly Cavanaugh's animated face, wishing he could muster the energy to care about what she was saying. It had been weeks, shouldn't he be back to normal by now? Not this empty shell that just went through the motions, but a real person?

He guessed not. When there was nothing to get up for, no reason to look forward to another day, just the endless pain and anger of betrayal that lingered long past the physical healing was over, why not just be an empty shell? Not caring beat the alternative.

"No, you're not. But you will be, you'll see. We'll get this done, and then you can put it all behind you."

Her voice was kind, full of genuine concern and caring. Blair knew that, so he managed to smile at her and answer. Whatever he said must have been sufficient, because she nodded and went on.

"The cases are pretty high priority, so they should be heard soon. The one against Ellison first, then against the PD and the City as one case. I expect the first one to start in another couple of weeks, but we should get a date soon. You okay with that?"

Carly nodded. "I know it's hard for you, Blair. But what they did to you..." She stopped, her eyes full of anger.

"I know. It's just..." His voice tapered off, and he shook his head. "I'm glad, I guess. It'll be good to have it all end."

She packed up her case and walked to the door. "It'll be okay, Blair," she said, opening it.

"Yeah," he answered as she left. He sank into a chair, staring into space. "No, it won't," he whispered to himself. His gut clenched as he remembered, the muscles spasming in protest as he felt again the feeling, the knowledge, that Jim had wanted him treated this way. "It'll never be okay again."

Frank Elliot sighed as he looked over the highly polished table at Jim. The attorney's expression was weary.

"Jim, we've been over this before. It's less than a week before the trail. You have no chance of winning. Even if you'd let me mount an active defense, you don't really have one beyond saying that you didn't plan on Blair getting hurt. Your only choice is to settle."

Receiving no answer, the attorney threw up his hands. Jim thought absently that he'd never actually seen someone do that before. It was almost amusing. Blair would've... He cut off that train of thought.

"I'm representing you because Stephen asked me too, Jim. Your brother and I have been friends a long time. But I honestly don't understand why you even wanted a lawyer. You don't take my advice. Hell, half the time I think you don't even hear it."

The other man's face held confusion and concern. Jim smiled at him briefly. "It's good advice, Frank. I know that, and I do appreciate it. But..." he shrugged. "If Sandburg wants me hung out to dry, that's what he'll get."

"No." Jim shook his head. "There is no way to atone for what I did. This is..." He searched for the right words. "This is a way to give Blair his retribution."

"I don't understand. Why isn't Jim settling?" Blair paced the length of the cottage. Stopping, he turned to look at Carly. "You told me he'd settle."

"Well, he's not taking it. Damnit! I didn't want to sue him. I don't want him..." He stopped, hearing his own words. His eyes were huge as he caught a glimpse of himself reflected in the window. They looked stricken. He looked back to Carly. "I don't want him hurt."

"I am," Blair insisted. "Look, Carly, Jim is... a very private person. He doesn't deal well with, with things. We need to drop the suit."

"We can't do that, Blair. You know that. And I can't believe that you really want to."

"Part of me doesn't," Blair admitted slowly. He felt a sick pit of anger stir inside him. Dropping his eyes, he studied the floor for a moment. "Part of me wants to drag Jim through every nasty turn this trial could take." He looked back up at Carly. "And part of me just wants it *done*. We really can't drop it?"

She shook her head. "Not and have the case against the PD be as strong as it can be."

Blair took a deep breath, then nodded reluctantly. "Okay. But... *why* won't he settle?"

Jim watched as the bailiff answered the judge's question about the court docket line-up, wondering if it was good or bad that she knew both of them. Not that it mattered, really. His face was impassive as Judge Margaret McElhaney looked over at him. She sighed, glancing at the opposite side of the courtroom, then handed the clipboard back to her bailiff.

The burly man opened his mouth, calling the court to order. Once the crowded room was still, the judge returned her eyes to Jim, but spoke to his lawyer.

"Mr. Elliot. I've looked the case over. Can you tell me why it hasn't come to a settlement instead of before me?"

Frank's voice betrayed his unhappiness with Jim, and the judge smiled briefly in sympathy. "I've known Mr. Ellison for years, Mr. Elliot. He does tend to be stubborn."

Jim returned the woman's gaze calmly. She sighed and shook her head. "This is a hearing, not a jury trial, so I won't make you come up here, Mr. Ellison. But before the lawyers start in on you, I'd like to know why you refused to settle."

Jim flicked a glance at Frank as his lawyer muttered agreement, then looked back at the judge. "I have a couple of reasons, Your Honor."

"I owe Bl - Mr. Sandburg answers to whatever questions he wants to ask, a chance to," he shrugged. "I don't know - take me to the cleaners, I guess."

Jim looked over at Blair, then tore his eyes away from that familiar profile. Blair wouldn't even look at him. Closing his eyes, he answered quietly. "I wanted a chance to make sure he was okay. With the restraining order, I haven't been able to get near him."

His eyes still closed, Jim missed the brief crumple of Blair's face. Margaret McElhaney didn't, and her voice was soft as she replied.

"Again, I see." The judge sighed as she went on. "This is a very serious set of charges, Mr. Ellison. I would be willing to set the date back a week, and let your respective lawyers continue to try and work things through outside of a courtroom."

"Very well. Mr. Elliot, do you have any questions for your client? No? Then, Ms. Cavanaugh?"

Carly rose and walked across the room to stand in front of Jim. "Good morning, Mr. Ellison."

Jim answered clearly, giving as much detail as he could regarding his actions and reactions during the time that Blair had been missing. It was only when he reached the return to the station that he faltered. His throat was tight as he forced out the words.

"Mr. Ellison, my client would very much like to know what you think happened here, what your reasons were for booking him when he was in fact the victim, just what you were thinking! Please answer the question."

He looked up at Carly, meeting the accusation in her eyes with another head shake. "Can't. I don't remember it."

Blair's head lifted and for the first time, he actually looked over at Jim. Jim missed it, his attention still on Carly as she stared at him disbelievingly. He sighed.

"I have a known history of memory repression, Ms. Cavanaugh. Your client is aware of that. If you check the IA interviews, you will find that even at that point, I had no memory of," he swallowed. "Of taking Bl - Mr. Sandburg to booking."

He closed his eyes briefly, then looked back at her. "I turned him over to Freemore. I know that, I must have. But I don't remember it."

Suddenly a new voice cut through the silent courtroom. Jim jerked as Blair spoke.

Carly glared at Jim again, then returned to her client's side, bending over to listen to him while Jim studiously avoided looking in that direction. After a few minutes, she straightened and looked at Judge McElhaney.

"Your Honor, my client tells me that in the past he has had some success in getting Mr. Ellison to recall some of these repressed memories. Through some sort of guided meditation, apparently. He would like to attempt it in this case."

Jim's jaw clenched. 'Why keep pushing at it, Chief?' he thought despairingly. The judge looked thoughtfully at him.

He opened his mouth to say no, then found himself consenting instead. Blair wanted it. And surprisingly, he found that he wanted it too, somehow. At least he'd know how he could have done it.

"My chambers. Ten minutes." The judge looked around the room. "We'll reconvene here after lunch."

As the courtroom filled with noises of people moving and talking, a cop in the back row sat stunned into immobility. Ellison didn't remember?

The judge's eyes searched his own intently. "Are you sure you want to do this, Jim?"

He glanced at Blair, who sat silently by the judge's desk. "Yeah, Maggie. I am."

"Blair?" Maggie McElhaney studied the younger man for a minute. "Are you up to doing this? I know you and Jim have worked together for a long time, but that was before..." she trailed off.

Jim watched the judge shake her head. "The two of you always were a pair. How did it come to this?"

Blair's head lifted and he looked at her for a long moment. "That's what we're trying to find out."

Jim ached at the coldness in that tone. Suddenly he wondered if this would even work. It always had before, but now? He shrugged and went to take a seat on the small couch against the wall. It would work, or it wouldn't. Shifting until he was comfortable, he waited for Blair.

It didn't take long. Blair stood once Jim was still, pulling the chair along to a place in front of Jim. Seated again, he met Jim's eyes for the first time. Jim shivered at the lack of emotion he saw.

Jim closed his eyes so he didn't have to look at Blair's dark gaze. Nodding, he gave himself over to Blair's voice, dreading it, savoring it, needing it this one last time.

Blair shook inside as he studied Jim's still face. The closed lids lay over eyes full of fathomless pain, eyes he could barely meet even for a second. Jim's hands lay palm-up in his lap, only the curled fingertips reflecting the tension the man had to be feeling. Could he do this? It took trust, and Blair didn't feel that anymore.

Opening his mouth, he fell automatically into the well-known cadence of words and tone. Surprised at himself, he went with it, figuring that some things were never forgotten. And maybe there wasn't trust anymore, but there sure as hell was need. He *needed*, desperately, to know why Jim had done what he had.

He watched almost dispassionately as Jim's face relaxed, the breathing deepening until the other man drifted in a light trance. It had been easy, he thought. His voice light, he began the search for his answers.

Blair took a deep breath as the warm voice surprised him, the affectionate nickname catching him out of the blue. Regaining his calm with effort, he spoke again.

"I want you to go back to when you first found me after Iris took me. Tell me what you are thinking, what you feel."

Jim's voice shook. "You're all right. You're okay, Chief. I was so scared. I thought I was going to lose you. When are you going to learn to listen to me? I told you she was bad news. Damnit, Sandburg!"

"All right," Blair said evenly. He'd known about that. He'd seen the absolute relief in Jim's eyes before it was replaced by furious rage. "I want you to skip forward, Jim."

"Simon's dealing with Iris." The face was calm, the voice even. "I'm... Simon and I, we made a plan. We want you to check things out, Chief, before you jump off any more cliffs. So... I'm arresting you." The mouth twisted, the voice became slightly ragged. "Oh, God, Chief. I'm putting handcuffs on you."

Jim began to rock slightly, his hands clenching. His voice sounded like it hurt his throat. "I'm taking you down to booking."

"I push you into a chair, tell you to stay there. Freemore's the duty officer, but I won't let him anywhere near you, Chief. I'm looking around, looking for someone who will make sure you don't get hurt, just... just scared a little."

Blair met Carly's eyes, seeing shock in them. He asked gently, "Who do you see, Jim?"

Jim's face cleared slightly, the furrow in his brow smoothing. "There's Martin Cooper. He's a good guy. He'll take care of you, Chief."

"Martin says sure, he'll take care of it. Kid gloves, Chief. Handle with care. I look back over at you. You," Jim's voice broke. "You're curled up in the chair, and you look so sad. I want to introduce Martin to you, but I know that if you look at me, I won't be able to go through with this. So, I just leave. When I come back... Oh, God. Chief! Oh, God, no. What did I do to you?"

The question was filled with heartrending anger and self-condemnation. Jim's breath came in quick pants as his eyes moved rapidly under his closed lids. His hands dug into his legs. Blair reached out and stopped them as they began to tear the cloth.

The eyes flew open, blazing into Blair's. Blair gasped at the sheer terror he saw in them, the incredible relief as Jim recognized Blair.

"But I... Oh, God, Chief. I didn't do it on purpose. I swear I didn't. I didn't leave you with Freemore."

"The only cop who talked to me down there was Freemore, Jim. I don't know what happened."

Both men turned their heads to look at the judge as she spoke. "Martin Cooper does." She turned to her bailiff. "Wasn't he in the back of the courtroom, John?" The big man nodded. "Bring him here."

Martin Cooper shook his head slowly, raising his eyes to find the shocked face of his partner. Tom Branson stood in front of him, face as white as Martin suspected his own was. The courtroom echoed with noise as the crowd of people exited slowly, busily commenting on the new development in a case that had seemed open-and-shut.

"Oh, God, Tom." Martin's voice shook. "All this time he thought he did this to his partner. That he just turned him over to Freemore. And I let him keep thinking that."

"How could you have known he'd forgotten?" the other cop demanded. "It's not your fault!"

"Why would you? Without knowing Ellison didn't remember leaving his partner with you, there was no reason to think you had to unless they called you in. And let's face it, Cooper. None of us likes talking to IA."

Martin just shook his head. "I don't know, Tom," he said finally. Standing, he looked over at the doorway to the judge's office. "But I know what to do now."

Heading off with a determined stride, he was aware of his partner looking after him with a frown. He shrugged inwardly. He was worried too. He hadn't expected to get involved in this case, especially at this late date. It was a media circus, with the upcoming suit against the PD and the city to be considered as well. But if Sandburg could get Ellison to remember, he wouldn't have any choice. And hell, he thought, even if the kid couldn't, he didn't have a choice.

You trusted your partner. You did for your partner. And you didn't betray your partner. And he couldn't let Ellison go on thinking he had. Sandburg, either, for that matter.

The group in the judge's chambers sat silently, waiting for the bailiff's return, hopefully with Martin Cooper in tow. Jim studied his hands, unable to look at Blair, afraid he'd see the same coldness in those eyes. After all, what did this change? The fact remained that it had been Jim's decision, his poor judgment, his willingness to abandon his partner that had led to Blair's injuries.

It had only been a few moments, but the silence dragged on. Finally, Jim couldn't take it any longer. Sneaking a glance at Blair, he was caught by the blue eyes regarding him thoughtfully. Unable to look away, he stared at Blair, hoping the sorrow and regret he felt was visible. Blair's eyes weren't cold. Jim wasn't sure what they held. For the first time since he'd met the grad student, Blair wasn't an open book.

Suddenly aware of the dryness of his lips, Jim licked them nervously as he continued to look at Blair. Unable to stand the quiet gaze any longer, he opened his mouth to speak just as the door opened. His head jerked as John entered the room, Cooper trailing behind him.

"Sorry it took so long, Your Honor," the bailiff rumbled. "He'd been in the outer office since right after we came in here, apparently. He'd taken a bit of a break, ah, to stretch his legs, just when you sent me out."

Cooper looked over at Jim and Blair. Jim's eyes were narrowed as they met the uniform's, but he frowned as he saw honest regret in them. Opening his mouth, prepared to come down hard on the man, he found himself stopped by Blair's hand on his arm.

His skin tingled at the touch, the first contact he'd had with Blair since the whole horrible thing started. Stunned into silence, he sat back as Blair spoke.

The words weren't what he'd expected. He'd thought Blair would ask what had happened that day, how Cooper could have left him with Freemore after Jim had told him to take care of him. But as always, Blair surprised him.

Cooper hadn't expected that either. He blinked with surprise as he looked at Blair. Switching his gaze to Jim, the cop shook his head slowly.

He closed his eyes, then looked back to Blair. "I didn't know if Sandburg could make you remember. I guess since Albricht here came looking for me, you did. But if you hadn't, I had to set you straight."

Maggie McElhaney leaned forward in her chair, studying the cop closely. "Why haven't you come forward before this? You knew IA was doing an investigation."

He nodded. "Yes, ma'am, I did. But I thought Ellison knew what had gone down. So when IA didn't call me in," he shrugged. "I figured I didn't need to come in on it."

Cooper sighed. Jim watched him closely, wishing, for probably the first time in weeks, that he had his senses back. That he could be sure that whatever Cooper was about to say was the truth. He thought it would be. The fact that the man had been waiting to talk to them was a big point in his favor. But... he'd left Blair with Freemore. How? Why?

Cooper shifted his stance, taking a deep breath before glancing over at Jim again. Returning his eyes to the judge, he spoke evenly. "My partner and I were having a slow day. We're mostly family calls, troubled kids, domestic disputes, that kind of thing. There wasn't much going on, so we were kind of hanging around helping out wherever. I was down in booking when Ellison came in. He had somebody with him, but I didn't pay too much attention to him right then. Not 'til he came over to talk to me."

"He told me what had happened. Said his partner'd gotten in trouble being too trusting and he wanted to teach the kid a lesson. Didn't want him hurt, just wanted him scared. Freemore... well, we both knew he wasn't the person to handle this. And I've had rookie partners many a time. Sometimes you gotta be a little hard on 'em. So I said I'd take care of it. I could see Ellison wasn't too happy about the whole thing, but he didn't call it off. He just said thanks and left."

Jim became aware that he was clenching his fists. Forcing himself to relax his fingers, he breathed deeply, trying to control his rage. If Freemore wasn't the man for this, and Cooper knew it, why had he left Blair with the man? A quiet voice caught his attention and he looked over at Blair.

The eyes were calm, and he nodded jerkily. Blair looked back at Cooper, and Jim followed suit.

"We got a DV call, domestic violence. Branson came tearing down, saying that the operator could hear the guy throwing the woman around and there were kids screaming in the background. We had to roll."

"No! I'd been on my way to talk to the kid, but I had to get going. Freemore was the only cop around. I had no choice. But I told him the score, I swear to God I did! He said it was fine by him, or I wouldn't have gone."

The cop looked over at the two men sitting near each other and repeated his words. "I wouldn't have gone."

Jim strained to hear him, to judge the sincerity in his voice. Once he would have *known* if Cooper was telling the truth. Now... suddenly Blair's hand was on his arm again, and Jim heard Cooper. Heard him loud and clear. Turning to Blair, he nodded an answer to the question he saw.

Blair smiled, the expression sending a wave of shocked delight through Jim. "And your senses are back," he said softly.

Jim looked at him with wide eyes. Blair smiled again, feeling odd. Feeling... happy. For the first time in weeks.

"Come on, big guy," he said under his breath. "After all this time, you think I can't tell when you're using your senses?"

He grinned when Jim blinked, the Sentinel's shell-shocked expression proof that his words had been heard. The Sentinel. Jim was a Sentinel again. That meant he'd been right. Jim had lost his abilities because he'd betrayed Blair. Only he hadn't. Not the way he thought he had, at least.

Blair was still angry. There was no way around the stupidity of Jim's actions. But... it was different now. Looking at Jim, seeing the pain and guilt, the self-hatred the man had carried all this time... it had changed Blair. It had changed everything.

Carly's voice cut through the office, and Blair swiveled his head to look at her. His lawyer sat ramrod straight, her face set. He shook his head slightly as she continued.

"I'm sure we're all glad to hear that Ellison had tried to minimize the effects of the false arrest, and that he'll sleep better at night knowing that he hadn't wanted Blair Sandburg left at the hands of the man who brutalized him."

Jim's wince was obvious to Blair, tiny as it was. He stirred, then sat back as Carly went on.

"But it doesn't change the facts. Blair Sandburg was falsely arrested, treated as a criminal instead of the kidnapping victim that he was, and was badly hurt at the hands of the Cascade PD. And Jim Ellison started the whole thing. Your Honor, I repeat, this changes nothing."

Carly swung around to stare at Blair incredulously, her eyes wide with disbelief as he spoke again.

The words came in unison. Blair kept his eyes fixed on the judge, who sat back in her chair.

Jim spoke quietly, his voice obviously aimed for Blair's ears. "She's right, Chief. You got hurt, badly. I was responsible for it. You shouldn't drop the charges."

"I think we've both been hurt enough," Blair said, his voice pitched to fill the room. "I won't say I'm not still angry, Jim. The damage done by this," he shook his head. "It'll take a long time to heal. But a day in court isn't the way to start. This lawsuit is over."

Running a towel over his body, Jim dried himself quickly, his mind racing ahead. He was meeting Blair at the cottage he'd been living in in another hour, and he had no idea what was going to happen. Blair had looked at him yesterday with veiled eyes, saying only that they had to talk. Familiar words, but Jim was... nervous, he decided.

And why had Blair put the discussion off until today, he wondered. The lawsuit dropped, the judge lifting the restraining orders, all of that had happened so quickly. Then Blair had looked over at him and told him to be at the cottage at 10 am. He had nodded, wordlessly agreeing to whatever Blair wanted.

Dressed, he went downstairs slowly, his mind worrying at the questions rolling through it. What if Blair wanted to tell him to leave him alone? He'd do it, he knew. He owed Blair. Even if he hadn't known he was leaving his partner with Freemore, the end result had been the same. Carly Cavanaugh had been right.

He sighed, looking at the toast he'd made, unable to eat through the tight muscles of his throat. Tossing the food in the trash, he turned the water on and adjusted the temperature. Running the plate under the flow, he scrubbed at it, hoping he was wrong. Hoping Blair would let Jim see him, at least every now and then.

Determinedly shutting his mind away from that subject, he focused on washing the few dishes from his aborted attempt at eating breakfast. Running his eyes over them, he looked for any spots that still needed scrubbed. Finding none, he held them under the faucet, keeping his mind blank. The warmth felt good on his hands as the running water rushed over them.

Icy cold brought his attention back, and he shivered involuntarily as he became aware of the chill in his hands. Pulling them out of the flowing stream, he placed the dishes in the drainer, shutting off the faucet before he dried his hands, rubbing them to try and warm them again. Looking at the clock, he swore. He had twenty minutes before he was due at Blair's. He'd lost thirty in a zone.

Throwing his coat on, he headed out the door. Even full of dread and fear of what Blair would say, he couldn't suppress the rush of gladness when he thought about being near him again.

Blair paced rapidly, crossing the cottage in just a few steps each time he turned. What the hell had he been thinking, telling Jim to come here? They should be meeting someplace public, neutral. Safe.

Whoa! He stopped dead, caught in that last thought. Safe? Did he still, somewhere deep inside of him, feel afraid of Jim? Caught up in the euphoria of finding out that Jim had tried to make sure he was protected, in the delighted surprise of the Sentinel's senses returning, he had felt only happiness. The anger had returned quickly enough, and he'd needed the time to think about it before they talked. That was why he'd told Jim to meet him today. But... fear? Was that still there?

He nodded slowly. Yeah. It was. Not that Jim would hurt him physically. That was gone, and Blair wasn't sure he'd ever really thought that. But that Jim would trample on his heart and his soul again? Oh, yes. He still felt that.

He jerked as the sound of Jim's truck hit his ears. Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply, willing himself to calmness. What he was about to say had to be said. He knew that. Or it would fester in him, poisoning his soul until the ugliness of it overflowed. But Naomi Sandburg's little boy was much better at letting things go than he was at bringing them up. Even if letting them go meant the destruction of something important. There was always something else down the road. Right?

But there was nothing like this. And this wasn't something he was willing to let go. He centered himself, breathing evenly as he waited for the knock on the door. When it came, he called out, his voice controlled and calm.

Jim pushed the door open, his face tentative as he stepped inside. Turning to close the door behind him, he looked back to Blair silently. Blair studied him for a moment, then nodded to a chair. Obediently the Sentinel sank down into it.

"I trusted you," Blair said. He noted Jim's tiny flinch with dispassion, catching as well the pain in the other man's eyes. Looking at him steadily, he repeated his words.

"I trusted you, man. All I could think of, during that whole fucking ordeal with Iris, was that if you could possibly find me, you would. And you did." His head shook slowly. "I was never so happy to see anybody in my life. Except maybe with Lash."

Jim swallowed convulsively, but didn't open his mouth. Blair smiled wryly. "My Blessed Protector," he said. "Not my father, not my owner. You've been my saviour, how many times now, Jim?"

"That sums it up pretty well," Blair agreed. "You had no right, no fucking right, to do what you did, Ellison."

"Do you?" Blair's voice shook as at long last he allowed his rage and betrayed fury to show. "You did it to teach me a lesson. But who the hell do you think you are to make my decisions for me?"

"Shut up! I am a grown man, Jim. An adult who has been making his own choices for a very long time now. You wanted to take that away from me. Punish me for my own good. Well, it doesn't work that way. It never has, and it never will. You. Don't. Own me."

Jim stared at him, eyes meeting Blair's own with shocked agreement. "Of course not."

"No?" Blair shook his head violently. "What were you trying to do then, Ellison? Protect me? That worked real well, didn't it?"

Jim's face shattered, and Blair watched as it fell apart, fascinated by the emotions that played across it. Finally meeting Jim's eyes again, he leaned forward, speaking softly, but with utter conviction. "I make my own choices. I plan my own life. I do what *I* want to do, and I face the consequences for my choices. But those consequences are *not* up to *you*. Ever. Is that clear?"

Jim nodded slowly, holding to Blair's gaze as if he would drown if he looked away. Those eyes held everything that mattered, he thought. Even if all they held was anger.

He inhaled, keeping the scent of Blair as deeply within himself as he could, attempting to store away the sensation, to memorize it. He'd been right, he thought despairingly. Blair was going to tell him to stay away, to leave him alone. And he was right to.

The Sentinel had nearly staggered as he'd entered the cottage. His Guide's scent filled the air, permeated the very walls of the small dwelling. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed it. How much he needed it, relied upon it to keep him within himself. He thought of the past night, spent tossing and turning, looking for something missing. Now he knew what that something had been.

He wanted, desperately, to hold onto Blair. And wasn't that the cause of the whole damn thing? So desperate to keep his Guide safe that in his anger and fear, he'd treated Blair like a possession? Like a thing that could be locked away and kept in safety? He just hadn't realized that that was what he was doing.

He looked back at Blair, unaware of the single tear that ran down his face in his utter need to commit that face to memory before Blair kicked him out forever. "It's clear," he said hoarsely, meaning all of it. The horror of how he had treated Blair, the intensity of his need for the other man, and the absolute acceptance of what was about to happen. Opening his senses as far as he could, he let Blair in, drew Blair in, until there was nothing but Blair.

Blair's eyes tracked the lone tear as it trailed down Jim's face in fascinated disbelief. Jim was crying? He shook his head. Jim didn't cry. Well, for Danny Choi. For Jack Pendergrast. But for Blair? He looked back at Jim's eyes, cursing as he caught the familiar glaze falling across them. Jim was zoning. On what? he wondered, as he started speaking to the Sentinel.

Five minutes later, he sighed in frustration. Jim wasn't responding. Had it been too long, the separation? Or... his breath escaped in a gentle sigh. Jim had been looking at him, listening to him. Jim was zoned... on him.

He stepped closer to the other man, studying him. The still wet tear track caught his eye, and he frowned. The times he'd seen Jim cry before... those had been deaths. No one had died here. Why was Jim crying?

He shook his head at the thought that crossed his mind. Jim wouldn't. Not now, not when things were starting to clear up. Would he?

A startled hiss snapped through the air as he reviewed the conversation. Suddenly it was clear. Jim thought Blair was telling him to go away, that it was over. And maybe he had been. But not now. Not when it was so clear to him how much Jim needed him. He smiled sadly. Detach with love, he thought. Only... how do you do that? He used to know how.

The anger was still there. He suspected that, in a way, it always would be. But it felt more like an old wound, half-healed but still pulling, that the aching pit it had been half an hour earlier. Sighing, he admitted that he didn't want to leave. Didn't want to stay, either. What he wanted was impossible. He wanted it to have never happened.

Taking another step, he stood in front of Jim. Slowly he reached out a hand and traced the tear track. Jim's face was warm under his fingers, the flesh soft and smooth where Jim had shaved that morning. His other hand moved, curling to cup around Jim's opposite cheek. He stroked gently along Jim's face, murmuring quietly as he called to his Sentinel, called his Sentinel home.

Jim resisted the pull for as long as he could. He didn't want to go back, not to that place where Blair was telling him good-bye. He was drifting, comfortably numb - if he could have, he'd have laughed at the thought - and he wanted to stay there.

But he couldn't. How could he, when he could feel Blair's touch, hear Blair's call? Sadly, he surrendered, for the first time wishing that he could ignore his Guide. Slowly, he became aware of his surroundings. He flinched as Blair stepped back, away from him, as his Guide noted the awareness in his eyes.

"Hmm." The noise was noncommittal as Blair turned away. "I'm going to make some tea. Do you want some?"

He didn't really, but accepting a cup would delay the inevitable. Jim watched as Blair moved around the small kitchenette, careful not to zone again as he stored up memories. The grad student worked silently, readying the mugs as the water heated. It wasn't until he returned to sit across from Jim that he spoke again.

Jim shifted in his seat. "A couple," he admitted. "I'd forgotten how easy it is. I'll be more careful."

Jim's eyes flew to Blair's face as the other man nodded, his gasp confirmation. "How did you know?"

Blair shrugged. "I've made a habit of figuring out what you're zoned on. Are you going to answer my question?"

"Dinner, last night. I was with Simon, so he snapped me out of it after a few minutes."

"Doesn't matter. Jim, you hadn't zoned in months for more than a few seconds. And most of those you brought yourself out of."

"I'm out of practice." Jim took a sip of his tea, smiling as he recognized the familiar flavors of his favorite blend.

He was unaware of using the familiar nickname until Blair's eyes softened briefly. "I'm sorry," he said again.

"You heard me. It's not over. I teach you to control your senses, you let me write my dissertation on you. Well, I don't have my doctorate yet, man. And from what I just saw, you don't have control of your senses."

"We go back to the beginning. A couple hours a day, until you have control back, and I have enough data."

Blair whistled as he cleaned up the remnants of lunch. Suddenly realizing what he was doing, he stopped in surprise. Then he smiled to himself, and started a second tune.

It had, after all, been a good few days. Jim's morning sessions were going well, the Sentinel rapidly regaining the level of control that he'd had before. Blair was still slightly nervous about spending time with him, but the emotion receded further every day. Jim was on his absolute best behavior. Which was actually strange to be dealing with, thought Blair.

But good, he added, as he put the last clean dish into the drainboard. He'd never realized how much of their relationship had been composed of joking insults, some half-meant, until he and Jim spent time together without that. Of course, he thought whimsically, that meant he couldn't insult Jim, either. And he'd liked coming up with the off-the-wall ones that had always made Jim look at him with his head cocked, think for a moment, then shrug helplessly as he laughed.

Blair sighed. It was better this way. More objective. Reliable data, not influenced by his own emotions.

Grabbing a bottle of water, he settled into the easy chair, reaching for the book that lay open beside it. One thing about this, he sure was getting a lot of things done that had been pushed off because of his schedule. He'd wanted to read this novel for months.

Soon engrossed in the action, Blair was jerked back to the cottage as he heard the door open. Looking up, he smiled as Carly poked her head in.

The lawyer nodded. "Maybe good, maybe bad, depending on your view. You know how the city was refusing to offer a settlement?"

"Well, I never understood that. Apparently neither did the Mayor's office. They've offered a deal." She shrugged. "You can get more. I think since you dropped the other suit, they're hoping you'll go with this one."

Ignoring the residual frustration as Carly referred to the suit against Jim, Blair laid his book aside. Looking over at Carly, he waited expectantly.

"They've offered a million," she shook her head. "Paltry. Like I said, you can get more. Probably a lot more."

"I don't care about the money, Carly. I just want this over with. I'm sorry. I know it cuts down on your fee."

"That's not important, Blair. You know that. But," she shook her head. "You can do so much better than one million."

He outlined them as she listened, her face disbelieving. When he finished, she stared at him.

"Reinstatement for Banks and Ellison? Wiping this off their records? Your observer's pass back? What the hell are you trying to do, Blair? You didn't die this time, so you have to do it again?"

She jumped to her feet, pacing violently through the cottage. "I don't get it. I just don't get it, Blair. After all that happened to you, why? Why the hell are you worrying about them?"

She began pacing again. "You drop the lawsuit against Ellison, I don't say anything. You made your decision, that's it. Even if I don't agree with it. But this? This, I can't go along with. Blair, what are you thinking?"

She went on, interrupting him. "I know you and Ellison were friends, but damnit, Blair! What is this?"

"Then what? That I could almost understand. But if you're not, what in the world ties you to that man, Blair?"

Her voice was softer now, the tone more concern than anger. He stood, walking to her slowly. Taking her hands, he looked at her seriously. "I can't tell you, Carly. But maybe this will be enough? I'm still working on my doctoral dissertation. I need access to the police station to finish it. I need Jim and Simon to be there, they're important in my research. Without them I'd have to start from scratch, and I'm not sure I could do that now. Do you see?"

He kept his voice reasonable, his words convincing. Skirting the edges of the truth, he relaxed at her minute nod. "Thank you."

Jim guided the truck into its parking space with a quiet sigh. Relieved to be back at the loft, he quickly stepped out of the vehicle and headed up the stairs to his sanctuary. Or whatever it was.

Over the past ten days, he'd gotten a handle on his senses, right? At least Blair thought so. And Jim wasn't going to tell him otherwise. Wasn't going to tell him that the only time he had any control was when he was with Blair. Or that he didn't dare use them when his Guide wasn't around any more. He'd zoned more times than he could count, he thought ruefully.

So he kept them down as far as he could, living with the occasional spike and the constant head-aches. He viewed the world through cloudy glasses, it seemed, seeing clearly only near Blair. The other senses were the same. He suspected they always would be.

That Blair was willing to be in the same room with him was a gift. As much as he wanted and needed more, he wouldn't, *couldn't* ask. Closing the door to the loft securely behind him, he relaxed slightly, leaning against the heavy wood of the barrier. It didn't matter, anyway, he thought. It wasn't like he was using his senses for anything.

Straightening, he pushed away from the door and went to the kitchen. Opening the refrigerator, he scanned the shelves, wondering how much longer he could avoid a trip to the grocery store. It was harder to avoid spikes there, with the lights, the odors, and the screaming children. The last one had left him almost unable to move, only the appointment with Blair getting him out of his bed.

Shrugging, he closed the refrigerator. He wasn't really hungry. Nothing tasted good, nothing seemed tempting at all.

Briefly he considered finding something to do, then shook his head. Settling on the couch, he closed his eyes, trying to ignore the beginnings of the day's pounding pain in his skull. If he was lucky, he'd get to sleep a little before the pain grew too great.

Just drifting off, he jerked upright as the soft trill of the phone cut through him. Swearing, he fumbled for the handpiece.

Jim shook his head as he leaned back against the couch cushions. He hadn't heard right, he decided. Wishful thinking. Not that he could be a cop anymore, not the way his senses were spiking. But Simon going back? That *was* good news.

"Didn't you hear what I said, Ellison?" the other man demanded. "I said we. As in us. As in both of us."

"Not officially. Not any more." Simon chuckled. "Paid leave of absence, they're calling it now."

Simon sobered. "I'm betting a deal was made, Jim. I don't know why, but I think the kid... sorry. I think Sandburg had something to do with it. Our records have been cleared, Jim. Completely. All reference to any of this has been expunged. We start back tomorrow."

Jim sat silently, dazed. His hands shook as they held the phone. Finally he spoke again. "I can't, Simon."

"No. I can't. You know my senses are back. But I don't have control of them. I can't be on the streets."

"So you ride a desk until your control's back. That's probably the best idea anyway. Ease us both back into things. It's been a while."

"No, Jim. For some reason this is what Blair decided to do. You gonna go against his wishes?"

"I am too, Simon," Jim said honestly. He just hoped it would stay that way. Replacing the phone, he sighed heavily before rising. If he was going to work tomorrow, there were a few things he had to do. Hating the need, he shrugged into his coat and grabbed the truck keys. He was almost out of aspirin. He had a feeling that running out would be a bad idea.

Blair hesitated briefly as he neared the doors to the police station, then shrugged and pushed through them. There were happy memories here, too, he thought. With any luck, there would be more. He smiled to himself as he remembered the call from Carly the night before. The city had gone for it, she'd said, resignation in her voice. His pass would be ready for pick-up the next day. And yes, Banks had been notified. He'd notified Ellison, apparently, she'd added acerbically.

He smiled again as he entered the elevator. Jim hadn't said anything that morning. But when he'd left there had been a cautious anticipation in his step, a spring that Blair hadn't seen since.... He breathed deeply, forcing himself to go on. Since the day he'd been arrested. There. He'd faced it again. It had been easier this time, as it was every time. Maybe, someday, he'd be able to remember that day without the rush of panic and rage.

Setting it aside, he frowned as he pushed the button for Major Crime. There was something about today's session with Jim that bothered him. If he was honest, it had been there all along. He just couldn't lay a finger on what it was.

The elevator slowed and he took another deep breath. As the doors opened he stepped out, surprised when he wasn't greeted. Looking around, he saw a bunch of new faces and shrugged. Heading down the hallway, he poked his head into Records.

"Blair Sandburg!" The middle-aged woman behind the desk smiled widely. "I didn't believe it when I got the order to make up a new pass for you, but here you are!"

The concern in her question startled him, but he recovered quickly. "I'm good, Lissa. Really," he assured as he saw doubt in her eyes.

She smiled back. "You're welcome. And if you're looking for Ellison, he went to the break room about ten minutes ago."

He shook his head. "You always do know where everybody is. What are you, psychic?" he teased gently.

She laughed at the old joke. "Get out of here, Blair. Shoo! I've got work to do."

Turning away as she smiled again, he headed down the hall to the break room, wondering if Jim knew he still had an observer. If he'd heard the conversation just past, he probably had figured it out. And Blair had no doubt that he'd heard it. And no doubt at all about his reaction.

Jim settled into the hard, plastic chair gratefully, not sure that he could stand much longer. Every step he took rattled his brains, and the humming conversations in the bullpen echoed like power drills. He'd stayed as long as he could, but he'd had to take a break. The quiet of the break room, where there was only the sound of the soda machine, was a relief. Not like the loft, but still...

Breathing deeply as Blair had taught him, he concentrated on controlling his hearing. For some reason the other senses were staying where he put them, but hearing was swinging wildly back and forth. Closing his eyes, he focused on turning that damned dial, getting it to where he wanted it. It took a few minutes, but finally he relaxed, no longer able to hear past the room's walls. Staying where he was, he smiled grimly at the numbness he felt.

God. How long could he do this? It was as if he was only alive those brief hours he spent with Blair. Sadly he admitted to himself that that had been the case since he'd first met the man. Not so much the senses, really, as just the sense of being connected to someone. Of caring about someone. Now it was both.

Bowing his head, he leaned on the table in front of him, covering his face with his hands. Briefly he allowed himself to dream of what had been, of what could never be again. After a minute he shook himself, straightening in the chair. He had a job, after all. Blair had given it back to him somehow, for whatever reason. And by God, he was going to do it!

Caught in the vehemence of his thoughts, he didn't hear the door open, or the soft voice that called his name. A hand touched his shoulder, and he whirled, pushing the chair back abruptly as he stood.

"That wasn't a zone, was it, Jim? If it was, you came out of it awfully fast when I touched you."

Jim shook his head. "No. I wasn't zoned." He drank in the other man's presence, not knowing or caring why he was there. "I just didn't hear you."

"That's all? Jim, you can hear me from the minute I come in this building. I have *never* taken you unaware like that." Blair studied him for a minute. "What's it set on?"

Jim sank back into the chair. Looking up at Blair, he shook his head. "Pretty much all the time, Sandburg. Except..." He cut off in mid-stream.

Blair nodded, moving to where Jim was looking at him again. "Those first twenty minutes at the cottage, when you won't do any tests. You're opening them up again, aren't you? And then you cram in everything you can. Damnit, Jim! You let me think you had control again."

Blair's voice was low, its fury almost disguised by the even tone. Jim closed his eyes in misery. "No."

"What?" Jim's head snapped up and he stared at his Guide, for the first time spotting the pass clipped to the other man's shirt. "No way, Chief!"

Jim's mouth snapped shut on another protest. Blair nodded at him. "Good, you do remember."

Pulling out another chair, Blair dropped into it, his eyes locked on Jim's face. Jim stared back at him, finally opening his mouth.

"No," Blair returned. "I need more data in field conditions." He stared at Jim for another minute.

"It could be a lot of things, Jim. But before this all happened, you were fine by yourself. So what do you think it is?"

Jim's jaw clenched again, and he looked away from Blair's face. He couldn't meet those eyes, not with what he knew was the reason. It had to be.

"Jim." Blair's voice broke the silence. "I know what I think it is. But I need to know what you think is happening."

Jim closed his eyes briefly. "You haven't forgiven me," he whispered. "I betrayed you, and you haven't forgiven me, not really." He flicked a glance over at Blair. "I don't expect you to, Chief. I know I don't deserve it."

"Hmm. That's one interpretation." Blair shifted in his chair, leaning forward. "In some ways you're probably right, Jim. I told you it would take a long time for this to heal. I meant that."

"In other ways, I think it's something completely different. You've not been acting as a Sentinel, Jim. You haven't been protecting anything. You haven't been serving your tribe. I think that because you're not using your senses the way they're supposed to be used, they aren't reacting the way they should be. If that's the case, being back on the force is going to do wonders."

Blair shrugged. "I don't know." He sighed. "But I know what to do in the short term."

Blair nodded. "I need to move out of the cottage, anyway. Carly's been great, but I know she uses it a lot. So," he shrugged again. "No house rules, man," he warned.

Jim felt like his hearing had gone off again. He stared at Blair disbelievingly. "Are you... You'd do that? Move back into the loft?"

Blair looked down at the soapy water running slowly into the shower drain and grinned wickedly. Looked like the past week of *not* using the hair trap had done its job. He wondered if Jim would say anything about it. Probably not. The Sentinel would just get that look that several months ago had heralded a major lecture, take a deep breath, and then deflate. At least, that was Blair's bet.

After all, it was what Jim did every time Blair had broken one of the old rules. They didn't apply anymore. He could almost hear the other man chanting that to himself as Blair tossed his jacket on the floor. As he'd flushed the toilet at 3 am. As wet, muddy shoes left prints on the hardwood floors.

Finishing drying himself, he looked at the towel rack consideringly, then shrugged and dropped the damp towel. Heading out of the bathroom, he whistled loudly as he walked through the main area and into his room. Wasn't his fault if Jim wasn't up yet, was it?

Pulling clothing from the dresser, he stopped whistling as he heard the Sentinel's footsteps on the stairs. He grinned at the low grumbling he could hear, then sobered as he heard the bathroom door close. Counting, he reached ten before the yell came.

There was a brief silence, then a low "Nothing," as Jim closed the bathroom door again Blair laughed quietly, knowing the detective would hear him. *Wanting* the detective to hear him.

It had started off small. Blair wasn't even sure why he kept pushing and pushing at Jim. He had a theory, though.

Part of it was to punish Jim. He wasn't proud of that impulse, that need. But it was real, and it wasn't going to go away until it was satisfied. But by far the majority of it was a test. How far could he push Jim, before the other man blew up at him? Before Jim violated their agreement? How safe was he, really?

Blair needed to know that. Somewhere deep inside, he was still afraid. He closed his eyes as he sat on the futon. He hated this. Most of the time he was fine, and then there would be such a rush of emotion that he would actually stagger from the impact. It was unfair. He knew that. But the whole damn thing had been unfair. If Jim was going to hurt him, he needed to know that as soon as possible.

Oh, hell, he thought dully. Jim wouldn't hurt him. Jim was too busy tip-toeing around him, watching him to make sure he wasn't going to disappear. The man was desperately afraid that Blair was going to leave, and Blair knew it.

There was something *so* fucked up about their relationship. Blair kept pushing and pushing, probing at it like a tongue that can't stay away from a missing tooth, pushing at the hole again and again until the tongue becomes sore, unable to keep from looking for what was once there. And Jim just kept backing away. How far would he go? How far did Blair *want* him to go?

Looking at the clock, he jumped up and quickly finished dressing. They were running late and Simon, at least, had no qualms about growling at Blair any more. The police station was back to normal. It was just he and Jim that were still a mess.

Jim sat on his bed and scrubbed wearily at his face as he listened to the door close behind Blair. It had been a long day, he *knew* Sandburg was tired. Five months ago, he'd have said something, made some joking remark about Blair being better off staying home and getting some sleep. Now? He didn't dare.

The past three weeks had been heaven and hell combined. The loft smelled like home again. Maybe a little too much like home, he thought, his nose wrinkling at the aroma of Blair's dirty laundry pile. His senses were under control most of the time. Work was going well, the residual awkwardness of his return finally gone. And Blair was near. That was heaven.

And hell. Jim knew the other man was deliberately trying to drive him insane, just *knew* it. But he couldn't do a thing about it. Blair had made it plain when he came back to the loft that the first attempt to set limits on him would result in his leaving. Jim couldn't risk that. At least when Blair lived in the loft, he could be sure that his Guide was eating, wasn't sick, wasn't.... He swallowed hard at the images that ran through his head.

There were moments when he'd come close. Standing in the bathroom pulling hair, gummed with soap, from the drains, for example. Finding milk left on the counter overnight, the spout open so that the odor of rot filled the loft. Things like that. But it had been possible, not easy, but possible, to lock it down. This new trick?

Jim groaned softly. The past four nights Blair had gone out late, never even leaving the loft before ten pm. He'd come home loudly drunk, usually after five am. He'd reeked of cigarette smoke and alcohol. The only clubs Jim knew of that were open that late were dangerous. He wanted, desperately, to tell Blair to stay away from them. But how could he?

Blair wobbled as he forged his way up the tilting stairway to the third floor, groaning as he pulled his way along the railing. He ached, body and soul. Of the two, it was probably the soul that hurt worse. Although, right at this moment, it was definitely a toss-up.

He hated hurting Jim. He'd decided that it just wasn't fun anymore, the pain in the big guy's eyes too much to keep on with it. So he'd escalated, trying to force the man to some action. So he'd know where they stood. But Jim just wouldn't give. Blair smiled, regretting it as the cut on his lip began to bleed again. Wasn't that one of the things he'd always admired about Jim?

He stopped for a moment on the stairs, breathing heavily. His face hurt where the Neanderthal at the bar had hit him. So did his ribs and his stomach. He'd be in a world of pain tomorrow, he thought, then shrugged. Not a new feeling, after all. Taking another breath, he began working on the rest of the flight.

Reaching the landing, he fumbled for his keys as he weaved his way down the hall. Opening the door, he tossed them toward the basket, growling under his breath as they hit the floor instead. Then he growled louder. Might as well keep with the program, after all. Even if he no longer wanted to.

Making his way into the bathroom, he reached for the first aid kit, hissing in pain as the movement jostled his sore ribs. Just breathing for a moment, he tried again.

A large hand reached over him and snagged the box effortlessly. He turned to look at Jim. The Sentinel stood behind him, his face carefully blank until he got a good look at Blair's. Then a flash of pain washed across it, quickly covered up.

Blair nodded. "I could use one," he answered, wondering what had triggered this. The past three nights he had known he'd woken Jim up, but the Sentinel had remained upstairs.

Blair followed him out, gratefully sinking into the chair Jim pulled out. Tilting his head upward, he relaxed slightly as Jim gently cleaned the blood off his face. God, this felt familiar. He laughed, causing Jim to draw back in surprise.

"You. Me. This," Blair explained, waving his hand around to indicate the whole situation. "How many times have we patched each other up now?"

Jim nodded solemnly and Blair felt a wave of disappointment. The Jim he remembered would have chuckled at least. Sitting still, he waited for Jim to continue cleaning his face.

The warm water felt good. He closed his eyes, relaxing a bit more, then winced as he felt a pull along the largest gash. "Ow!" he complained.

"That one's pretty big. Might need stitches, if the butterfly doesn't hold it together," Jim commented.

"Well, you don't have to pull it farther open, do you?" Blair snapped as the cloth pulled at the wound again.

"I have to get it clean," Jim returned, his voice low. "And, damnit, Sandburg! If you'd just learn to think before you do..."

He stopped suddenly. Blair's eyes opened to a white face staring at him, eyes stricken. "Blair, I'm sorry. I won't..." Jim swallowed. "I'm sorry."

Studying him for a long moment, Blair finally nodded. "Yeah, big guy. I think we are."