Title:  Reflections: Cascade
Author: Star
Fandom: The Sentinel
Rating: a light R, but only for language.  Sorry!
Series:  Reflections (will eventually xover with Due South)
Version: First draft
Category: Pre-slash / Xover 
Archived at: N/A
Available for SORT archive: Final version only
Looking for feedback on: see above

Notes/Comments:  This is my first Sentinel piece, even though
these guys have pretty much taken over since... oh... July 2001.
Much thanks and love to my wonderful full-time betas, Pam and Mary,
and to Linda and Nicole, who were kind enough to look over particular
sections.  And *hugs* to Mary's dS Muses, who drop in occasionally 
and ask when the hell Jim and Blair are finally showing up!

Oh... // indicates thoughts.  Lame, I know, but txt files don't
allow the italics I'd prefer.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Jim!  Come on, man...."

Deflecting the door headed toward his face with a sweep of his 
arm, Blair Sandburg entered the loft in a blur of hair and flannel.  
Only his well-engrained habit of remaining a half-step behind his 
roommate saved him from having it slammed in his face, and he let 
his backpack fall to the floor with a deliberately loud thump.  
Meanwhile, the focus of his irritation, Detective James Ellison, 
continued across the room without a word, earning him the top spot
on Blair's current 'list of the world's most aggravating people.'
The fact that said detective was also at the top of the young
anthropologist's 'list of people it's stupid to fall for because
*that's* never gonna happen' only served to make the current
situation more frustrating.

"You've got to tell Simon.  It's too unpredictable."  Blair huffed 
an exasperated sigh, then continued, his tone softening with worry.  
"And too dangerous."  He watched, hands on his hips, as Jim headed
into the kitchen and immediately became fascinated with the contents
of their refrigerator.  "Jim, either your hearing is on the fritz 
again or you're deliberately tuning me out.  Either way, it's really
starting to piss me off."

Getting no response, Blair slammed the loft door, noting the slight
tightening of Jim's shoulders under the thick denim shirt.  

// Aha!  Sorry, Jim, but I've watched that body too closely for too 
long to miss something like that. //

Satisfied that his sentinel's hearing was fully functional, Blair 
crossed the room and insinuated himself between Jim and the nearly
empty shelves.  

Jim leaned back, crossing his arms and meeting his shorter, hairier
counterpart's gaze with an icy glare.  "You make a better door than
a window, Sandburg."

"Funny," Blair replied, looking completely unamused.  "James Ellison, 
the sentinel comedian.  Now, why won't you tell Simon that your 
senses have been cutting out?"

Trying in vain to outstubborn his partner, Jim maintained his cool 
demeanor for a moment longer, then a slight unclenching of his jaw 
marked his acquiescence.  In response, Blair's expression shifted
from one of dogged determination to gentle encouragement.

"Damn it, Chief.  You know how I hate desk duty.  It's bad enough
Simon'll stick me with it while you're in Chicago..."

Blair lifted both hands and shook his head in a gesture of denial.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa.  There's no way I'm going to Chicago with you
in this condition."

"But...."  Jim stopped, mouth working soundlessly until he got his 
thoughts back in order.  "You have to.  Dr. Stoddard specifically 
requested you for this conference, and you've already let him down 
once."

Blair's chin tilted at an angle Jim had learned to dread.  "No way,
man.  They'll have to find somebody else."

"In less than a week?  Come on.  Besides, this isn't like the
trip to Borneo..."

"No, it's worse, because somehow you seem to have even *less*
control over your senses now than you did then."

Blair absently grabbed two bottles from the fridge and handed one 
to Jim before closing the door.  They both sipped their beers as
the younger man paced, his body vainly attempting to keep up with
his quicksilver mind as it wrapped itself around the latest in a
long line of sentinel-based conundrums.  After several energetic
laps around the kitchen, his eyes lit up, and he moved to stand in 
front of Jim, lifting his head and offering a brilliant smile along 
with his solution.

"I've got it!  You come with me to Chicago.  A little change of 
pace, a break in routine -- it could be just what you need."

~~~

As if in response to Blair's proximity, Jim's recalcitrant senses
automatically dialed up, allowing him to catalog his partner's
physical and emotional state.  Not content with sight, scent and
sound, he leaned forward slightly, unconsciously seeking to add 
touch to the equation.  As his hand rose toward the riotous curls 
framing Blair's hopeful expression, Jim caught himself and abruptly 
pulled back.

Feeling both threatened and embarrassed by his body's involuntary
response to Blair's enthusiasm, Jim did what any cornered animal 
would do -- he attacked.  "Sandburg, did it ever occur to you that 
the change I need might be a break in the you-and-me routine?"

Blair took a step back as if struck, the eager smile slipping from
his lips, the light in his deep blue eyes fading as they narrowed
in anger.  "You need space?  Fine.  You'll have it, starting first
thing tomorrow."

Jim knew he should feel elated.  He'd just won an argument with 
Sandburg -- without a lengthy discussion or even raising his voice.
Instead, what he felt was numb, with a small thread of fear woven 
in for contrast.  He couldn't help remembering that the last time 
Blair had given him space, he'd ended up giving CPR to a corpse.

Blair stepped closer, punctuating his next comments with several 
sharp jabs to Jim's chest with his index finger.  "But I'm *not* 
leaving town... and it's only until the weekend... on the slim 
chance that you actually decide to work through your problems 
this time."

Blair backed off then, but it was Jim who looked away first, 
unable to face the raw ache rapidly overshadowing the younger 
man's momentary ire.

"So you can, like, call me.  If you change your mind," Blair 
finished, turning towards his room.

Jim had to fight down the ridiculous urge to reach for his cell
phone and dial Blair's number.  

"Where will you be?" he finally asked, breaking the awkward silence
just as Blair reached the sanctuary of his doorway.

// God, Chief.  Please don't say your office, or I really will
have to beg you to stay. //

Blair shrugged, not bothering to turn around as he replied.  "I 
don't know.  Maybe Simon's, since Daryl's still in town and we 
haven't had much of a chance to hang out lately.  So, uh, g'night, 
Jim."

"Night, Chief."

Jim grimaced, then scrubbed his face with his hands as Blair
disappeared into his room, quietly shutting the French doors
behind him.  

// Good job, Ellison.  It's not like it's the kid's fault we've
been practically inseparable since we got back from Sierra Verde. //

All 'Blessed Protector' jokes aside, Jim realized he'd felt
responsible for Blair's safety from the very beginning -- always 
cognizant of the young academic's observer status and lack of police
training, even when Blair himself wasn't.  But ever since Alex
and the chaos she'd wrought on their lives, his protective instincts
had intensified, and were now at the point that he felt restless
and irritated unless his partner was within range of at least one 
of his suddenly wayward senses.  Dreading the very *idea* of Blair 
being 2000 miles away, he had -- true to form -- let his fear-based 
responses goad him into yet another betrayal of their friendship.

Friendship.  Right.  It would be simpler if that's all it was, 
Jim thought.  No, Blair was a hell of a lot more than just a 
friend... or partner... or even shaman. 

Jim performed his evening locking-up ritual and climbed the stairs 
on automatic pilot, his thoughts focused on the man lying in the 
room below him.  He let out a soft sigh as he remembered his first 
impression of the real Blair Sandburg, sans the borrowed lab coat 
and hospital ID -- bouncing to the beat of rock-enhanced tribal 
rhythms and spouting off some crazy theory about primitive watchmen 
and behavioral throwbacks, all while staring at him with two of the 
biggest, bluest eyes he'd ever seen.  Stripping off his clothes, 
Jim grinned wryly, recalling that -- despite some very real fears 
about his own mental state -- he'd still thought it was a damn shame 
that the most attractive man he'd met in a long time was a complete 
nutcase.  Little had he known that said nutcase would soon become 
his roommate and nearly constant companion.

Weird food, weird music, and even weirder habits -- when Blair 
first moved in, it had been easy for Jim to overcome his initial 
attraction, at least until his new roommate's courage, loyalty and
overwhelming compassion became blindingly obvious, even to him.  
Then what had been an easily-sublimated physical desire transformed 
into something far more dangerous, both to their friendship and 
Jim's sanity -- love.  Groaning softly, he slipped under the 
covers and pulled his eyemask down.  That was something else that 
had intensified since their encounter with the female sentinel.  
He'd really thought he'd come to terms with how deeply he'd fallen 
in love with Blair... until he'd lost him.  

Flipping on the white noise generator after one final check 
downstairs, he used one of Blair's breathing techniques to settle 
himself into what he knew would be a restless night.

~~~

Blair briefly considering pacing, then threw himself backwards onto 
his bed, feeling too exhausted to even mutter.  There was nothing he 
could say that Jim hadn't already heard, and he was tired -- bone 
tired -- of the emotional roller coaster he'd been on for the entire
three weeks since they'd gotten back from Sierra Verde.  

Pressing down on his eyelids with the heels of his hands and 
tangling his fingers in his hair, he struggled to make sense of what
was going on with his partner.  Some days it seemed like Jim was 
afraid to let him out of his sight, while others, like today, were
almost as bad as when things started falling apart because of Alex.
Worse, in some ways, because now there wasn't any territorial 
imperative to blame, just some new kind of screwed-up twist in the 
Ellison-Sandburg dynamic.  Gasping, Blair sat up, his eyes widening.

// Oh man, what if that's it?  What if Jim's finally figured out 
how I feel about him? // 

He took a couple of deep breaths, trying to slow his racing
heartbeat.  Living with a sentinel didn't exactly afford you with 
a hell of a lot of privacy, after all.  Despite his best attempts 
to keep things light, he'd always known there was a good chance 
Jim was aware of his attraction and just dealt with it in his own 
repressed, denial-based way.  Of course, Blair knew he'd done a 
particularly lousy job of being subtle lately, having discovered it 
was a little harder to not wear your heart on your sleeve after 
you've come back from the dead for someone.

// Or maybe Jim's decided that he can't ignore it any longer.  
Things did get pretty... intense... there for a while. //

Momentarily diverted from his incipient panic attack, Blair reveled
in his awestruck memories of the vision he and Jim had shared at 
the fountain.  The all-encompassing sense of completeness he'd
experienced was something he’d never forget, and for a while he'd 
really hoped Jim would feel the same.  A half-formed smile faded 
as he remembered his partner's words at the hospital, and how Jim 
apparently *had* been ready to take that trip with Alex instead.

His deep sigh morphed into a yawn as Blair once again tried to
puzzle out what had happened at the temple before he and Megan
arrived.  He'd wanted to discuss it, but had been too busy catching
up on sleep and trying to breath properly on the flight back to ask 
any questions, and once they'd landed, Simon had immediately 
ordered him back to the hospital.  After two days of observation 
and IV antibiotics, he'd been released, and an even more quiet 
version of the Jim Ellison he knew and loved drove him home
to a completely restored loft, right down to native masks on
the walls and algae-shake ingredients in the fridge.  

After an awkwardly silent meal, Blair had tried to get Jim to talk
about it, but Jim's response -- "Look, Chief... we both made some 
mistakes, said and did some stuff we didn't really mean, but it's 
over now, right?  Can't we just go back to the way things were?" -- 
combined with the older man's equally hopeful and shamefaced 
expression had shut Blair down for the evening.  And since then...
well, despite his hope for 'more,' at this point he'd be thrilled
to just have things go back to what had always passed for normal 
between them.

Blair shook his head wearily, standing up just long enough to strip
down for bed and crawl under the thick comforter.  It was mid May,
but a storm front had blown in from Canada earlier in the week, 
bringing unseasonably cold temperatures and rain, even by Cascade 
standards.  

// Hell, maybe me spending a few days at Simon's is the best thing
for us right now.  Get us both back on an even keel. //

He stared blankly up at the ceiling, trying to vain to remember a
time when *not* communicating had done them any good.

// Or not. //

~~~


Jim followed the sleek, dark shape further into the forest, driven
by a sense of urgency.  He knew the place, and the feeling, all too 
well, and while part of his mind shrank from what he knew he'd find,
his feet carried him forward at an ever-increasing pace.  He burst
out of the trees at the edge of a deep ravine, his jaguar pacing 
frantically on one side, a wolf watching curiously from the other.

It always started like this, eerily similar to the vision at the 
fountain, but in this dream, there was no life-restoring merge.  
Instead, the wolf died, and each time Jim watched helplessly, unable
to move or speak until it was too late.  Sometimes the spotted jaguar 
appeared on the other side, tearing into the wolf until its blood 
soaked the opposite cliff.  Sometimes the wolf attempted the jump
alone, only to fall short, scrambling for purchase, its glowing blue 
eyes locked on Jim as it slipped into the ravine.  Tonight, the wolf 
paced, matching its feline counterpart stride for stride at first, 
then slowing, stumbling as if it were ill.  As Jim watched in horror
-- wanting to tell it to stop, to lie down and wait, that it was too
sick to continue without help -- it forced itself to keep walking,
veering closer and closer to the edge with each step.  Finally it 
happened -- the fatal, weary misstep -- and with a surprised yelp, 
the barely-conscious wolf tumbled over the side.

Jim was already half out of bed when he awoke, gasping for air
and slick with sweat.  Heedless of the cold air that immediately
pebbled his skin, he hurried downstairs, desperate to hear something 
beyond the hum of white noise and the pounding of his own heart.  He 
cursed softly as he reached the bottom of the stairs, then continued 
toward Blair's room.  Not only did the damn dreams wake him almost 
every night, but the adrenaline rush played havoc with his already 
shaky control over his senses.  As much as he hated to admit it, 
Blair was right.  He had to find a way to fix this, and soon, before
someone got hurt.

Jim's senses began to come back online just as he reached Blair's 
door.  Hearing returned first, and he breathed a sigh of relief, 
immediately reassured by the slow, steady rhythm of a heartbeat at 
rest.  He really hadn't wanted to burst in and startle his roommate
awake if he could help it.  Frowning, Jim glanced around the empty 
loft, noticing a strange taste in the air.  He dialed up smell, 
nearly zoning as the distinctive odor of natural gas washed over 
him.
 
// A leak. //  He dialed down to almost normal and still found
the smell almost overwhelming.  // A bad one.  Shit. //

He knocked loudly on the French doors.  "Sandburg.  Blair!"  

Suddenly the slow beating took on a more ominous meaning and Jim 
burst into the room, reaching the bed in two long strides.  

// Right now, startling him awake would just about make my night. //

He called Blair's name again, then shook him.  Gathering up his 
unresponsive partner, blankets and all, Jim carried him quickly
toward the balcony.  After struggling one-handed with the sliding
door for a moment, he made it outside and took a deep breath of 
clean, cold air.  Setting Blair carefully in the lounge chair, he 
crouched down and slapped lightly at the slack cheeks.  "Blair.  
Come on, buddy.  I need you to wake up, okay?  Crack open those baby 
blues for me, huh, Chief?"

Blair groaned and stirred, turning his head away from Jim's anxious
entreaties.  

~~~

Floating slowly toward consciousness, Blair wondered vaguely how his 
room had gotten so cold.  He chided himself for leaving the window 
open on such a chilly night, then remembered that he didn't have 
any windows that actually opened.  Still, his body was warm enough, 
it was just his face... well, half of his face... that was starting 
to freeze.  The other side was nice and toasty though, he thought,
rubbing his stubbled cheek against the mysterious, yet infinitely 
welcome, heat source.

The sound of an urgent voice slowly intruded on his drowsy musings.
Blair forced open heavy eyelids, then blinked in surprise as he 
realized that the warmth he'd been snuggling into was Jim's hand, 
cupping the unfrozen side of his face and tilting his head so that 
he had a clear view of Jim's worried expression.

"Jim?" he whispered, his voice a husky rasp.  The grin that lit up 
his partner's face only served to confuse him further.

"Hey there, Chief."  Jim's relief was evident in his voice.  "How 
are you feeling?"

"Fine, man.  A little headache, but..."  Blair sat up straighter, 
briefly lamenting the loss of the warm, gentle hand as Jim pulled 
back, then looked around, eyes opening wide as he took in their 
surroundings.  "What are we doing on our balcony in the middle of 
the night?"  He glanced back at Jim, clad only in boxers, and 
shivered in sympathy.  "And aren't you cold?"  // Not that it isn't
a good look for you. //

Jim's mouth quirked into a full-blown smile as he stood, ruffling
Blair's sleep-tousled hair.  "Gas leak.  I couldn't wake you, so
I was hoping fresh air would help.  And, yeah, something warmer
would be nice.  Plus I have to call the owner of the building and 
the gas company, shut off the main valve.... "  He paused as Blair 
rubbed at his forehead.  "You sure you're alright?  You want me to 
grab some aspirin while I'm in there?"

"Yeah, thanks, Jim.  And maybe...."

"A hairtie.  You got it."  

As his partner turned to go, Blair remembered another important
detail.  "Oh, and Jim...."

"I've got it turned down to just below normal, Chief," he called 
over his shoulder, reentering the loft.

"Good.  And while you're playing handyman...."  Blair found himself
interrupted once again, this time by a flying phone, which he caught
easily, even in his not-quite-awake state.  Some days there were 
definite advantages to having a sentinel around the house -- perfect 
aim, for example.  "Why don't I make the phone calls," he finished.

Dialing the 24-hour emergency number for the gas company --
conveniently located on a glow-in-the-dark sticker on the phone 
itself -- he murmured "Anal retentive smart-ass," and was promptly
rewarded with a rude gesture from across the loft as Jim hurried up
the stairs to his bedroom.  Blair grinned and snuggled deeper into 
the blankets.  It had been a long time since he and Jim had 
communicated so effortlessly and, despite the cold and 
inconvenience, he was more than happy to bask in that small 
blessing while it lasted.

~~~

Armed against the cold with a steaming hot mug of mocha-flavored
coffee -- courtesy of his fully-recovered partner, who had insisted 
on treating the whole 'gas leak' situation like a big adventure once 
his headache disappeared -- Jim stood alone on the balcony, watching 
the grayness of pre-dawn creep over the bay.  Dressed in a thick,
black cableknit sweater and jeans, the shivers that rushed across 
his skin at random intervals had more to do with the presence of 
strangers in his home than the crispness of the morning air.  

Sandburg, still draped in a blanket despite the sweats and flannel 
he'd hurriedly pulled on, was inside, soaking up random facts about 
natural gas and commercial building codes.  And flirting.  Jim had 
no idea how many emergency repair*women* the gas company employed, 
or how many of them were single and attractive, but it was just his 
luck that one would be on duty tonight, and that the object of his 
unrequited affection was constitutionally incapable of looking a gift 
horse in the mouth.  Unless, of course, the gift horse happened to 
be his roommate.  Jim grimaced as a high-pitched peal of feminine
laughter drifted out to him, followed quickly by two decidedly 
lower-pitched chuckles.  

Jim realized he was slipping into something he usually detested --
self-pity -- but between his senses acting up, the nightmares, 
finding Blair unconscious, the delightful Karen (or so the neatly 
embroidered nametag on her uniform read), and the prospect of a full
day at work after a night of virtually no sleep, he figured he 
deserved a few moments of indulgence.  His mouth set in a grim 
frown, Jim stared out at the growing brightness and was close to a 
deliberate zone when a light touch on his arm brought him back to 
the here and now.

"Hey, you doing okay, man?"

// Blair the Vigilant strikes again. //

"Yeah, just waiting for them to finish up.  Are they about done?" 
he asked, gesturing toward the loft with his mug.

"Uhm, yeah, well... I think you'd better come inside.  It's a little
more complicated than we thought."

Following Blair into the loft, Jim set his mug down on the kitchen
table before leaning against the counter and crossing his arms.  He
looked away from Blair's knowing expression -- he knew it wouldn't
take a minor in psychology to decipher his body language -- and 
instead focused his attention on Karen and her supervisor, Roger, 
both of whom were emerging from the general vicinity of the water 
heater.

"Mr. Ellison, I'm afraid we've got some bad news for you," Roger 
began.

A muscle jumped in Jim's jaw as he waited for the details.  Rapidly
approaching 40, yet he still immediately thought of his father when 
he heard that name, and -- despite recent efforts -- it wasn't 
usually a happy thought.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one 
of Blair's eyebrows lift and knew his reaction hadn't gone unnoticed.

// Well, hell, Chief.  I've been 'Detective Ellison' to just about
everyone for seven years, and before that I was in the Army for ten.
Let's see how you feel once you've got 'professor' tagged on in
front of your name. //

As always, that thought led to another frown.  Jim knew damn well
that once Blair had his Ph.D. there was very little reason for
him to stick around Cascade, not with the shape their partnership
was in.  And what kind of selfish prick did that make him, to be
so miserable over the thought of his best friend finally getting 
what he'd spent so much of his life working for?

"But it's nothing that can't be fixed, of course," Roger continued
nervously.  

Jim glanced up, curious, realizing that the rather small man -- 
about Blair's height, but slimmer -- was taking his grim expression
personally.  Making an effort to both look and sound less 
intimidating, he asked, "So what exactly are we looking at here?  
A few hours?  The rest of the day?"

"More like a few days."  Roger backed up a step as Jim's frown
returned in full force.  "See, this isn't a run of the mill leak.
The main pipe -- which looks like it dates back to the original
construction, by the way -- is split, and we're going to have to 
do a little work to replace it properly."

"It'll mean draining and removing your water heater, breaking
through the wall behind it, replacing the pipe, then reversing
the process," Karen added, only slightly cowed by the glare that
swung her way.

Like a matador waving a red cape, Blair stepped forward and into the
conversation.  "Which normally would only take a day or two, but the 
construction team they subcontract with is booked through at least
Friday, so the rebuild can't happen until Monday..."

"Moving the reinstallation of the water heater to Tuesday at the
earliest.  Oh, and as I mentioned to Mr. Sandburg, this might be a 
good time to consider purchasing a larger model.  This one's really 
meant more for a single-occupant residence," Roger finished.
 
Jim remained silent for a moment longer, absorbing the rapid-fire 
information as Blair lifted a hand to try to hide the smile Roger's 
last comment had provoked.  

"So I... we've... got to find someplace else to stay for the next
week?" he finally responded, sounding a lot less irritated than
anyone had expected.  After receiving three relieved nods, he looked
at his partner and asked, "You think Simon could put up with both
of us for a few days, Chief?"

~~~

"Jim?"

Caught in the act of reaching for his third donut, Jim glared
across the cheap formica table at his partner.  "Not one word,
Sandburg."  Blair raised an eyebrow as Jim selected a buttermilk
bar from the offensively pink box sitting between them.  "After the
day I had yesterday, not to mention last night, I deserve this," he 
added fiercely, shaking the next course of his sugar-laden breakfast
at Blair.  "And I'm seriously considering Wonderburger for lunch."

"What?  Oh, hey, no, man... I wasn't... I mean... well, I've been 
thinking."

"Oh oh," Jim mumbled, blithely ignoring the crumbled napkin that 
bounced off his forehead.

Blair gave a satisfied nod as Jim held his tongue, then continued 
his thought.  "You know, the loft being uninhabitable for the next 
week or so would make, like, the perfect excuse for getting out of 
town for a few days."  As Jim's silence held, Blair dropped his 
eyes and nervously began picking the nuts off his banana-walnut
muffin.  "I mean, I know you said you needed some space, but I'll
be at the conference during the day, and we wouldn't even need 
to hang out together at night much, really..."  

As Blair trailed off and shrugged, one hand waving aimlessly in
the air, Jim once again felt the pang of loneliness that had 
swept over him the previous night when Blair had turned away. 
He hadn't spoken up then, but abruptly realized he'd been given
a second chance.  "Chief... I want to apologize for that.  I've 
had a crappy couple of weeks and was taking it out on you."

Blair lifted his head, staring at Jim with wide, amazed eyes.

// Damn.  Is it really that rare for me to admit I'm wrong?
To actually say I'm sorry? //  Thinking back on the last three
and a half years, Jim was once again left wondering how the hell 
Blair had put up with him for so long.

"Does that mean you'll come with me?" Blair asked, smiling
persuasively.

Jim stood, reaching into his pocket for his keys with one hand while
scooping up the donut box with the other.  He knew the remainder
of the dozen would be a welcome respite from vending machine fare
in the breakroom at Major Crimes.

"I don't know.  It's probably a better solution than Simon's house,
but...."  In a vain attempt to dodge his partner's question, Jim 
headed for the parking lot, only to find Blair hurrying to get ahead 
of him.  By the time Jim reached the truck, the young anthropologist 
was standing in front of the driver's side door, bouncing slightly 
on his toes.

"But what?"

// But I'm afraid that taking me out of my well-worn rut will open 
up a major Pandora's box where you're concerned -- especially if you
give me those puppy dogs eyes someplace other than the parking lot 
of a donut shop. //

"But I don't have a plane ticket, for one thing," Jim replied,
nudging Blair far enough out of the way to open the door.

"No problem," Blair said breezily, circling around the front of the 
truck towards his own door.  "Since everything was originally 
arranged for Dr. Stoddard, the ticket's first class.  I'm sure 
it'll be no sweat to trade it in for two coach."  Blair climbed 
in and fastened his seatbelt.  "With the conference so well 
attended this year, there probably won't be another room available,
but I'm sure there's plenty of room for two.  It's supposed to be 
some kind of mini-suite."

Jim started the truck and carefully pulled out into the early
morning traffic, traveling three of the five blocks to the station
before coming up with another objection.  "I still don't see how a 
trip to a city that's larger, louder and arguably smellier than 
this one is supposed to do anything good for my senses.  Besides, 
the loft is out of commission *now* and the conference doesn't start
until Sunday night."

"Relax, man.  I've got it all figured out.  We can head out late
tonight, sleep on the plane, and then hit the woods tomorrow."

"Woods?"

"Yeah, my buddy Sean at the University of Chicago clued me in on 
this great state park."  As Blair filled him in on the details --
located 140 miles northwest of Chicago, Aztalan featured over 170 
acres of prairie and unspoiled forest, was bordered by the Crawfish
River and had been designated one of Wisconsin's most important 
archaeological sites -- Jim parked in his usual spot and got out of 
the truck.  Without missing a beat, Blair followed, pacing him to 
the elevator.  "Anyway, he's big on backpacking and all that; I'm 
sure he'll be able to set us up with equipment.  We fly in, rent
an SUV, drop by his place and bam -- we'll have four whole days 
before the conference... just you, me and the fish."

"Fish, huh?"

Blair gave an expectant grin as Jim's eyes lit up with the prospect
of some quality time streamside.  "Yep.  Pike, catfish, walleye...
maybe even trout.  So, what do you say?" he asked as they entered 
the bullpen.

"Okay.  But *you* clear it with Simon.  *I* need more coffee."

~~~


As Jim disappeared into the breakroom -- followed closely by several
detectives who had spotted the bright pink beacon signaling fresh
pastries -- Blair tossed his backpack under Jim's desk and sank
gratefully into his chair, giving his weakened knees a much-needed
rest.  Masking the slight trembling of his hands with his usual
rapid-fire typing, he logged into Jim's computer and started pulling
up their open cases.  There was nothing urgent underway for once, but
Simon would want to temporarily reassign them if he and Jim were 
going to be out of town for the next nine or ten days.

Blair sat back in the chair and let that sink in.  A week and a
half vacation with Jim -- his buddy, his partner, the top of his 
wish list -- who, for past several hours, had been treating him as 
if Alex had never happened, as if everything was back to normal.  
Suddenly the shakes come back, harder, and he forced himself to take 
slow, deep breaths.  He wasn't quite sure whether his reaction was 
due more to anticipation, fear or disbelief, but he did know that a 
panic attack was *not* the best solution.

"Sandburg!"

Thankful for the timely interruption, Blair turned eagerly towards 
Simon's office.  Seeing the tall captain standing in his doorway 
with a familiar glower on his face, Blair snapped up a small stack 
of files from Jim's desk and headed across the room.  As Simon 
retreated to his desk, Blair slipped in and shut the door, trying 
unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn as he leaned back against it.

"Sorry, Simon.  I didn't get much sleep last night."

Knowing that no one had called Jim out on a case, Simon lifted an 
eyebrow and commented, "Too much information, Sandburg.  Now what
the hell is wrong with Jim?"

"Wrong, Sir?" Blair replied innocently, remembering that he and
Jim hadn't actually come to any agreement about what to tell Simon
about his senses.

Simon groaned.  "Now I know it's bad.  You only call me 'sir' when
it's bad."

"I..." Blair began, then turned around and opened the door, 
revealing a relieved Jim Ellison, who appeared to be considering 
the best way to knock with a full coffee mug in each hand.

Jim stepped in and kicked the door shut, ignoring Simon's wince
as he grinned down at his partner.  "This sentinel stuff rubbing 
off on you, Chief?  I didn't even have to say a word."

// Oh, man.  Please don't say 'sentinel' and 'rubbing off' in the
same sentence... especially not with that smile. //

Distracting himself from the very vivid thoughts Jim's unintended 
innuendo had inspired, Blair went into a rambling explanation.  
"Hey, it's simple.  I knew you heard Simon call me into his office... 
factor in coffee preparation and travel and, voila, my hero arrives 
in the nick of time."  Blair finished by sketching a quick bow, 
grinning in response to Simon's quickly silenced snort of laughter.
"One of those *is* for me, right?" he asked, reaching for the larger
of the two mugs.

"Some days you can be such a pain in the ass, Sandburg," Jim 
grumbled, handing over the smaller mug, his gruff tone and scowl 
belied by the affectionate amusement in his eyes.

// You don't know the half of it, Jim. //

~~~

"Gentlemen," Simon rumbled, gesturing toward the chairs conveniently
placed in front of his desk.  

As Blair hopped up on the conference table and Jim took a seat,
Simon leaned back in his chair, studying his most successful -- 
and most troublesome -- team closely.  His brows drew together in
a confused frown as he noticed the matching dark circles under 
their eyes.

// Blair mentioned not getting much sleep; it looks like Jim didn't
either.  I wonder... //

Nearly biting through the tip of his freshly manicured cigar, Simon
sat up a little straighter.  

// I shouldn't ask. I *really* shouldn't ask. //

Unable to stop himself, Simon asked, "What exactly is going on with
you two?" and was met by two innocently puzzled expressions.

// See.  I knew that wasn't it.  Conner and Taggart are insane. //

"Sir?" Jim prompted as Simon remained silent.

"Yesterday you nearly ran over a hot dog cart in the park while in 
pursuit of a suspect -- who got away, might I remind you -- and were 
a general pain in the ass the rest of the day as a result."

Simon held up a hand to forestall Jim's response, then continued his 
tirade. 

"The day before that, you wouldn't answer your phone and missed out 
on meetings with two very reliable snitches, who, fortunately for 
the department, didn't have any problem at all meeting with Conner 
instead.  Unfortunately, *she's* now trying to figure out a way to 
file a sexual harassment suit against 'contract employees.'  And 
that's only the past two days; I'm not even going to address the 
past two *weeks*.  So, I repeat -- *what* is going on?"

Simon fixed first Jim, then Blair, with his best captainly glare.
Jim met it impassively, every muscle in his face locked into place.
Blair fidgeted, looking nervously from one man to the other.

"Jim," he began, briefly laying a hand on his sentinel's arm.

Jim sighed, meeting Blair's eyes for a moment before turning back
to Simon.  "Simon, the truth is, I've been having some trouble 
with my senses.  And then last night we had a gas leak at the loft.
Now, we can either crash at your place or get out of town, but Blair
recommends getting out of town.  I told him that, ultimately, it was
your decision."

Simon stared for a moment, waiting for Jim to continue.  When it
became apparent that was all the detective was going to say, he
turned to Blair.

Having been given tacit permission by way of Jim's cryptic summary,
Blair immediately launched into a complete description of Jim's
recent difficulties, his own theories about sentinels and territorial
overload, the situation at the loft, and his plans for the two of
them to fly to Chicago for some downtime in nature followed by the 
upcoming anthropology conference.  

Simon stayed silent and paid careful attention throughout, only 
glancing at Jim helplessly once, when Blair veered off into the
Sandburg Zone and began a short discourse on how a chemical called
mercaptan is added to natural gas to give it that distinctive, 
rotten egg odor.  A quick tap to his forehead nudged the garrulous 
observer back on track and he was soon ending his explanation with,
"... and that's why we need the time off.  So, what do you say, 
Simon?"

"Your open cases?"

"Right here."  Blair got up and handed over the paperwork, then
dropped into the second chair, bouncing anxiously in his seat as 
Simon flipped through the pages.

Jim studied Simon's expression carefully, then smiled, causing
Blair to let out a relieved sigh mere seconds before Simon laid
the small stack down on his desk.  

After favoring Blair with a mildly annoyed look, Simon turned to 
his undeniably pleased Cop of the Year and began the familiar 
litany.  "Have I mentioned that I...."

"Hate it when I do that?  Yes, Sir," Jim replied, his smile 
unwavering.

Simon sighed, then mentioned toward the door.  "Fill in the rest of
the team on these cases, then get out of here."  

"Cool!  Thanks, Simon," Blair enthused, hurrying for the door before
anything could ruin their plans.

Jim rose more slowly, retrieving the case files from Simon's desk
before voicing his own more subdued but no less heartfelt 
appreciation.  As he joined Blair in the doorway to the bullpen,
Simon spoke again.

"Oh, and gentlemen?  Don't show your faces back here until you've
*both* got your heads back on straight.  Understood?"  

He shook his head sadly as the two men shared a startled glance, 
then nodded obediently before heading for their shared desk.
Sometimes their lack of faith in him was downright disturbing.  
He was the captain of a successful investigatory division in a 
major city; it was hardly likely to escape his notice that his 
best team -- his best friends -- had been seriously out of sync 
since... well, since one of them died.  

// Maybe a few days off on their own is exactly what they need.  
Although I am a bit jealous about those catfish. //  

~~~

By the time the two men exited Simon's office, the rest of Major 
Crimes had migrated back to their desks, fortified with fresh
doses of caffeine and sugar.  While Jim began making the rounds, 
slipping each detective a file or two and explaining the current
status of each case, Blair started making phone calls.  As he'd
expected, there was no problem at the airline, other than a 'nominal
fee' to cover the last-minute change.  Blair charged that to the
university account, then reluctantly pulled out his own credit card
while being transferred to the vehicle rental extension. 

Crossing from Rafe's desk to Joel's, Jim shot him a worried look,
glancing pointedly at the typically over-extended bit of plastic in
his hand.  Blair gave him a thumbs up, then swiveled his chair to
face the doorway.  With any luck he'd be able to get the university 
to reimburse him.  If not, the check from his article on shamanic 
practices among the Chopec should be enough to cover the SUV rental.
Or at least most of it.

Swiveling back around as he jotted down his confirmation number, 
Blair glanced over at Jim, who had apparently switched from 
explaining cases to animatedly bragging about the size of the 
fish he planned on catching.   

// Then again, like Naomi always says, some things are just *way*
more important than money. //

With a far more genuine smile lighting up his face, Blair dialed 
Sean's phone number, rapidly compiling a list in his head of 
everything they'd need to make this trip the hassle-free vacation 
they both desperately needed.

~~~

Ten minutes after he'd hung up the phone, Blair looked up from 
the computer monitor to find Major Crimes' prettiest investigator
leaning against the desk.

"Oh, hey, Megan.  What's up?  Jim's briefing on the cases come up a 
little too brief?" he asked, knowing that his partner's natural
terseness showed a marked increase around the Australian inspector.
And since the incidents with Alex, the already chilly relationship 
between the two had deteriorated even further.

"Nah, no worries there, Sandy.  Ellison tossed me a couple of easy
ones, although I certainly wouldn't mind hearing your perspective."

Blair smiled, pleased by the request.  One positive outcome of their
shared experience in Sierra Verde, and Megan's discovery of Jim's 
abilities, was that she'd started treating him like part of the team
rather than just an observer.

"Sure thing."  As they flipped through the paperwork and Megan
took careful notes in her distinctively neat handwriting, Blair
caught her staring at him several times.  "Alright, what is it?
Did I miss a spot shaving or something?  I'll admit that I did kind 
of a rush job this morning...."

"No, nothing like that.  I was just... well, you're looking a bit
worn.  Are you sure you're up to roughing it again so soon?"

Blair sensed more than saw Jim's attention focus on them from across 
the room and answered carefully, trying to keep his partner's Blessed
Protector reactions to a minimum.  "Megan, I'll be fine.  Honest.
I didn't get much sleep last night because we had a gas leak at the 
loft, that's all.  But I really need this vacation... and I think 
Jim does too."

Megan narrowed her eyes and gave him a look that he couldn't quite
interpret -- one part mother hen and one part something that almost
looked like wistfulness -- then nodded, flipping her notebook shut.
"Okay then.  Thanks for the help with the case files, mate."  Leaning
close, she lowered her voice to a whisper and said, "For your sake,
Sandy, I really hope that someday he realizes how much you care 
about him."

Blair sat back abruptly, acutely aware of the flush spreading over
his cheeks.  Ducking his head, he quickly excused himself and hurried
across the hall to the men's room.  Splashing cold water on his face 
went a long way toward restoring his equilibrium, but still left him
shaking his head derisively at his reflection.

// Good going, Sandburg.  One innocent comment from Megan and you
nearly lose it right in the middle of the bullpen.  How the hell 
are you going to handle a whole vacation with Jim? //

Patting his face dry, Blair found that the only thing that came to 
mind was the punchline of an old joke: very, very carefully.

~~~

Throughout the rest of the morning and into the early afternoon, 
each of the Major Crimes detectives made a point of stopping by to 
chat with Blair, either to discuss the reassigned cases or just to 
wish him good luck on his presentation at the conference.  Everyone 
seemed to know how hard he'd been pushing himself, finishing up 
finals and preparing for the trip on top of handling cases -- a 
fact which put extra bounce into Blair's step, and made Jim feel 
like even more of a heel for his recent behavior.  By the time Joel 
came over and offered to take Blair -- *his* partner -- for a 
congratulatory lunch, Jim knew it was time to take drastic action.
If he couldn't be Blair's lover, the least he could do was finally 
start acting like his best friend.

"Good idea, Joel.  In fact... Rhonda, why don't you call up Luigi's
and have them send up some pizzas and subs.  My treat."  A hush fell
over the room, and only Megan's expression managed to convey more
surprise than Blair's.  Jim draped an arm across Blair's shoulders
and pulled him close, pressing their bodies together from hip to 
shoulder.  Trying to ignore how perfectly the younger man's body 
fit against his own, he said, "We might as well celebrate now, 
since the rest of you are going to miss out on Sandburg's birthday 
as well as his rousing presentation."

// 'Rousing.'  Great.  So much for ignoring *that*. //

"Uhm, Jim?"

Glancing down a bit nervously, he was met with one of those looks 
that -- coming from Blair -- made him feel like Superman, Babe Ruth 
and Charles Atlas all rolled into one.

"Yeah, Chief?" 

"Isn't Simon gonna, like, have a cow if you throw a party here?
In the middle of a work day?"

The flustered sentinel was honestly stumped for a moment, then,
bolstered by the look Blair was still giving him, reluctantly 
released his partner and headed for Simon's office.  

"Guess I'll find out."

~~~

Jim rapped sharply on the door, then opened it without waiting for 
a response.  Realizing that Simon was on the phone, he began to 
close it again, but was stopped by an urgent 'come in' gesture. 
Hoping it wasn't anything that would delay his vacation, he stepped 
inside, letting the door swing shut behind him.

"That's a great idea, son.  In fact -- speak of the devil -- Jim
just walked in so I'll ask him right now.  Yeah, around seven,
unless something comes up.  Good.  See you then."  After hanging 
up the phone, Simon looked up at his detective.  "So, were your ears 
burning, Ellison?"

"Captain, you know I don't listen in on private conversations..."

Laughing, Simon held up a hand in a placating gesture. "Jim, I was
kidding.  Daryl had just suggested I invite you and Blair over this
evening when you knocked.  That way we can give you two a lift to 
the airport.  I'm sure you'd feel better leaving your truck at my
place rather than in long-term parking, not to mention that we have
a few amenities your place is currently lacking -- heat, hot water
... a functioning stove."

Jim smiled gratefully and nodded.  "That sounds great, Simon.  
Especially the hot water.  If I'm spending a few days in the woods
with Sandburg, I at least want the guy to start out smelling good."

Realizing how that might sound a moment too late, Jim breathed a
surreptitious sigh of relief when Simon continued the conversation
without a blink.

"Good.  So, what did you need?"

Concerned about Simon's reaction to the impromptu party -- and
more than a little self-conscious about his overdue largesse toward
his partner -- Jim began a halting explanation.  "Hmm?  Oh.  Well, 
I was just, uhm, ordering lunch for everyone... from Luigi's... 
for Sandburg's birthday... kind of a head start on that whole 
'getting my head on straight' thing.  It's been pretty quiet today
and...."

As Simon stood and headed for his office door, Jim hurriedly moved
out of the way, wincing as the door flew open and Simon bellowed, 
"Rhonda!"  

Caught in the act of taking orders, Major Crimes' long-suffering
clerk glanced up warily.

"At least one of those sandwiches damn well better be meatball with
extra cheese... and tell them not to forget the breadsticks this 
time!"

~~~


Shortly after lunch -- complete with a double order of breadsticks --
Jim and Blair headed back to the loft to pack.  As expected, Blair
had been more than happy to take Simon and Daryl up on their offer,
commenting that not only would Jim be more relaxed knowing the truck 
was in good hands, but it would give them a chance to spend some time
with Daryl before he left to spend the first half of the summer with 
his mother.

When they reached the loft, each man headed for his room, and for 
several minutes the large space echoed with the sound of drawers
and closet doors being opened and closed.  Jim made quick work of 
his packing -- shifting a stack of worn, comfortable clothes from 
his largest dresser drawer into a duffle bag for the camping portion 
of the trip, then hanging a couple of pairs of slacks and some casual
shirts in his garment bag for the days in town.  Settling his shaving
kit and the box containing his hiking boots into opposite ends of the
duffle bag, Jim frowned thoughtfully at his closet.

// Should I?  I guess it wouldn't hurt.  I mean, taking a guy 
out for a night on the town on his birthday isn't like a date or 
anything; it's just the kind of thing friends do for each other. //

Decision made, Jim added his best suit and tie to the garment bag
and zipped it shut.  He assumed Blair would be bringing at least 
one nice outfit for the obligatory opening-night cocktail party 
on Sunday.  And if not, well, there was nothing saying one friend 
couldn't buy another a new suit for his birthday.  Picking up his 
bags, Jim trotted down the stairs, whistling tunelessly.

Hearing Blair in the bathroom, presumably restocking his shaving kit 
with herbal-based hair products and scent-free soap, Jim dropped his 
bags on the couch, then walked over to Blair's room to see how close
they were to leaving.  As he'd expected, it looked like it did 
before every trip -- as if a cyclone had struck.  The largest pile, 
balanced precariously in the center of the bed, contained jeans,
thermals, sweaters and flannels, each purchased for its combination 
of affordability, warmth and comfort.  To either side lay smaller 
mounds, one containing what Jim had taken to calling Blair's
'professor' clothes -- semi-casual and primarily earthtones -- the 
other, his 'date' clothes -- still semi-casual, but distinctly more 
vivid.

As Blair flew back into the room, dropping the bulging kit into his
backpack on the way, Jim looked down at his watch, then raised an
eyebrow.

"Five minutes, man," Blair muttered, his back to the door, and Jim 
laughed softly in response.  Although disconcerting at first, 
somewhere along the line being known so well had become... 
comforting.  Haphazardly sweeping half of the central mound into 
his battered suitcase, Blair turned his head for a moment and 
grinned knowingly.

Seeing Blair about to repeat the motion with the other two piles, 
Jim stepped forward.  "Whoa, Chief.  You're going to end up with 
nothing but a pile of wrinkles that way.  Why don't you pick out 
what you're actually going to wear and I'll hang them up with my 
stuff."

Blair shot his partner a disbelieving look before shifting his gaze
to his bed, then to the half-empty suitcase.  "I appreciate the 
offer,  Jim, but..."  Blair paused, raising one hand to count off 
his points on his fingers.  "One, that would take a lot longer than 
five minutes, two, they're already a pile of wrinkles, and three, 
I'm willing to bet the hotel has a valet service that'll be more than
happy to handle any ironing for me.  For a fee, of course, which is
the very least the university owes me for being able to step in and 
give a presentation on, like, no notice."  With a decisive nod, Blair
swept the bulk of the remaining clothes into his bag, zipped it shut,
then checked his watch.  "And with time to spare."

Shaking his head, Jim walked back into the living room, followed 
closely by his irrepressible roommate.  After checking that his
firearm was tucked securely into his carry-on, he locked the case,
then asked, "You did remember to tell the airline I'm a detective, 
right?"

Settling the strap of his backpack over his thick jacket and 
pulling on his gloves, Blair nodded, then gave a suggestive waggle 
of his eyebrows.  "Of course.  I know how you hate to go anywhere 
without your *gun*.  Although considering how often you drop it...."

Rolling his eyes, Jim cuffed Blair lightly on the back of the 
head before picking up his bags.  "That's enough out of you, Dr. 
Freud.  Let's get this show on the road."

~~~

As Jim pulled out onto Prospect Avenue and began the short drive 
to Simon's house, Blair leaned his head back against the seat and
stared out the window, seemingly mesmerized into immobility by the
glint of late-afternoon sun on the soggy remains of the earlier
drizzle.

After a few blocks, Jim's sidelong glances became more frequent and
his forehead creased in a frown.  Although used to Blair's quiet 
moments -- which weren't nearly as rare as most of their friends 
would expect -- he found this particular silence unnerving.  In his 
experience, silence meant thinking, and thinking meant pacing or, 
when confined to a seat, fidgeting.  Worried that Blair might be 
suffering from some longer-term effects of the gas leak, he finally 
broke down and asked, "Chief, you okay?"

Turning his head, Blair tucked a lock of hair behind his ear and 
moistened his lips before offering Jim a weary, but undeniably 
genuine, smile.  While that went a long way toward soothing his
concerns about his partner's health, it also left Jim urgently 
wondering what exactly he needed to dial down to dull his reaction
to Blair's frustratingly unconscious appeal.  Silently thanking 
whatever instinct had prompted him to choose relaxed-fit jeans for 
the flight, he nearly missed the softly spoken reply.

"Yeah.  Just tired, I guess."

"I'm not surprised.  We've had a rough couple of days and you didn't
get much sleep last night."

"But at least I got to sleep in yesterday; you've been awake for 
what?  Most of the past 36 hours?"  His smile shifting to a 
mischievous grin, Blair sat up straighter and asked, "Hey -- you
want me to drive?"

Stopping at a red light, Jim favored Blair with his best 'my 
partner is obviously insane, but so far presents no real danger 
to himself or others' glower before replying.  "I was a Ranger, 
Sandburg.  I think I can handle one night of sleep deprivation." 

Blair held up both hands in amused surrender.  "Okay, okay.
Just checking.  Guns and vehicles, man.  You are *so* textbook."

As a far more comfortable silence fell over the cab of the truck,
Jim felt a grin tugging at his lips and temporarily gave up ignoring
his companion's appeal as a lost cause.  Even irritation did little 
to calm his libido, which had apparently decided that the very fact 
Sandburg was alive was reason enough to celebrate.

~~~

Indulging in one of his favorite aspects of being a trained observer,
Blair covertly monitored the small changes that marked Jim's shift 
from mild annoyance to resigned amusement.  As tiny creases formed 
at the corners of pale blue eyes and long, elegant fingers loosened 
slightly on the steering wheel, Blair let his sentinel's good humor 
-- which had been conspicuously absent recently -- buoy his own.  
Thinking back over the long day, he realized that Jim had been almost
disturbingly accommodating -- downright cheerful at times, in fact.

Suddenly confident that his prescription of a vacation was already 
having its intended effect, he nonchalantly asked, "So, Jim, how have
your senses been behaving today?"  

Blair struggled to keep his face impassive as Jim shot him a wary 
glance, then turned back to the road and focused his attention 
inward.  Once again enjoying the subtle play of emotions across 
the detective's face, he settled back and waited patiently for Jim's
reply.

As they pulled to a stop in front of Simon Bank's house, it finally
came, in the form of a pleasantly surprised and -- to Blair --
altogether dazzling smile.  Covering his reaction by simultaneously 
swinging open the door and grabbing his backpack from its customary 
spot at his feet, the flustered anthropologist barely took to the 
time to quip, "Told you so, man," before climbing out of the truck 
and making for the safety of Simon's front door.  By the time Jim 
caught up, muttering, "You are such a dick, Sandburg," Daryl had the
door open and was inviting them in.

~~~

"Jim, why don't you go ahead and grab the first shower," Daryl 
offered, already herding Blair toward the kitchen.  Blair looked 
over his shoulder and received a quick nod from Jim.  Although Daryl 
had become close to both men over the years, it was apparent that 
their young friend wanted to have a few moments alone with his 
partner and -- despite his earlier protests to the contrary -- Jim 
was starting to feel the effects of his rudely interrupted sleep.

"You got it, Daryl.  Just make sure Nature-boy there doesn't try 
substituting tofu for actual food in that stir-fry you've got
going."

Grinning as Blair casually flipped him off and disappeared into 
the kitchen, Jim headed down the hall to the guest bathroom, keeping 
his hearing dialed down to afford the younger men some privacy.

Realizing that he'd left his overnight bag, complete with all of
his sentinel-safe toiletries, out in the truck only *after* he'd
stripped down to his boxers, Jim contemplated which would be the 
lesser of two evils -- getting dressed and heading back out into 
the cold, or asking Blair for help and getting another 'I told you 
so.'  While reaching for his jeans, he went with a hunch and checked
under the sink, smiling when he found a small stash of Ivory soap
tucked in among the glass and tile cleaners.

// I should've know Simon would hold onto these... 'just in case.'
Right, like I really plan to dive into a dumpster of rotting produce
on this side of town again. //

Jim laughed softly as he tried to imagine Blair's reaction to that
thought:  'Nope, all dumpster diving takes place on our side of
town from now on,' or maybe, 'Oh, see, if I'd known you *planned*
to do that, I could've brought along some incense.  You've gotta
keep me in the loop, man.'

Sobering, Jim remembered how Blair's steady chatter had kept him 
from zoning on the disgusting odor, and how Simon -- forewarned 
via cell phone -- had immediately hustled him into a steaming-hot 
shower, muttering that it was a damn good thing Joan had left some 
of her soap behind because his 'manly Irish Spring' would knock Jim 
on his ass faster than a garbage truck.  They'd all laughed then, 
completely comfortable with each other -- and their shared secret -- 
for the first time.  

Jim adjusted the water temperature, then tossed his boxers onto 
the counter with the rest of his clothes.  Stepping into the spray,
he felt briefly nostalgic for those simpler days, back before his
heart had been irrevocably captured by the fiercely protective 
spirit lurking beneath Blair's easy-going exterior.

Knowing that this would be the last hot running water he'd feel
until Sunday night, Jim took advantage of the Banks's family-sized 
water heater and lingered in the shower far longer than he would have
at home.  Dialing up touch to an almost decadent level, he let the 
liquid heat pound against his complaining shoulders until a delicious 
smell wafted in from the kitchen, awakening his equally disgruntled 
stomach.  Sniffing appreciatively, he toweled off quickly before 
slipping back into his clothes and heading for the mouth-watering
scent.  As he approached the kitchen, he heard Daryl ask Blair how
his dissertation was coming along.

"Good, man.  I mean, it's been a long haul, you know, but I think
I'm working up to finishing the first draft."

"Cool.  I'd love to read it when it's done, if that's okay."

"Well, I've gotta let Jim see it before anyone else, of course, 
since he's been my primary research subject, but... yeah, I think
that could be arranged."

// Make that *only* research subject, Chief.  Unless you count... //

Distracting himself from thoughts of Alex, the dissertation and 
Blair's Ph.D. -- three of his least favorite subjects -- Jim stepped 
into the kitchen.  "Smells great, guys.  Anything I can do to help?"

"Nah, I think we've got everything under control," Daryl replied,
giving the steaming mound of food in the wok another stir.

"Great timing, man.  It's just about done.  I'm gonna go grab a
quick shower... but don't bother waiting for me."

"Don't worry, Sandburg.  We won't."

Blair followed a quick punch to Jim's arm with an even faster dodge 
out of the room, picking up his backpack on the way.

~~~

Stepping into the recently vacated bathroom, Blair found himself
wishing -- not for the first time -- for one or two enhanced senses 
of his own.  The condensation coating the walls and dripping heavily
down the mirror was proof that *someone* had just taken a long, 
hot shower, but with a sentinel's sense of smell, he'd be able to
identify that 'someone' uniquely as Jim Ellison.  Blair chuffed a 
soft laugh as he tossed his shirts to the floor and unbuttoned his
jeans.

// Yeah, that's just what I need.  It's not bad enough that I'm
always watching him... finding excuses to touch him... listening
for him when he's in another room.... //

His stomach rumbled insistently, interrupting his train of thought
and prompting him to finish undressing.  Pulling several travel-
sized bottles from his backpack, he stepped into the shower.  
Grimacing down at his body's all-too-familiar response to thoughts
of his partner, Blair carefully adjusted the water temperature, 
shivering as he ducked in and out of the cold spray.

A few minutes later -- his body back under control and shampoo 
bubbles dripping over his tightly closed eyelids -- Blair leaned
forward to turn up the hot water, knocking a bar of soap to the
floor in the process.  Reaching down to pick it up, he grinned,
remembering the day, shortly after their return from Peru, when
he, Jim and Simon had discovered that '99.9% pure' was more than 
just an advertising slogan.  It had been a desperate hunch on his 
part, but Jim -- touch and smell both spiking thanks to an impromptu 
trip to the soggy bottom of a Farmers Market trash bin -- had been
in no position to argue.  Simon's unquestioning acceptance of his
suggestion and the easy laughter they'd shared had made Blair feel 
like a real member of the team; it was one of his most cherished
memories from those early days, back when 'it's about friendship'
had only been a minor obfuscation.

After a final rinse, Blair stepped out of the shower, his smile 
fading when he realized that Jim had used, and left with, the only 
bath towel.  Wrapping a hand towel around his waist, he took a peek 
in the mirror.  It only came down to his upper thighs and was small 
enough that he had to hold it shut, but it would do for a quick trip 
to the hall closet.  

~~~

Turning off the heat under the wok, Daryl raised an eyebrow at Jim,
looking unsure whether or not to start dishing out the food.

"You go ahead if you want, Daryl.  I... um... had a late lunch.
And your dad should be home soon anyway."

"Yeah, and Blair'll probably be out of the shower by then, too."  
Meeting Jim's surprised look with an understanding smile, he added,
"Hey, it's cool, you know?"

Feeling as transparent as his skylights, Jim retreated to the 
living room.

// I'm starting to see how that kid got into Duke on a full 
scholarship; he's almost as sharp as Blair. //

Eager for a distraction, Jim eyed the well-stocked fireplace 
for moment, then called over his shoulder, "Hey, Daryl?  Do you 
think your dad would mind if I got a fire going?  It's going to 
get pretty chilly tonight."

// Blair always enjoys a fire after he gets out of the shower when 
it's cold and damp like this....  Damn it, Ellison -- get a grip.  
Keep this up and he'll have you figured out in no time, and then 
where will you be?  Screwed, that's where.  And not in a good way. //

Wiping his hands on a dish towel, Daryl came into the living room.
He glanced toward the hallway, then back at Jim.  "Yeah, that'd
be great.  I'm sure *dad* would really appreciate it."

// Fuck. //

~~~

Several long minutes passed before Daryl -- staring out the picture
window into the front yard while tossing the dish towel from hand to 
hand -- quietly announced, "He's home."

Continuing to stoke the fire as if their lives depended on it, 
Jim grunted a reply.  He'd noticed Daryl's uncharacteristic 
nervousness, but had remained silent, more than half-convinced 
he was the cause.  

"Looks like he stopped at the store.  I'd better give him a hand."

Jim began to stand.  "Let me help."

"No, it's okay.  There won't be that much.  Beer, soda, hamburger, 
probably some steaks.  Bachelor staples, Dad calls them."

As Daryl tipped him a grin and stepped out onto the porch, Jim heard
the bathroom door open.  Turning to tease his partner about his 
unerring timing where food was concerned, he was robbed of both 
speech and thought by the sight that greeted his rapidly widening 
eyes -- Blair, he of the many layers, clad in nothing but a towel... 
a very small towel.  He caught only a glimpse of Blair's profile -- 
which at this point included a well-muscled thigh, bared almost to 
the hip -- before Blair turned, offering him a rear view that more 
than compensated for the loss.

The normally wild curls were rendered almost straight by the weight
of the water dripping down Blair's back, rolling along the gentle 
curves of the younger man's spine before disappearing into the stark
white terry cloth stretched tautly across his lean hips.  Transfixed
by the path of the droplets, Jim nevertheless felt as if he had 
everything under control... until Blair reached the closet, holding 
the towel closed with one hand while standing on tip-toe and reaching
up with the other.  As the towel rose, Jim's gaze instinctively 
dropped, and it took every bit of self-discipline the sentinel had 
to not release the groan rising in his throat.  

Dimly registering the sounds of Daryl and Simon approaching the 
front door, Jim hurriedly turned back to the fire, leaning close
in the hope that the roaring blaze would explain away the heated
flush coloring his cheeks.  He must have made the appropriate 
responses to Simon's greeting, because the next thing he knew, the
Banks men were in the kitchen and Blair was walking towards him, 
fully dressed, but still towel-drying his hair.

"Hey, Jim.  Oh, wow, that fire feels great; sounds like the wind's
really kicking up out there.  You look a little overheated though,
man."  Blair turned toward the kitchen.  "Hey, Simon, you got 
any...."

Simon held up the newly-purchased six pack, meeting Blair's smile
with an indulgent roll of his eyes.

Looking down at his partner, Blair asked, "How about a cold beer?"

"Sounds great, Chief," he replied, painfully aware that a cold shower
would do him a hell of a lot more good.

~~~

The four men sat down to dinner, and Blair was soon grateful for his
much-maligned talent to keep a conversation going with virtually no 
help from anyone else in the room.  Simon was his usual less than 
loquacious self, Daryl was eating with the single-mindedness of 
seventeen-year-old boys everywhere -- which gave him an idea for an
article -- and Jim... well, Jim's normal 'night out with the boys' 
banter was conspicuously absent.  Casting a worried glance at his 
partner, Blair caught him poking aimlessly at his food, and his own 
enjoyment of the evening began to fade.

From the moment he'd thrown himself at Jim, tackling him out of 
the path of an oncoming garbage truck, Blair had accepted a certain 
level of responsibility for the sentinel's physical well-being.  
Once he'd gotten a chance to look past the anger, to see Jim's fear 
-- of losing control, his job, his sanity -- he'd added mental health
to the list.  As "one week" turned into several months and research 
and tests turned into friendship, Blair realized he'd been granted 
a rare gift, and increased his efforts to tread lightly through Jim's
emotional minefield.  But it was only recently -- once he'd finally
admitted to himself that he'd fallen helplessly, hopelessly and 
pathetically in love with his partner -- that he'd come to the 
frightening realization that Jim's happiness had become vital to 
his own.

"Hey man, it's safe.  No tofu -- I swear," Blair said, interrupting
his own story, hoping to tease Jim out of whatever strange mood 
he'd fallen into.  

"There damn well better not be, Sandburg," Simon muttered, "unless
you want to start considering this the last meal of a condemned man."  

Armed with his most charming and innocent grin, Blair easily trumped
Simon's surly glower, and the big man's gaze soon softened with
amusement.  Hopeful that some of Jim's tension had been relieved 
by the comfort of the familiar scene, Blair risked a quick peek in 
his partner's direction.  When he was met with a carefully blank 
expression instead of a barely hidden smile, Blair felt his own 
grin slip away like fog on a summer morning.  

"Shit!"

Faced with three startled expressions, Blair realized he'd spoken
aloud.  

"Soy sauce.  Can't have stir fry without soy sauce," he improvised, 
jumping to his feet and beating a hasty retreat to the kitchen.

// Oh, that was smooth.  Not.  Just because I'm still living like 
an adolescent doesn't mean I have to act like some kind of horny 
teenager dealing with his first crush, right?  So Jim's annoyed...
pissed off... whatever.  Not like that's anything new.  And there's
even a slim chance it's got nothing to do with me this time. //

Blair closed his eyes and took a deep breath, hoping for the sake of
their impromptu vacation that he was right.  Seeking a calming image,
he let thoughts drift back to earlier in the day.  Standing in the 
bullpen with Jim's arm around him, surrounded by their friends, he'd
felt secure and at peace -- at home in a way that had been sorely 
lacking during the past couple of months.  And if it wasn't everything
he wanted, then that was just too damn bad, because it was a hell of a
lot better than anything he'd felt in a long time.

~~~

Daryl looked from his father to Jim, then at the empty chair, 
confused and more than a little worried by his two friends'
behavior.

// And I thought things were strange *before* Dad got home.  
I mean, Jim acts like the original tough guy and all, but he's 
always looked out for Blair.  Why get all weird about it today?  
And Blair... sure, he gets a little hyper sometimes, but not like 
that.  It's almost like he's scared or something. //

He was half-way to his feet, headed for the kitchen, when Blair 
reappeared, a bottle of soy sauce in each hand and a sheepish grin 
on his face.

"Here you go, guys.  Sorry about that; I totally spaced."  Setting
the bottles down, Blair hurriedly shifted the red-labeled one well 
out of Jim's eager reach.  "Oh, no way, man.  Use this one; it's 
low sodium."  Jim grimaced, but picked up the bottle Blair nudged 
his way without argument.

As Simon laughed softly and settled back in his seat, Daryl realized
his father had noticed the tension as well and had been about to 
get up himself.  Picking up his chopsticks, he kept a close eye on 
his two friends for the rest of the meal.  Jim seemed pretty much 
back to normal, if still a little quiet, but it wasn't until after
dinner, with Jim and Simon on clean-up duty in the kitchen, that 
Blair seemed to relax completely, settling onto the couch with a 
deep sigh.

"You okay?" 

"Hmm?  Oh yeah, man."  Blair waved his hand dismissively.  "Long
days and longer nights, you know?  Getting away for a while'll
do me good."

"As long as you don't take your problems with you," Daryl said
quietly, nodding toward the kitchen.

Blair stiffened for a moment, giving Daryl a sharp look -- part 
anger, part fear, but mostly just a resigned weariness.  "Not a
chance," he said in bright tone, distinctly at odds with his 
expression.  "I'm off the hook with the university until summer 
session starts, and neither Jim or I's cell phones will work at the
park, so unless your dad's been taking smoke signal lessons, we're 
free and clear until at least Sunday."

"Smoke signals, Sandburg?"  

Blair looked up and over his shoulder, raising a questioning eyebrow
at his host, who was exiting the kitchen with a soda in one hand and 
a coffee in the other.  

"Isn't that a little un-PC of you?" Simon asked, handing Daryl the 
soda and settling into an armchair.

Blair shrugged.  "Not really.  Quite a few of the Southwestern tribes 
depended on smoke for long-distance communication, kind of how drums
are used in Africa and South America.  I remember when I was in...."

As always, Daryl was simultaneously amused, awed and overwhelmed 
by Blair's ability to turn any conversation into a lecture.  
Watching Jim make his way to the couch, a steaming mug in each 
hand, he realized he wasn't alone.  He grinned as Blair -- barely
pausing for breath -- reached for one of the mugs and gave his 
partner his best 'coffee is god' smile.

"Don't get too excited, Chief," Jim said when Blair wound down.
"It's decaf."

Blair's exaggerated look of disappointment gave both of the older
men a good laugh, which Daryl secretly believed had been Blair's
intention, judging by the mischievous glint in his eye.  

As the conversation segued from the Amazonian equivalent of AT&T to
the recent basketball playoffs, time passed quickly, and it seemed
like only a few minutes before they needed to leave for the airport.
Given the lateness of the hour, it was a quick trip, and Daryl was
disappointed when his father took Jim's suggestion and pulled up
to the curbside drop-off rather than parking.

As Simon got out to help Jim with the bags and tease him about all
the fish he wouldn't be catching, Blair leaned forward to give Daryl
a quick hug goodbye and some last minute instructions.

"I'll be online by Monday at the latest, so be sure to email me and
let me know if there's anything I can do to help, whatever you 
decide."
 
Daryl nodded as Jim stuck his head back into the car.

"You about ready, Chief?  Daryl, you try to keep your old man out 
of trouble, okay?"

"Hey, you two'll be out of town; it'll be a piece of cake," he 
quipped back, smiling at the mock indignation on both men's faces.

Waving as his father pulled away from the curb, he muttered,  "I 
sure hope they get whatever's bothering them straightened out while
they're gone," and was only mildly surprised to hear a rumble of 
agreement from the driver's seat.

~~~

As they watched Simon and Daryl drive off, Blair muttered, "I sure
hope Simon's up to a serious heart-to-heart tonight."

"Why?  What's up with Daryl?" Jim asked, pushing the door to the 
terminal open.  

"He's been thinking about going to the police academy this fall 
instead of Duke."

"Whoa.  Has he told Simon?"  Blair nodded.  "How's he taking it?"

"Not well.  From what Daryl said, Simon shut him down pretty quick.
He's hoping for better luck tonight."

"He's worried about his kid; I can understand that.  I mean, you of 
all people know how dangerous it can be."

Reaching the line for baggage check-in, Blair dropped his suitcase,
giving his hands free reign to join in the conversation.  "I know, 
I know, but... it's his life, right?  And he knows it's dangerous -- 
first hand.  Remember?"

Jim nodded, the memory of Kincaid's takeover of the Cascade PD
instinctively prompting him to move closer to Blair.  "Then what's 
the draw?" 

Blair handed over his suitcase and ticket to the tired-looking
young ticket agent, flashing her a quick smile before turning back 
to Jim, eyeing him incredulously.  "The draw?  Easy -- the same as 
for you and Simon and the rest of Major Crimes."  Motioning as 
if there were a banner above them, he intoned, "'To protect and 
to serve,' man."  

Jim grinned as he took Blair's place at the ticketing desk and
waited for his boarding pass.  "Good thing Naomi isn't around to 
hear you say that, Chief.  She'd accuse us of brainwashing you."

Blair nudged Jim in the direction of their gate.  "Come on, you 
know she doesn't feel that way anymore."  Jim stared down at him, 
his expression blank.  "Well, at least not about *you*..."

Laughing, Jim wrapped an arm around Blair's shoulders, deftly
steering him past the multitude of coffee and candy shops lining 
the causeway, making straight for the security check.  There was 
no way he was letting his partner ingest any more caffeine or sugar
until after they'd both gotten a good night's rest, puppy-dog eyes
or no puppy-dog eyes.

Flashing his badge, Jim stepped around the metal detectors and 
waited for Blair on the other side.  "So, what advice did you give
Daryl, oh wise shaman of the great city?"

Blair smirked, then replied, "I told him that, personally, I think 
he should go to school first -- if nothing else, it'll get him a 
detective's badge sooner -- but that the most important thing is
to follow his heart."  

Jim froze, effectively halting Blair as well.

"Jim?  Hey, man, you still with me?"  

// Not the way I'd like. //

"Yeah.  I'm fine, Chief.  So, what do you think he'll do?"

// 'Follow his heart.'  Christ, either I need sleep worse than
I thought or I've officially turned into a sap. //

As Blair explored the possibilities, Jim let the deep, soothing
voice wash over and relax him.  

// And it damn well better be the sleep. //

~~~

Frustrated by their painfully slow progress, Jim let Blair slip 
ahead of him and lead the way down the narrow aisle to their seats,
knowing that somehow the younger man would find a way to get people 
to cooperate -- without leaving them glancing nervously in his 
direction for the rest of the flight.  In the vernacular of the 
70's, Blair was 'a people person,' whereas Jim, thanks to an 
unfortunate combination of nature and nurture, considered himself 
a loner.  Or had, until three years ago.  He smiled fondly as the
curly head in front of him dipped down to check row numbers, then 
turned to reveal a victorious grin.  Now, he supposed, he was more 
of a 'Sandburg person.'

"Here you go, man.  Emergency exit row, just the way you like it."

Tucking his carry-on into the overhead compartment, Jim replied,
"It's got more leg room.  Not that you'd notice or anything."

"Mmhmm.  And I suppose it's got nothing to do with your overdeveloped
protective instinct?" Blair asked, sidestepping into their row.

Jim ignored the rhetorical question and tugged his partner back 
into the aisle by the collar of his jacket.  "No way, Junior.  *I* 
get the window seat."

"Why?"

"Because I know you.  Once the seatbelt sign goes off, you won't be
able to sit still, and I don't want you crawling all over me all
night long."

// At least not on a public aircraft. //

Jim busied himself with his seatbelt while Blair settled in next
to him, deftly maneuvering his backpack into the scant storage 
space under the seat in front of him.  The sad truth was that --
given the right circumstances and only minimal encouragement --
he knew he'd be more than willing to join the Mile High Club with 
Blair.

"It's a red-eye, Jim.  I'll be sleeping."

"Mmhmm."

~~~

Twenty minutes into the flight, Blair finally gave up on the
complimentary in-flight magazine and dug his walkman out of his
backpack.  Relieved -- Blair wearing headphones *had* to be
quieter than Blair flipping pages -- Jim recrossed his arms,
made another vain attempt to stretch out his legs, and shifted
his head further onto the small square of foam the airline had 
the nerve to call a pillow.  Ten minutes later, the curiosity
engendered by Blair's increasing intricate leg-tapping overcame
Jim's weariness and he slowly lifted one heavy eyelid.

Eyes closed, a wide grin on his face, fingers beating out a 
complex rhythm on the faded denim of his jeans -- for a moment
Jim could've sworn Blair was still the carefree grad student
who'd charmed himself -- lock, stock and Barbary ape -- into
Jim's once-private domain.

// If you could really call anyone who suffers from panic attacks
'carefree.'  I should've known I was in trouble right then; life's 
never that simple once you've entered the Sandburg Zone. //

Opening the other eye, he looked closer, the dim lighting of the
overnight flight posing no obstacle to his enhanced sight.  On the
contrary -- he could see the lines that had gradually appeared on 
his partner's face all too clearly, lines caused by the danger and
cruelty that Blair had faced from the very first day he'd stepped 
into the Major Crimes bullpen.  Jim tried to comfort himself with 
the knowledge that even after everything he'd seen, everything he'd
been through, Blair was still essentially "Blair," but after Alex 
and the fountain, even that wasn't enough.  Wanting to reach out 
and sooth those newest lines, Jim settled for laying his hand over
Blair's, trapping the wild rhythm against his knee.

~~~

Completely engrossed in the beats pounding through his headphones,
Blair let out a quickly stifled yelp and seemingly levitated an
inch off his seat as his hand was suddenly captured, then pinned 
against his leg.  If not for the familiar gentleness of the touch, 
he probably would've ended up face-down in the aisle, his feet still
tangled up in the straps of his backpack.  But he'd felt that touch
many times before, mostly when he was ill or injured, and it never 
failed to make him relax -- and, more recently, crave more.  
Resisting the urge to spread his fingers and let them entwine with
Jim's, Blair opened his eyes and tugged one of the miniature in-ear
speakers loose with his free hand.

"What's up?" he whispered.

Jim raised his hand and tapped his fingers against the walkman
tucked into Blair's shirt pocket.  "This.  What in the world are
you listening to?"

"Oh man, was I being to loud?  Shit, I'm sorry.  I...."

Jim simultaneously cut off Blair's apology and repeated his question
by tapping the walkman again and raising an eyebrow.

// Okay... information, not apologies.  I can do that. //

"One of my students loaned me this tape of drum ceremonies from 
the Bedouin tribes.  I'm kind of surprised I haven't studied them
more, actually, considering how much time Burton spent in the 
Middle East.  With their nomadic existence and hostile environment,
they'd be prime candidates for sentinels.  Anyway, it's really 
cool... each tribe, no, each clan within each tribe, has their own
variation of the basic rhythms.  When they gather together for 
celebrations, it all weaves together... like an orchestra, or a 
jazz combo.  Here, listen to this track.  You'll see what I mean."  

Blair dropped the earpiece into Jim's hand and waited until he'd
tucked it securely into his ear before continuing the hushed 
lecture.

"This one's from a marriage feast."  He listened intently through
his own earpiece for a moment, then began tapping out one of the
rhythms on his leg.  "See, this is the variation from the groom's
family."  He continued for a few bars, then switched to a different,
yet complementary, beat.  "And this is from the bride's."  

Blair frowned thoughtfully as Jim shrugged, obviously not quite
picking up on the slight variation.  "Yeah, I guess it doesn't 
make much sense when you're just watching it."  Turning in his
seat, he leaned closer and appropriated Jim's leg for a drum, using
the heavily muscled upper thigh for the bass and the thinner area
just above the knee to mark the accents.  "His, then hers.  Feel 
the difference?"

It was only then, when he paused for Jim's reply, that he noticed
how the sentinel's sharp eyes had focused downward, on his leg.
Or more specifically, on Blair's hands, which were still resting 
on Jim's thigh.  Blair knew he'd made a habit out of crowding into 
his partner's personal space -- he was even proud of not taking 
the easy road and backing off when his feelings had grown beyond 
friendship -- but suddenly realized this might be going a step
too far, even for him.  

Settling his restless hands in his lap, Blair lowered his head,
hiding his eyes behind a thick screen of curls until Jim's 
hoarsely whispered "Sandburg" demanded his undivided attention.

// Sometimes I wonder if he has any idea how much that sounds like
a growl... or what that noise does to me. //

Expecting censure, if not outright anger, Blair was surprised to
instead find an expression of genuine curiosity on Jim's face.

"Does it ever actually get quiet inside your head?"  

Surprise turned to shock and left Blair speechless for a long 
moment.  Then he laughed, quietly, but with obvious delight.

"Not often, man.  Why do you think I meditate so much?"  

The two men grinned at each other until Jim was ambushed by a
huge yawn, prompting Blair to fumble for the off button on his
walkman.  "Hey, I should probably pack this stuff up and let you 
get some sleep, right?  Just let me..."  Blair paused, eyes wide,
as Jim caught his arm, stopping him from reaching for his backpack.

"Actually, it's not so bad.  It distracts me from all the noises 
the plane makes."

"Noises?" Blair repeated nervously.

Jim smiled, moving Blair's arm to the armrest between them and
giving it a reassuring pat.  "Nothing to worry about, Chief.  
Perfectly normal, functional noises.  Just..."

"Distracting."

"Yeah."

"So traveling makes you hyperalert to changes in the environment,
even when you know they aren't a threat?" Blair asked, reaching
up toward the lightswitch in the panel above their heads.

"Sandburg..."  

"Right.  Sleep now, make notes later.  Got it."  Jim settled
back into his seat and Blair hit play.  "That okay?"  Jim nodded,
then closed his eyes.  Tapping lightly on the armrest, Blair kept
watch as the tense muscles of his sentinel's face relaxed and his 
breathing slowed and deepened.  Letting his fingertips brush lightly
once more over Jim's thigh, Blair shook his head at his own 
foolishness before mirroring the other man's crossed-armed pose 
and closing his eyes.  The next thing he knew, Jim was gently 
nudging him awake as the pilot announced their descent into Chicago 
airspace.

~~~

Relieved to be breathing the slightly less recycled air of O'Hare
Terminal 3, Blair stretched, then settled his backpack more securely 
onto his shoulder.  Turning to his partner, he clapped his hands
together and rocked slightly on the balls of his feet.

"Okay, Jim.  I think baggage claim is down that way.  Why don't you
grab our bags while I head over and pick up our rental.  I'll meet
you...."

"No way, Sandburg."

"What?"

"You made the reservation, and I appreciate that, but there is no 
way you're going to be the only one driving."

Blair's mumbled protests went unheeded as his sentinel took him by
the arm and turned them both toward the slowly rotating conveyor
belts.

~~~

Twenty minutes later, bags in hand, they approached the mercifully
uncrowded counter of the rental car agency.  All too often, airports
were a sensory nightmare for Jim -- far too many people fighting over
far too small a space -- and both men greeted the relative calm with
a sigh of relief.  As Blair handed over his credit card and their 
reservation was confirmed, Jim set his duffle bag and carry-on down
at their feet and reached for his wallet.

"Here we go, Mr. Sandburg.  An eight-day reservation for an SUV-
class vehicle," the freckle-faced young man behind the counter said,
his fingers dancing rapidly over the keys.  "Would you like to add
any insurance or an additional driver?" he asked, shifting his gaze
to Jim for a moment.

"Yes to both," Jim replied, seemingly ignoring Blair's frown as he
stepped forward to offer his identification.

"Okay.  This'll just take a moment.  If you'll both just review
and sign this standard contract while I get this processed..."

Quickly scanning the obligatory paperwork, Jim leaned close and 
whispered, "Don't worry, Chief.  I'll cover the extra cost."

Blair huffed an annoyed sigh before signing his name.  "That's
not it, man," he murmured back.  "This was supposed to be about
you relaxing, remember?"

Jim laughed softly.  "Trust me.  I'll relax a hell of a lot better
if I'm behind the wheel."  As Blair opened his mouth to protest, 
Jim lifted a hand and offered a compromise.  "At least until we get 
out of the city.  Okay?  This is supposed to be your vacation too."  

After a short pause, Blair nodded his agreement, helplessly
returning the pleased grin that spread across his partner's face.

"Alright, gentleman.  If you'll just initial these addendums, 
you'll be all set.  The shuttle out front will take you to our 
parking lot."

~~~

Jim's eyes widened as they exited the shuttle and headed for the 
large silver-gray vehicle occupying the stall matching their 
keyring.  Peering into the cab, he gave an appreciative whistle, 
then joined Blair at the rear of the upscale 4x4.

"A Yukon.  I'm impressed, Chief.  And it looks like it's got all
the latest toys -- including a GPS," he said, stowing his duffle
next to Blair's suitcase before carefully hanging up his garment
bag.

"And a CD player," Blair added, removing a small stack of jewel
cases from the front compartment of his backpack.  

Jim groaned theatrically, checking the safety and clip on his
service revolver as he transferred it from his carry-on to his
holster.

"Hey, don't worry, man.  I brought along some of your 'golden 
oldies' too," Blair teased.  Other than a few fringe elements of 
the alternative scene and an occasional foray into country and 
western, he and Jim had discovered over time that their musical 
tastes actually matched up surprisingly well.  Making sure the maps 
to Sean's house and the park were still in his front pocket, Blair
neatly side-stepped the playful swing his partner aimed at his head
and gestured toward the front of the SUV.  "You ready?"

Securely closing the rear door, Jim nodded.  "Yep.  Let's get this
show on the road," he agreed, eagerly opening the door to the cab.
Hearing Blair do the same on the passenger side, he took a long step
up and settled into the luxuriously upholstered seat.  Realizing
he was still alone, he looked over and caught Blair frowning at 
the combination of the high-set cab and a distinct lack of running 
board.  Trying unsuccessfully to smother a laugh, he asked, "Need 
some help there, Junior?"

Blair glowered at him for a moment, then -- finding a convenient 
handhold and giving a small bounce -- effortlessly lifted himself 
into the passenger seat.  Jim returned Blair's self-satisfied grin
with one of his own, then put the Yukon into gear.  Despite the 
obvious difference in their heights, Jim had long ago stopped 
thinking of his partner as anything resembling fragile or delicate.  
On the contrary, the solid musculature Blair kept hidden under his 
customary layers would've been more than a match for his own if the
younger man had gotten as tall.  Thankful for small favors -- Blair
already overpowered him easily enough just with the force of his 
personality -- Jim headed for the exit.

~~~

"Hey, Jim, what time is it?"

Glancing at his watch, Jim calculated the time difference.  "Just
after 7:30, local time."

Blair shifted forward, reaching for his backpack and digging for
his cell phone.  "I'd better give Sean a call, make sure he's up."

"He knows our flight was this morning, right?" Jim asked as Blair
 dialed.

"Yeah, but...."  Blair held up one finger as the connection went 
through.  "Machine," he said, smiling as he listening to the 
outgoing message.  "Sean?  You up?  It's me."

Blair heard a fumbling, then a groggy voice came on the line.
"Blair?  What time is it?"

He laughed, then replied, "Obviously too early for lazy literature
professors."

"Oh, and I suppose getting up at the crack of dawn is all the 
rage with anthropology fellows these days?"  Despite the grumbling
tone, Blair could hear the amusement underlying his friend's words
as clearly as the low groan that he presumed was due to a wake-up
stretch.

"Seriously, man.  If you need to sleep some more, we can find
something else to do for a while," he offered, mollifying his
partner's immediate grimace by adding, "Like find something to 
eat."

"Good God, no.  Timothy would kill me if he ever found out,  You
know how he feels about offering proper hospitality to guests.
I keep telling him you don't count, but..."

"Hey, be nice," Blair interrupted smoothly.  "I've got Jim with 
me."  He could almost hear Sean slip into full wakefulness at the
reminder.

"So you do.  Okay, tell you what -- I'll start a pot of coffee,
then jump in the shower.  If you get here before I'm done, let 
yourselves in and start the IV without me.  Then I'll make us all 
some breakfast."

"Sounds great.  Key still in the same place?"

"Of course."

"Cool.  We'll be there in...."  Blair glanced over at Jim, who
shrugged, then flashed all five digits of his left hand three
times.  "About fifteen."

~~~

They pulled up in front of a pale green two-story house with a 
neatly manicured lawn and Blair's face lit up with relieved smile.

"This is it.  Wow, that linden tree's gotten so big.  Of course, 
I haven't seen it since they first planted it.  Do you know those
things can grow almost ten feet in just one year?  They're found
native all over the Midwest, but...."

Getting out of the cab and walking around to the passenger side,
Jim smiled indulgently as his voluble companion hopped down 
and walked toward the tree in question, seamlessly continuing his 
narrative.  Blair studied the collection of windchimes hanging 
from the heavily-leaved branches for a moment, then reached up 
into a set of hammered brass bells.  

The housekey that had been cleverly camouflaged among the gently
ringing chimes soon dangled from Blair's fingers, and Jim felt a 
wave of nervousness sweep over him.  Given the nomadic existence 
Naomi and Blair had shared, it was no surprise they'd have 
acquaintances scattered across the country -- all over the world, 
most likely -- but he'd never actually met one of them before.  
It was odd.  Blair had moved so completely into his life, knew so 
much of his past, but other than a few superficial anecdotes, he 
knew very little about the younger man's pre-Cascade existence.  

"Jim, you okay?"

Looking into his partner's worried eyes, Jim nodded, wondering how
often he'd let Blair's torrent of words distract him from getting 
to know the man underneath.  Oh sure, he knew some of the most
important things -- that Blair was a genuinely caring person, 
kind-hearted and almost inconceivably bright, given to storytelling 
and skirt-chasing on occasion, but basically honest, someone he 
trusted more than anyone else in the world to watch his back -- 
but he suddenly felt as if he'd only seen the tip of the iceberg.

"You sure?"

"Just thinking, Chief," he replied, ignoring an eloquently raised 
and joining Blair under the tree.  "So, your friend owns this 
place?" he asked, gesturing toward the house as they cut across
the lawn and climbed the porch steps.

"Yeah.  He and Timothy bought it, oh, must be going on six or
seven years ago now.  Well, should I even bother knocking?" Blair
asked, giving Jim the subtle 'work your magic' gesture he used so
often at crime scenes.

Jim concentrated for a moment, then shook his head.  "Nope, he's
still in the shower.  Is that like a thing with you and your 
friends?"

"It's called 'hair,' man.  And I bet *they've* got a normal-sized 
water heater," Blair muttered, unlocking the door and stepping 
inside.

Refraining from commenting, Jim followed, then turned toward the
kitchen with a smile.  "Mmmm... he got the coffee started first
at least."

~~~

A few minutes later, the two bleary-eyed travelers stood side by 
side at the kitchen counter, breathing twin sighs of relief as 
the freshly perked caffeine crept into their bloodstreams.  The 
sound of bare feet padding down carpeted stairs reached Jim's ears, 
and he lifted his head, abandoning his quiet contemplation of the 
steaming brew.  

He only had time to get a vague impression of their host -- a trim 
figure clad in a plaid robe, topped with a wide grin, shoulder-length
red-gold hair and dancing sea-green eyes -- before Sean was engulfed
in one of Blair's completely unself-conscious, full-body hugs.  The 
embrace was returned with equal enthusiasm, and as it stretched out 
far longer than the quiet murmurs of greeting required, he shifted 
awkwardly from foot to foot.

As if suddenly reminded of Jim's presence, Blair gave his friend one 
final squeeze, then stepped back.  Giving Jim an apologetic smile, 
he grabbed onto Sean's sleeve and tugged him over to the detective.

"Sean Flaherty, I'd like you to meet my partner, roommate and best
friend, Detective Jim Ellison."

Absurdly pleased at being so thoroughly, if platonically, claimed, 
Jim fought back a blush as he held out his hand.  The openly 
appraising look and predatory smile Sean offered as they shook 
hands tipped the scale, and as he felt his face growing warmer,
Jim dipped his head down, meeting Blair's amused expression with
a flustered glare.

"Don't let him get to you, Jim," Blair said, nudging Sean away
from his roommate and closer to the coffee pot.  "That's just the
way Sean is."  Narrowing his eyes at Sean, he let out an exasperated
sigh.  "Although considering he's been with Timothy for almost eight
years, I'd kinda hoped he'd mellowed by now."

"I'm married, Blair, not dead," Sean retorted, pouring himself a
cup.  He lifted the mug, giving Jim a more casual smile.  "But I'm
sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable, Detective."

Glancing from one pair of mischievous eyes to the other, Jim 
leaned back against the counter, nonchalantly shifting into a 
posture familiar from his early days as a detective.  With his 
long legs stretched out in front of him, casually crossed at the 
ankle; shoulders drawn back to emphasize the muscular width of
his chest; and head tilted at an arrogant, yet compelling, angle,
he looked every inch a man on the make.

Giving Sean a wry half-smile and a thorough once-over, he replied
in a voice as rich and smooth as honey, "Call me Jim, please.  And
don't worry about it.  I used to work Vice, so it's not like I 
haven't seen *that* look before."

~~~

Blair watched the subtle transformation in silent amazement.  
He'd thought that by now he'd seen every facet of Jim Ellison, 
had anticipated every possible response to Sean's flirtation, but
apparently he'd been mistaken, because Jim wasn't embarassed, or
angry, or even politely ignoring it.  Instead, he was flirting 
back.  With a man.  And it wasn't the often-clumsy, 'I'm big but 
mostly harmless' vibe Jim had with women.  This was confidence
incarnate, as dangerous and alluring as his spirit animal --
aggressive, decidedly masculine... and too hot for words.

Grateful that Jim's attention was focused on Sean, Blair squeezed
his eyes shut, thinking of winter storms, piles of ungraded blue 
books, Simon's Monday morning bellow -- anything to keep his libido
under control.  Hearing a bark of laughter from Sean, he opened them
again and was both relieved and disappointed to see Jim's sensual 
pose melt away.

"I'll bet they miss you in Vice," Sean teased.  "You must've reeled
them in by the dozen."

Jim shrugged, gazing down into his coffee.  "I did okay," he 
demurred softly.

Bewildered -- Jim was always willing to give credit to the team, 
but had never seemed uncomfortable about taking his share before -- 
Blair filed the question away.  "So," he said, interrupting the 
tense tableau before it could turn awkward, "you said something
about breakfast?"

"Absolutely.  What would you gentlemen say to four-egg omelets with 
a little bit of everything from both the meat and veggie drawers
thrown in?"

"I'd say point us toward the cutting boards so we can get this show 
on the road," Blair answered eagerly.

Sean shook his head and gestured toward the table.  "You don't have
to do that.  Why don't you guys take a load off while I...."

"No way, Sean.  Hell, it's the least we can do, considering we're
be using your house, your food and your camping equipment," Jim 
said, reaching for the knife block and selecting the largest, most
dangerous looking blade before turning to face his host.

"Hey, Blair, is this guy safe in the kitchen?" Sean joked, raising
his hands and backing away.

Tilting his head first to the left, then to the right, Blair made a 
show of considering the question, then said, "I guess we could let
him grate the cheese.  That seems harmless enough."

"Watch it, Sandburg," Jim growled.  "Don't forget that you're
about to embark on a four-day trip into a carefully maintained
pseudo-wilderness with me.  And I'm betting there are just *tons*
of places to hide a body."

Balance restored by the familiar banter, Blair managed to not blush 
when -- with Jim's back safely turned -- Sean threw him a wink and 
a quick thumbs up.

~~~

Thirty minutes later, Blair leaned back in his chair, sipping at his
second cup of coffee and sighing with contentment as Sean and Jim
mopped up the remains of their omelets with the last two pieces 
of toast.  Breakfast had been nearly silent, a testament to each
man's hunger, but now he was looking forward to a little catching
up before they had to load up and get back on the road.

"So, Sean, how are things going at the university?" 

"Great.  You know I've always loved teaching... and it's even 
better now that I have fellows to do all the grunt work for me."
Sean laughed as Blair scowled in his direction.

"You've already got your doctorate?" Jim asked, looking surprised.

Sean swallowed the last of his coffee before replying.  "Yep.
Three years ago.  I've been with the U of C ever since."

"Impressive."

"Not especially.  I'm just less ahead of my time than the boy 
genius here."  Blair felt the heat rise in his face as Sean 
continued.  "Fifteen, even ten, years ago, my thesis -- the 
homoerotic subtext of Victorian literature -- would've been 
considered just as controversial as Blair's sentinels are today."

"Sean..." Blair protested.

Rising to get a refill on his coffee, Sean stopped behind Blair
on his way to the counter.  Setting his mug down, he leaned 
forward, wrapping his arms around his friend in an impulsive hug.  
"It's true.  And someday anthropology will crawl into the 20th 
century and catch up with you, just like literature finally did 
with me," he insisted, resting his chin on Blair's shoulder.

Reading the amusement on his own sentinel's face, Blair rolled 
his eyes playfully at Jim, then froze as Sean shifted even closer,
nuzzling his cheek against Blair's before brushing a light kiss
against the corner of his mouth.  Watching Jim's eyes glaze as if 
he were skirting the edge of a zone, Blair was only vaguely aware 
of Sean releasing him, then rubbing absently at his suddenly tense 
muscles.

"Jim?" he called softly, repeating it a little louder when he got
no reply.

~~~

"... Jim!"

His eyes still glued to the hands moving with such casual familiarity
over his partner's shoulders, Jim grunted a terse reply.

"You okay, man?"

Jim nodded, fighting back a growl as Sean's fingers carded through
Blair's curls.

"You sure?"

Blair's hesitant tone finally made it past the roar of the blood
pounding in his ears and Jim made himself meet the wide, worried 
eyes with a rigorously enforced calm.  He had no right to be 
anything *but* calm; other than being his roommate and their 
working partnership, he had no claim on Blair, no matter how much 
he might want one.  And he certainly didn't want his best friend 
thinking he'd turned into the stereotypically homophobic cop, ready 
to freak out because Sean was not only gay, but openly affectionate
as well.  If Blair didn't mind the guy cozying up -- what had he 
said... 'Sean's just like that' -- then who was he to complain?

Watching Blair swallow nervously under his intense gaze, Jim
realized how possessive they'd both become -- *my* partner, 
*my* roommate, *my* best friend -- and managed a wry grin before 
replying.

"Yeah, I'm sure, Chief.  Just got distracting thinking about what
we need for the trip.  You know how I am about stuff like that."

Blair nodded uncertainly, but nevertheless offered a small smile 
of his own in return.  As the tension eased, Sean retrieved his 
mug and continued his interrupted trip to the coffee maker.  Jim 
allowed his smile to turn a little smug.  The handsome Irishman
could flirt all he wanted, but Jim knew damn well where Sandburg
would be sleeping -- at least for the next few nights.

"Timothy, jewel that he is, helped me move all the backpacking
equipment to the front of the garage yesterday," Sean said, the
obvious affection in his voice both soothing Jim and making him
feel ashamed of his jealous reaction.  "Both rigs are partially
packed -- tents, bedrolls, collapsible fishing poles -- but you're
welcome to borrow anything else you need.  We've got first aid 
kits, MREs, flashlights... plus they're roomy enough that you 
should still have plenty of space for clothes."

"Sounds great.  I'll head on out and get started," Jim said, 
getting to his feet and piling his dishes in the sink.  As Blair 
started to follow suit, he rested his hands on the younger man's 
shoulders, for once utterly conscious and accepting of his need 
to mask someone else's scent with his own.  When Blair immediately
relaxed into the gentle touch, looking up at him with a quizzical 
expression, Jim magnanimously offered, "I can take care of most of 
it myself, buddy.  Why don't you and Sean finish off that pot, do 
some catching up... maybe take care of the kitchen.  By the time 
you get out to the garage, we should be just about ready to go."

"You sure?" Blair asked again, still cautious.

"Sandburg...."

"Yeah, yeah.  'I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it.'  Thanks."

Jim shot Blair an evil grin as he headed for the door.  "Don't
mention it.  Especially after you've been toting the rig I'm
gearing up for you for a few hours."  

Reaching for the car keys, Jim laughed softly as Blair's belatedly
muttered complaints followed him to the curb.

~~~

Sean poured the last of the coffee into Blair's cup, waiting until
the low murmurs trailed off before asking, "How about you?"

"What?"

"Are you sure you're okay?"

Cradling the warm mug in his hands, Blair considered the question
before answering.  "Yeah.  I'm not thrilled at you for pulling that
stunt...."  Conscious of his sentinel's proximity, he raised a hand
as Sean opened his mouth to protest.  "But if you're willing to
drop it, so am I.  Otherwise, I've got some packing to go help
with."

Sean stared at Blair incredulously for a moment, as if judging his
sincerity.  When the determined blue gaze refused to falter, he
nodded, casually switching the conversation to a more neutral topic.
"How long are you planning on being out at the park?"

"We'll be there until Sunday, then I need to be back in time for the
opening night meet-and-greet," Blair replied, both his tone and the 
irritated wrinkling of his nose indicating his distaste for such 
events.

"Oh, come on.  You love it."  At Blair's shocked expression, he
clarified, "Okay, maybe not the politics, but seeing old friends
... hearing about the latest expeditions... matching wits with your 
peers and astounding them with your brillance."

Blair returned Sean's puckish grin, then laughed, all the remaining
tension draining away as he stood and began rinsing the dishes.  
"Yeah, okay.  I guess I am looking forward to some of it.  But to 
tell you the truth, after working with Jim, spending anything more 
than a few days at a time locked up in an ivory tower starts to 
drive me crazy.  It's just too detached from what's really going 
on in the world."

Sean gave Blair an appraising look, then walked over and pulled
him into another hug.  "It's good to see you again.  And to see
you so happy."

"Thanks, Sean.  You too."

As they both stepped back, still grinning foolishly, Sean clapped
his hands together and said, "So, how about you get out there and
give your partner a hand while I slip into something a little less
comfortable."

~~~

Thankful that he'd long ago mastered the art of splitting his
attention between the task at hand and the complex set of sensory
cues he categorized as 'keeping track of Blair,' Jim hurriedly
finished packing his gear in one of the backpacking rigs and tossed
it into the cargo section of the SUV.  He knew that technically
he'd been eavesdropping, but hadn't been able to stop himself.
He needed to know what, if anything, Blair would say about that 
kiss.  While his curiousity had gone unsatified on that score, he 
had gotten some very valuable insights into his partner's state of 
mind, and promised himself to make sure Blair got more opportunities
to 'astound his peers' as well as more acknowledgement for his role
at the PD.  

Feeling guilty about the invasion of privacy, and for ignoring most
of Blair's ramblings about his presentation, he greeted the younger
man's arrival with an uncharacteristically gregarious, "Hey, Chief!"
and a brilliant smile.

"Hi, Jim," Blair replied warily, coming to a halt several feet
away.

// Way to overdo it, Ellison. //

"I, uh, wasn't sure exactly which clothes you wanted to pack, but
everything else is all set," he continued in a more subdued tone
of voice.

"Cool.  Thanks, man," Blair said, joining him at the back of the
Yukon and popping open his suitcase.  Jim stared as nimble fingers
picked through the chaos, efficiently separating out the warmest
and sturdiest of the lot.  Unconscious of his unwavering focus
until Sean appeared at the garage door and tapped on the jam, 
he met knowing green eyes for a moment, then looked away, fussing
with his luggage to cover the lapse.

"You're both welcome to leave your other clothes and your bags here.
That way you won't have to worry about them sitting out in the damp,"
Sean offered.

Blair laughed softly, snapping his suitcase shut.  "Doesn't matter
much either way to me, but... yeah, that's probably a good idea,"
he said, glancing sideways at Jim.  "Should I just dump this stuff 
in the guest room?"

"Yeah.  That'll work."

"I'll do it, Chief.  You finish your packing.  And don't forget to
fill up the canteens.  There's no guarantee we'll be able to park
near a water supply."

"Yes, mom.  It's still on the left at the top of the stairs, right,
Sean?"

Sean let out a long-suffering sigh before replying, "Oh, yes.
Timothy just won't give up his view of the sunrise, no matter how
often I try to convince him that there's nothing inherently wrong
with a more noctural existence."

Helping Jim gather up their luggage, Blair laughed, then explained,
"Sean and I used to joke that the vampiric qualities of graduate
life would make a good sociological thesis."
 
"Or a horror movie," Sean added.
 
"Having seen Sandburg after an all-nighter, I'd vote for the horror
movie," Jim teased, barely catching the last bag -- his own mostly-
empty duffle -- before it could make contact with his face.

"So, Blair," Jim overheard as he carried their bags into the house,
"you *are* planning on spending an evening with Timothy and I while
you're in town, aren't you?  He'll be back from New Orleans on 
Saturday, and after all this time I know he'd be disappointed with
just a quick hello/goodbye when you pick up your stuff.  Maybe we
could take you out for a night on the town for your birthday?
Drop in on some of our old haunts?"

"Maybe.  I'm not sure how much free time I'll have, what with the 
conference and Jim and all."
 
Hearing Blair's cautious agreement, Jim frowned.  The last thing he 
wanted was to be a burden to his young friend, and he reluctantly
decided that he'd have to have a serious talk with him about exactly 
*how* he wanted to celebrate his birthday this year.
 
~~~
 
A few miles from Sean's house, Jim pulled into a gas station, 
surprising Blair by immediately heading for the attached minimart
once he'd parked at one of the pumps.
 
"Hey, Jim, I think you can just pay over here," he called out the 
passenger window.
 
Jim turned, walking backwards as he replied, "I'm sure you can,
Chief.  And while you do that, I'll be picking up some snacks to 
tide us over between the pike and the walleye.  Not that I don't
appreciate Sean's generousity, but I had my fill of MREs back in
the Army."
 
"Oh, no way, man," Blair said, abandoning the SUV and jogging
after his roommate.  "If I let you pick, all we'll end up with
are bags of salty grease and a couple of candy bars."
 
Keeping in mind that they'd be hiking rather than driving to their
campsite, the two men eventually narrowed down their purchases to 
the bare essentials: trail mix and a six-pack from the local micro
brewery for Blair, buffalo jerky and Rolling Rock for Jim, and 
enough chocolate, marshmallows and graham crackers to keep them both
in s'mores for all four nights.
 
~~~

As they made the turn onto Highway 94, Jim broke the silence they'd
traveled in since leaving the gas station.
 
"So, you've known this guy for quite a while, huh?" 

Distracted with flipping through his notes for the conference, Blair
answered distantly, "Hmm?  Oh, yeah.  Since Naomi and I lived in 
Chicago back in the 80's."
 
"And he knows about your sentinel research?"

Even through the haze of academia, there was no missing the tension
underlying that question.  Blair laid aside the paperwork and gave
Jim his undivided attention before replying.  "A little.  I mean,
I've discussed Burton's monograph with him, and that I finally
managed to find a couple of subjects with more than one or two
enhanced senses...."
 
"A couple?" Jim interrupted.  "Oh, come on.  You're not actually
going to include her in your dissertation, are you?  She may have
had the genetics, but she sure as hell doesn't fit your 'tribal
protector' theory."  
 
Deliberately keeping his voice calm -- as always, the mere mention
of Alex seemed to trigger Jim's territorial instincts -- Blair 
explained, "Look, Jim, regardless of everything else that happened, 
my tests on Alex yielded scientifically valid results."  He paused 
as a muscle in Jim's jaw began to twitch.  "But, no, to answer your 
question, she's not part of my thesis.  In fact...."

The rest of Blair's explanation was cut off as he found himself
pinned to the seat by a strong forearm while Jim swerved hard to 
the right to avoid a slow-moving truck that had pulled directly in 
front of them.
 
"Son of a bitch!  You okay, Chief?" Jim asked, patting Blair's chest
reassuringly before withdrawing his arm.
 
"Yeah."

"You were saying?"

Deciding to let the awkward discussion drop -- after all, there was
no use begging for trouble -- Blair replied, "What?  Oh, nothing.  
I, uhm, should really look over these notes again, you know?  That 
way I can just relax and forget about it until Sunday."

"Sounds like a plan."

"Great.  This shouldn't take too long, so once we get clear of town,
I'll take over the driving, okay?" Blair said, rearranging the papers
that the abrupt lane change had scattered.
 
"Sure thing, Chief."

After a few minutes of reviewing facts and figures that he already
knew by heart, Blair felt his eyelids growing heavier.  With a sigh,
he relaxed into the plush headrest, promising himself that he'd
just rest his eyes for a minute or two, then pack up his paperwork
and take over for Jim.
 
A sudden, violent bounce jolted him awake.  Blinking to clear his 
vision, he looked around, wondering what type of defensive, 
road-warrior move Jim was engaging in this time, then realized 
they'd just made the turn onto the dirt road leading into the park.  

"Sorry about the rough ride.  I didn't expect that first drop."

Glaring at his road-weary but undeniably smug roommate, Blair
grumbled, "Why didn't you wake me?"
 
"Relax, Chief.  You needed the rest, okay?  And you can drive they
whole way back if it makes you feel any better."  

Blair nodded, his glare disappearing immediately in response to 
Jim's easy-going acquiescence.  They rode in silence for a few 
minutes, watching the landscape change from sweeping prairie to 
thick woods.  Jim motioned to a well-sheltered area not far off 
the road.  So, what do you think?  That look like a safe enough 
spot to leave this thing for a few days?"
 
~~~

They'd hiked for about two miles, quietly enjoying the natural 
beauty of the woods and each other's company, when they stumbled
upon a campsite which -- from the looks of things -- had only
recently been vandalized.   
 
Slipping out of his backpack, Jim rested it against a tree before
moving silently to the side of the encampment closest to the river, 
motioning Blair to stay back.

Following Jim's example, Blair lowered his pack to the ground,
then began investigating along the opposite edge.  Concentrating
on not disturbing any potential evidence, he was unaware of anything
going amiss until he heard a startled gasp.  Turning around even as 
Jim's urgent warning not to move reached him, Blair found himself 
face to face with a large and extremely pissed off wolf.

Risking a glance at his partner, he saw Jim pulling his gun and 
taking careful aim at the helpless canine.  A low growl drew his 
attention back to the snarling visage and raised hackles standing
in front of him.

// Okay, maybe not helpless, exactly, but still.... //
 
Speaking in deep, soothing tones -- as much for the man as the
animal -- he moved slowly, deliberately placing his body between
the wolf and the sentinel.  
 
"Jim... don't.  Let's relax a minute here, okay?  It's probably
just as scared of us as we are of it."  Blair's facade of bravado
cracked slightly as the wolf took a step closer, sniffing the air.
"I hope," he added, his voice nothing more than a whisper.

(end / Reflections: Cascade )