Planes, Trains, and Automobiles--Rogue

New York City, two days before Thanksgiving

Detective James Ellison sat in a crowded conference room in the Ritz Carlton. He had been chosen as one of two detectives to represent Cascade's police department at the Police Conference in New York. The other was Earl Gaines, from the Anti-Gang Unit. Two of the best and the brightest of Cascade's finest.

And none of it mattered to the extremely bored Ellison.

Sighing, wondering how much longer this putz on the stage was going to continue with his monologue about how great and wonderful he was as a consultant, helping detectives in various cities solve crimes, Jim looked at his watch and groaned. He was supposed to be on the six o'clock flight out of New York's Kennedy airport, catch the connecting flight in Chicago's O'Hare, and be in Cascade and at home by eleven o'clock at the very earliest. He could have waited until the next day, when there wouldn't be such a rush, but things had been strained between him and Carolyn for a while. They had talked about trying to patch up their marriage before he'd been ordered to come out here to the conference. As a concession to her, when she had asked him to try to be home a couple of days before Thanksgiving, rather than waiting until the last minute, he had agreed. The six o'clock flight was the earliest they had that he could catch, since he was leaving straight from the Ritz Carlton.

If only the stupid bastard on the fucking stage would shut the fuck up!

Glancing at his watch, he realized that if the orator packed it in within the next fifteen minutes, he would have a decent enough margin of safety. At least he had his bags all packed and ready to go, and he was already checked out of his room. All he would have to do is collect them from the baggage check downstairs and he was home free.

Gritting his teeth, Jim settled in to wait. However, if the stupid bastard didn't shut up, he would be forced to leave, which would look bad, but oh, well. Let Simon chew him out. He had a plane to catch, dammit!

Fifteen minutes later found him rushing for the elevator, jamming his knitted blue skull cap on his head and tugging it down around his ears. He shrugged into his black leather hip-length jacket, which went over his torso-hugging maroon sweater, underneath which was a skin-tight gray T- shirt. On his legs were his favorite pair of worn, comfortable, faded blue jeans. Soft and good- looking, but tight enough to show off his assets. Hey, he might be married, but he that didn't mean he couldn't look good. On his feet were his most comfortable pair of winter-weather hiking boots. One thing he was thankful for at this conference, was the casual dress code.

Walking quickly beside him was Earl Gaines. The young black man was grinning as he tried to keep up with the powerful strides from Jim's muscular legs.

"Two solid hours of presenting material that we already know just so he can earn his 400 bucks an hour," Jim growled. He glanced over at the younger man. "Why aren't you going to the airport?"

Earl grinned mischievously. "Why bother bustin' my ass to catch the six o'clock flight? Why don't you just take the eight o'clock flight with me? You'll get home a couple hours later, but you won't be as frustrated as you will be now."

"Whaddya mean?"

"You're never gonna catch a cab at this hour."

"I told Carolyn I'd be home by 11 at the earliest, 12 by the latest."

Gaines rolled his eyes, grinning. "That's you, man."

Jim grinned back, then groaned, shaking his head just as the elevator arrived at their floor. "Dammit! I left my gloves in my room. Oh, well. All I have to do is get on an elevator, get in a taxi, get to the airport and go home. Would you pick 'em up for me and bring 'em back? Thanks, Earl."

The younger cop nodded as Jim got on the elevator. "Have a good holiday, man."

"See you in Cascade, Gaines."

As the doors began closing, Earl leaned in with a smug grin. "You'll never make the six."

Then the doors closed and the car was on its way down, Jim shaking his head as he mentally grumbled about know-it-all kids these days.

***

Twenty minutes later, as he stood in a long, long line at a cab stand, Jim grit his teeth and refrained from punching someone's lights out as he was forced to acknowledge that if he stood there any longer, it was going to be eleven o'clock by the time he got a fucking cab.

Checking his watch once more, glaring to find it had only been another two minutes since he last checked it, he got out of line and began walking up the street towards the corner slowly, searching for an empty taxi.

Reaching the corner, he saw one stuck in traffic further down the street, close to a traffic light. Once that cab cleared the light, it would be free of traffic and enroute to wherever Jim needed it to go.

Glancing around to make sure he wouldn't be struck down by a crazed motorist, he happened to see a man on the other side of the street also trying to find a cab ... and spotting Jim's cab at the same time. Excitedly, the man looked around to check traffic and saw Jim watching him.

Ellison's gaze flicked back to the cab and then back to the young man.

The young man's gaze flicked to the cab and then back to Jim. A shit eating grin formed on the smooth, handsome face, green eyes twinkling smugly.

Jim felt his usual primal territoriality well up in him.

And then they were off.

The two men weaved and ducked and skidded through the rushhour crowd, moving against the flow of pedestrian traffic as they each attempted to reach the cab before the other could. Jim laughed triumphantly when his rival's way was blocked abruptly by two delivery men off-loading a pile of crates directly into the young man's path. Then he returned his focus to the cab, racing through an opening, out towards the street, the cab only fifty feet away--

--and abruptly went sprawling as something solid and heavy impacted across his shins, sending him flying out into the street. He flinched as a car slid to a halt only a few feet from him, blowing its horn, before driving around him. He looked up in time to see the young man beat him to the cab and bang on the roof to let the driver know he wanted in. The "ON DUTY" sign was flipped on and the other man grinned smugly and mock-saluted Jim before he climbed arrogantly into
the cab.

Sighing roughly, Jim got to his feet and dusted off his clothing. He grabbed up his black leather duffel bag and then got back onto the sidewalk. He paused to look down at what tripped him and saw a battered old trunk that was covered in stickers that denoted the many places it had been, along with a beat-up looking backpack and a plain old nylon duffel bag. He gave the hapless pieces of luggage a sneering growl before wandering back up the street.

It wasn't long before he saw a well-dressed man hailing a cab and he walked up to the man with a charming smile.

"Sir? Sir? Excuse me," he said, when the man turned to look at him. "I realize this is your cab, but I'm desperately late to get to my plane and I was wondering if I could appeal to your good nature to let me have it."

The man looked him up and down and then said, "I don't have a good nature. Excuse me."

In the cab, the driver was yelling at them to "come on, already!"

"Could I offer you ten dollars for it? Twenty; I'll give you twenty dollars for it," Jim said, swallowing his pride.

Neither of them noticed another man come up and slap the trunk of the cab, getting the cabbie's attention. Deciding that the two men were taking far too much time dithering over who was getting the cab, the driver got out to help load a battered old trunk, a backpack, and a duffel bag into the cab's trunk.

The man who had hailed the cab looked at Jim's luggage and clothing critically, then said, "I'll take fifty."

Ellison grimaced, but fished out his wallet as the cabbie finished loading the newcomer's luggage into the trunk.

"Anyone who'd pay fifty dollars for a cab," the other man said smoothly, "would certainly pay seventy-five."

Irritated beyond measure, Jim then pulled his badge from beneath his jacket and sweater, where it had been hooked on his belt. He showed it to the man and growled, "That's extortion and I'm a cop."

The man took a close look at it and then shrugged. "So? I'm an attorney. And you're out of your jurisidiction, as I'm sure that Cascade isn't anywhere near here."

Jim glowered hard, but the other man never wavered. "Alright. Seventy-five." He dug the money out of his billfold and handed it over. "Have a happy holiday," he snarled.

"This will help," the attorney said blithely, counting the money before walking away.

The cab then took off ... without Jim in it.

Startled, the detective looked up to see the cab driving away with a very familiar looking trunk in the back of it. Royally pissed now, he took off running after it, merging with traffic carefully.

"Hey! Hey! Hey, that's my cab! That's my cab! Pull over! Pull over! Alright, pull over!" he bellowed, tearing after it, ignoring the weight of his own luggage. He also ignored the stares of befuddled New Yorkers he passed while racing down the street.

"Pull over, buddy! You're messin' with the wrong guy!"

Just then, the cab halted for a red light, allowing Jim to catch up with it.

He tore open the unlocked door and snarled down into the startled face of a young man with wide blue eyes, full lips, wide and angular face, and a wealth of long, curly brown hair.

Not that he noticed this, though.

"Alright, you son of a bitch! This is my cab! Out!"

The light turned green and the cab took off quickly. Since Jim had been holding onto the door, the force of the acceleration made him stumble and then spun him around to land in a heap on the pavement.

A sturdy, masculine hand reached out and yanked the door shut, wide blue eyes staring back at the cop now sitting in the middle of traffic, horns honking at the obstruction of movement. They drove around him, heedless of the fact that they were rolling over the black leather duffel bag.

Finally, Jim got to his feet and retrieved his luggage. He took a moment to calm himself down, then began walking down the street, back to his search for a cab.

***

Half an hour later, five minutes before his flight was scheduled to take off, Jim got to the airport and wove his way through the crowd, hurrying to his assigned gate, anxious to get to the ticket counter ... and watched as the ticketing agent put up the "delayed" sign next to his flight number, two minutes to six.

Sighing roughly, Jim closed his eyes for a moment. Realizing that he had time to kill, he wandered over to the airport newsstand and bought a Guns & Ammo magazine to read, then headed back to the waiting lounge in his assigned area.

****

In Cascade, Carolyn Plummer-Ellison moved around the loft kitchen, cooking herself a solitary meal to eat while she talked on the phone, knowing Jim wouldn't want anything when he got home.

"Yes, Mom. Yes, we'll come over to your place for Thanksgiving. Well, Jim and Daddy will just have to make nice, won't they? No, Jim doesn't know we'll be coming over. I'll tell him when he gets home from the conference Captain Banks sent him to in New York. Mm-hmm, he gets in at 11, so he'll probably be home by 11:45. Yes, I know he'll be tired, but I'd rather let him know right away, so he can get used to the idea. No, I hadn't told him before he left, remember? No, he probably won't like being dragged over there at the last minute, but oh, well. Oh, Mom! The least he can do is spend some time with me and his parents-in-law. God knows we never go anywhere near his father or brother. Besides, I want us to be together for a little while. We ... we need some time together. We're just ... slipping away. Yes, we've been having problems for a while, but ... Mom, I don't want to give up on him entirely! He's not a bad man, but ... oh, I don't know. He's just so ... distant sometimes, I swear! He never tells me anything, never gets close ... my God, I have to ask to get a hug from him! He never notices when I need something so simple as a cuddle! I don't know what's wrong with him; he's just not the man I thought he was...."

****

Jim lifted his attention from the clock on the wall and watched the clock change from 6:57 to 6:58. He had called Carolyn fifteen minutes ago to inform her of the delay and he had struggled to hold his temper when she had demanded he find a flight on another airline that would be leaving soon. He had told her that he'd already thought of it, but that nothing was available. His best bet was staying with the current flight.

Rolling his head, cracking his neck slightly to relieve the tension, and sighing. He was ready to drop his eyes back to the magazine, when his attention was caught by the individual sitting across from him in another row of seats.

This person was a young man who was dressed in worn jeans that hugged athletic looking legs. Decent but cheap footwear encased average-sized feet. His gaze traveled up the sprawled body to a compact torso. Or so he figured. He wasn't quite sure. The upper body was covered in an open brown corduroy jacket, beneath which was a black and white heavy flannel shirt, beneath which was apparently a gray Henley shirt. A scarf trailed down from the young man's shoulders, over his jacket, and a huge fake bear fur hat with ear flaps that could tie up sat on top of a beat- up looking knapsack, along with a pair of gloves. A plain duffel bag rested near the kid's feet. Past the edges of the Anthropology Today magazine the kid was reading, Jim saw a cloud of soft-looking brown curls.

Memory tickling at the edges of his brain, Jim kept his eyes trained on the guy across from him.

As if sensing the scrutiny, the magazine lowered and the young man turned a page as his eyes flicked over the top to look at Jim through his wide blue eyes. Dark blue, with thick, dark brown lashes. Set in an angular, masculine face.

Not that Jim noticed, though.

Then the magazine was raised again, hiding the man from view.

But Jim didn't need to see anymore. Memory had supplied the image of this same face looking up at him in shock from the inside of the cab he'd chased an hour or so earlier, and he nodded his head with a rueful smile curling his lips.

As he bent his own head back to his magazine, movement caught his gaze. He glanced up to find the young man frowning at him thoughtfully. Politely, he nodded at the kid and tried to turn his eyes back to the article he'd been reading.

"I know you, don't I?" the young man said, a smile spread across his face. His low, mellow, warm tones did something to Jim's nerves that he did his level best to ignore. "Usually I'm very good with names, but I'll be damned if I haven't forgotten yours."

Jim flashed the kid a polite smile, though he wasn't feeling very polite. "You stole my cab."

The kid let out a nervous chuckle and shook his head. "I've never stolen anything in my life. Well, except for a microscope when I was in the ninth grade, but I was a science nerd. And I paid 'em back."

Was? Jim thought briefly, his gaze flicking to the Anthropology Today, then back to the young man. "I hailed a cab this afternoon and before I could get in it, you stole it."

The kid pointed his finger at him. "You're the guy who tried to get my cab!" He began laughing, apparently oblivious to Jim's incredulous look and irritation. "Yeah, I knew I knew you from somewhere! Yeah! You scared the bejeezus outta me, man!" Then he paused and frowned thoughtfully again. "Come to think of it, it was awfully easy to get a cab during rush hour."

Sighing, Jim snapped his magazine sharply, flashed a smile that was all teeth, and said frostily, "Forget it."

Understanding dawning on him, the young man sat up, blue eyes troubled. He leaned forward as he said, "Forget it? No! I am sorry. I had no idea that was your cab! I'm really sorry, man. C'mon, let me make it up to you. Let me buy you a hotdog and a beer."

"No thanks," Jim replied, somewhat snidely, but he figured he had a right to.

"Just a hotdog, then."

"I'm kind of picky about what I eat, thanks." Only Jim knew it for the outright lie it was. A hotdog and a beer sounded like heaven to him right then, but there was no way in hell he was going to accept it from this smart-ass geek.

Apparently, it didn't faze the younger man in the least. "How about some coffee?"

"No."

"Milk?"

"No."

"Soda?"

"No."

"Tea?"

"No."

"Slurpee?"

"No."

"Lifesaver?"

"Sir. Please." Jim was amazed at how polite he sounded, considering his level of irritation.

The kid sat back, grinning hugely. "Okay, just let me know." He began chuckling again as he picked up his magazine. "I knew I knew you!"

Sighing, Jim deliberately raised his magazine in front of his face, silently signaling his desire to be left alone.

No further conversation was forthcoming.

Huh. Guess he can take a hint after all, Jim mused, then turned his attention to the article once more.

***

Forty-five minutes later, Jim couldn't believe his luck as he stood at the entrance to the First Class seating, arguing with the flight attendant.

"Sir, this is something you should have discussed with the ticketing agent," she said politely, though her tone was strained.

People passed by them with quiet mutters of "excuse me", heading quickly for their own seats.

"I couldn't discuss this with him because I didn't know he had put me in coach," Jim said, matching her tone for tone.

"I'm sorry, I can't help you. First Class is full," she replied.

Jim cast a disparaging glance at the multitude of large, comfortable, empty seats. "But I have a First Class ticket."

She held up his ticket and pointed to the seat number, 13E. "You have a Coach Seat assignment."

Just then, a new man walked up to them, wearing a suit and a tired grin, and the flight attendant smiled at him. "Hi, Larry."

"Hi, Liz," the young man replied, bending to kiss the cheek she offered to him. "Here okay? Or how 'bout over there?"

"Oh, here, there, anywhere is fine," she said with a bright smile, her voice warm.

"Pardon me," Larry said to Jim, and took the seat that the detective was standing next to.

Liz turned her attention back to Jim, no longer warm and open. Her demeanor was very stern and her voice icy when she said, "Save your boarding pass and you'll get a refund on the difference."

His own voice low and angry, Jim replied, "I don't want a refund. I want a First Class seat that I had booked and ticketed over a month ago."

"Look," Liz the flight attendant hissed, "I've had just about enough of you. Now take your seat!"

He briefly considered flashing his badge -- or maybe even his gun -- but knew he wouldn't get any farther. "You've had enough of me? First you delay me, then you bump me. I can't wait to see what's next."

A few minutes later, standing beside row 13, looking at E, which was in the middle on the right side of the plane facing the cockpit, his disbelieving eyes looked into sparkling blue ones that peered up from a smiling, familiar face.

"Is this coincidence, or what?" the anthro geek from the lounge said, chuckling.

Jim paused for a moment, deliberated as to whether or not he should skip this flight entirely or take his seat. Finally, desperation won out and he moved to step gingerly between the kid's feet and legs that were considerately moved out of his way. He settled into his seat between the kid and the elderly man who sat by the window.

And then he prayed that nothing else would delay the trip so he could get home and away from this kid who seemed to be everywhere he went.

***

Forty-five minutes after Flight 909 took off, Chicago's O'Hare Airport was closed due to the fierce snowstorm that had blown in over the last few hours.

***

"I never did introduce myself," said a voice on his left as a hand interrupted his view of the article before him. Jim lifted his head and turned to look into the smiling face and blue eyes of his young antagonist. "Blair Sandburg."

He took the kid's hand, shaking it, giving him a polite smile before letting go.

"Actually, that's Doctor Blair Sandburg. In anthropology. I specialize in South American culture. I was at the Ritz Carlton in New York for the anthropology conference. Brought in some handmade Peruvian jewelry from local tribes, and a few other artifacts. Presented a few topics and theories. Wasn't too bad."

Jim nodded absently, his eyes fixed firmly to the page of his magazine again, hoping the young science nerd would take the hint.

Apparently, the young science nerd didn't do hints.

"And you are?" Sandburg said, intruding on his silence.

He sighed and lifted his head again. "I'm Jim Ellison."

Blair held out his hand and they shook again as they said, "Jim Ellison! Pleased to meet you, Jim Ellison."

Jim smiled politely and tried to go back to his magazine.

"So what do you do for a living, Jim Ellison?"

There was a long moment of silence before Jim finally lifted his head and grinned toothily at the young man beside him. "I'm a cop. A cop that arrests annoying, hyperactive, obnoxious, neo- hippie witchdoctor punks like you."

Sandburg blinked and then turned big, wide, blue puppy dog eyes on the detective. "Who, me?"

Jim rolled his eyes and went back to reading his magazine. A few moments later, though, when he heard Blair drawing breath to say something else, he jumped the gun, hoping to head the kid off. "Uh, listen, Chief, I really don't want to be rude, but I'm not much of a conversationalist and I'd really like to finish this article."

Blair nodded. "I understand, I totally understand, man. Don't let me stand in your way. The last thing I want to be remembered as is an annoying blabbermouth." He snickered lightly. "Y'know, nothing grinds my gears faster than some big chowderhead who doesn't know when to keep his big trap shut."

Ellison clenched his jaw and kept his eyes trained on the page, not really reading as he thought to himself, Don't kill him, don't kill him, don't kill him.... A more sinister, more practical voice in his mind replied with, I could kill him, hide the body, and nobody would ever know. And if they did, they'd probably be grateful for it.

Beside him, Blair was oblivious and kept chatting away. "If you catch me running off at the mouth, just give me a poke in the chops."

The weight of his badge and gun tucked against him and the mental reminder of his oath to protect and serve running through his mind, Jim heroically resisted the temptation to do worse than a "poke in the chops."

All was silent for a few moments. Then Jim was jostled as Blair propped his right leg on his left knee and removed his sneaker, groaning in contentment.

"God, that feels good!" the young man gasped, wiggling his toes. "I'm tellin' you, my dogs are really barkin' today. Whew!"

Mildly disgusted, Jim turned a pale green color a moment later when Blair pulled off the sock as well.

"Ohhh! That feels better," Sandburg said with utter relief, and then he began whipping the sock around, unwittingly flicking it past Jim's face repeatedly by an inch or so.

The detective dug his knit cap out of his jacket pocket and buried his face in it, breathing as shallowly as he could, aware that the elderly man beside him was turning to face the window as quickly as he could.

And wished he could die a moment later as the procedure was repeated with the other foot.

***

Later, the cabin lights out and most of the passengers sleeping, Jim read by the light of the single personal light above him.

On his right shoulder was the elderly man, nestled against him and sleeping.

On his left, Blair Sandburg lay pressed back into his own seat, dozing quietly.

Feeling the elderly man shifting against him, Jim looked over and then wrinkled his nose when the man opened his mouth and coughed harshly, wheezing for a moment, before smacking his lips and subsiding back into sleep.

Sighing, he turned his head to glance at Blair. He regarded the quiet, beautiful features for a moment, silently surprised to see that the young man could wind down.

Then Blair's eyes opened and they gazed at each other for a few moments.

Then Blair's mouth opened. "Six bucks and my right nut says we're not landing at Chicago."

Then the younger man closed everything and nestled closer, his head drooping to land on Jim's left shoulder.

Bemusedly, the detective looked down at the peacefully dozing professor and wondered, Why me?

Then he went back to his magazine.

****

Carolyn sat up in bed as the phone rang. She took a quick look at the clock and frowned when she saw that it was almost twelve midnight.

"Hello?" she said after picking up the phone.

"Hi."

"Jim! Where are you?"

"I'm in Wichita."

"Wichita, Kansas? Are you all right? What happened?"

"We couldn't land at Chicago."

"I don't understand. What does Wichita have to do with a snowstorm in Chicago? What's going on, Jim?"

She heard him sigh tiredly over the phone. "It's a little difficult to land, catch a connecting flight, and take off again in a snowstorm heavy enough to close down an airport, Carolyn."

She frowned angrily. "Oh, I see. Well, since you seem to know all the answers, Jim, when you have some sort of idea as to when you'll be coming home and how, let me know, okay? Goodnight!" And with that, she slammed the phone down, dropped back, pulled the covers up, and attempted to go back to sleep.

In Wichita's airport, Jim sighed again and hung up the phone, feeling a headache pounding at his temples. He stepped out of line and walked over to a lone trashcan against a wall, propping his bag on it and rifling through his ticket.

"Jim."

He looked up at the sound of a familiar warm, annoying voice, and smiled politely.

Blair took one look at the man he'd been watching talk on the phone and said, "Little trouble on the homefront?"

Jim lost his smile. "I really don't think that's any of your business."

The younger man was silent for a moment and then said, "You know, the finest line a man will walk is between the success of work and the success of home."

Jim simply looked at him.

"I got a motto: Like your work, love your wife."

Ellison glanced down at Blair's bare left hand. "And how would you know that? You don't appear to be married."

"Oh, no, I'm not, man, but--"

"Yeah, okay. Thanks for the advice, Chief; I'll keep that in mind. What's the flight situation?"

Blair shrugged. "Simple. No way on earth we're getting out of here tonight. We'd have more luck playing pickup-sticks with our butt cheeks than getting a flight out of here before daybreak."

The detective grimaced. "We'll find out soon enough."

"Yeah, but by the time the airline cancels the flight, which they will eventually, you'd have a better chance of finding a three-legged ballerina than a hotel room, man."

Jim blinked. "You're saying I could be stuck in Wichita?"

Blair shook his head. "I'm saying you are stuck in Wichita."

Just then, the ticketing agent at the desk -- who bore a strong resemblance to Ben Stein -- picked up his PA microphone and said, "Ladies and Gentlemen, may I have your attention please? I'm sorry to announce that we're cancelling Flight 909 due to severe weather in Chicago." With a dippy smile, the man clicked the PA off, ignoring the frustrated groaning and cursing that arose at his announcement.

Closing his eyes, Jim clenched his jaw and counted to fifty. When he opened them again, Blair was gone.

Sighing, he moved to find a payphone and get a hotel room.

Twenty minutes later, he was on the phone with a woman at a major hotel chain. "Hi, I was wondering if you had any rooms available for tonight?" There was a pause as she denied any vacancies at the hotel. "Do you know if any other motels--"

Click. She hung up.

Grumbling, he gathered up his duffel bag and moved out of line, allowing the person behind him to get to the phone.

"Jim!"

Here we go again, he thought to himself, and moved to meet Blair, who was walking towards him. He gave the anthropologist a polite smile.

"Hi."

"Well? Welcome to Wichita!" Blair said, chuckling. When Jim didn't say anything, merely rolled his eyes, he asked, "Did you get a room yet?"

Jim shook his head. "I, uh, I couldn't get anything."

Blair gave the older man a smug look. "Soon as we got off the plane, you called home. I called the Braidwood Inn."

Ellison frowned. "I missed that one."

Blair was silent for all of two seconds and then he snapped his fingers, extremely animated. "I've got an idea! I know the manager pretty good. I worked for him one summer when I was fifteen. If you want to pick up the cab fare, I'll make sure you get a room for the night."

This idea didn't sit too comfortably on the detective. "Ummm..." he muttered as he glanced around, trying to come up with a polite excuse, and then saw a man in a business suit sleeping curled up against a nearby wall, covered with his own trenchcoat, and decided he'd rather have a real bed. "Yeah, yeah. Sure. Great."

Sandburg turned a wide, delighted smile on him. "Alright! Great. Grab an end of this thing, will you? Thanks a lot."

Jim followed the younger man over and paused upon seeing the trunk that had tripped him in New York, complete with the plain nylon duffel bag and the beat-up backpack.

"Is this your trunk?" he asked.

Blair snickered a bit. "Yeah. It has those Peruvian artifacts and jewelry I took to the conference in New York in it. You should try lugging this thing around New York City, man. It's a trip!"

Jim sighed, grinned to himself and bent down to lift one end of the trunk as he thought, Figures.

Twenty minutes later, they were traveling along backroads through Wichita in a very unique cab. It was called "Dooby's Taxiola" and had white Christmas lights strung over it and pictures of naked women with big boobs all over the interior.

Jim had taken one look, then kept his eyes fastened directly on the road ahead of them. While he was no stranger to pretty female flesh, this was merely vulgar to him and he'd outgrown such adolescent immaturity regarding women a long time ago.

Leaning over to Blair, who sat beside him, he said, "Where the hell is the motel?"

Blair glanced at him and then leaned forward. "Dooby, is it much farther?"

"Not much," the long, lean cab driver called back, smoking a cigarette as he ran a hand through his gelled pompadour.

"Why didn't you take the interstate?" Sandburg asked.

"Your friend's never been here before, so I thought I'd show him around. Don't see nothin' on the interstate but interstate."

"It's the middle of the night," Jim growled quietly to Blair.

"I know, I know. But he's proud of his town. Y'know, that's a damn rare thing these days," the professor replied just as quietly.

Jim rolled his eyes and glanced out the window.

A few minutes later, they pulled up to the Braidwood Inn. After Jim paid twice as much money as he had been expecting to, due to the unasked for lengthy ride, they all climbed out.

"Take care of the luggage, would ya, Dooby?"

"'Kay, B."

Jim took a look at the front of the motel. With a name like Braidwood, he had been expecting something quaint and cosy. Instead, he saw what looked like the front of a Motel 8. As he watched, a man and woman walked up the front door, the woman dressed in a miniskirt so short he could see her panties flash as she walked. They were having an argument and when they got to the door, the woman shoved the man away and walked inside. He caught himself from his stumble and followed her in.

Terrific, the detective thought, and then felt someone standing beside him. He glanced over to find Blair looking at the Braidwood and then up at him.

"Stick with me, man," Blair said with a wide grin, and walked inside.

Jim smirked, but he did follow the younger man into the lobby, up to the front desk, where Blair dinged out "Shave and a Haircut" on the bell.

Through the window into a room behind the desk, they could see a grizzled old man pop up with wide eyes.

"Evenin', Gus," Blair called out, still grinning.

Smiling madly, the old man scurried out to the front desk, holding out his hand.

"Blair Sandburg! How the hell are ya?"

The two of them shook hands and Blair said, "Well, I'm still a million bucks shy of being a millionaire!"

As they laughed, Jim rolled his eyes and shook his head, although he grinned slightly.

"Gus, I want you to meet an old friend of mine, Jim Ellison. Jim, this is Gus Mooney."

The detective stepped forward and the two men shook hands.

"Nice to meet you, Jim," the friendly old man said.

"Same to you, sir," Ellison replied politely.

Blair leaned against the counter and got his friend's attention. "Gus, I told my friend, here, you'd be able to fix him up with a room for tonight."

"D' you have a major credit card?" Gus asked, glancing at Jim.

Jim handed over one of his credit cards. While he glanced around at the decor, Blair asked, "Do you still take those discount credit cards?"

Gus scratched his head and replied, "Well, I'll have to charge you for a double, but with the discount, it'll come out even."

Blair handed over his own card, which looked just like Ellison's, and then turned to Jim. "Well, there you go. We're saving money already!"

Neither of them noticed Gus take Jim's card out of the slider, place it on the desk behind the machine, and put Blair's in there.

Grinning, Blair said to Gus, "We're on our way to Cascade, but the snowstorm in Chicago re- routed us here."

Gus nodded as he made the charge print on the paper, then placed Blair's card on the counter.

Jim, thinking it was his, picked it up and slipped it back into his wallet.

Gus then placed Jim's card on the desk in front of the slider.

Blair, thinking this one was his, took it and placed it back in his own wallet.

"I guess you're all fixed," Gus said, taking down a key from the corkboard behind him. "Here ya're -- key to the last room in the complex."

Both Jim and Blair paled and their eyes widened.

"You mean, sh-share?" Jim stuttered.

***

Minutes later, the two men opened the door to their room and stumbled inside in the dark, carrying their luggage and the trunk between them. Once inside, they dropped everything with a relieved sigh.

"Hey, easy on that," Blair commented as Jim let his end of the trunk down not-so-softly.

"Okay, okay," Jim grumbled.

Reaching out, Sandburg turned on the light and they looked around the tastefully decorated room done in blue and white. Jim was thankful that it was also clean.

They both noticed the single queen-sized bed in the room, not the two single double-sized ones they'd been hoping for. They glanced at each other and smiled uncomfortably.

Moving around the room, they hung up their outer gear and pushed the luggage to the side so it wouldn't be in the way.

"That was a hell of a cab ride, wasn't it?" Jim asked quietly.

"Yeah," Blair agreed. "Yeah. You don't see cabs like that too often."

Once they'd put things away, Blair turned to Jim and said, "Wanna take a shower?"

Slightly panicked, Jim replied forcefully, "No!" He kept his gaze on Blair's eyes; the last thing he needed right now was this pretty thing in a shower with him. He was married, but he was only human. Annoying as the kid was, he'd be showing his appreciation for that mouth with no way to hide it.

There was a short pause as the younger man tried to figure out why the detective was so panicky. Then he said hesitantly, "Um, no, I mean, did you want to take one first?"

They were both silent and then they began laughing, nervously at first, and then almost hysterically.

"You thought -- you thought I ... oh, man!" Blair laughed. "What do you think I am? That's funny, really funny."

Jim shook his head, thinking, You don't wanna know what I was thinking, kid. Hell, I don't even want to be thinking it!

Finally, they calmed down and Jim agreed to take the first shower. He gathered up his sleeping boxers and his shaving kit and then headed into the bathroom after removing his boots and socks in the main room. He neatly set up his supplies, then stripped down and folded the clothes, placing them on the long counter by the sink. Quickly, he used the toilet and cleaned up, then reached into start the shower. Once the temperature was adjusted, he grabbed a washcloth off the rack above the toilet and stepped inside, pulling the curtain shut.

He stayed in for a long, long moment, soaking himself in the hot water that came out of the spout. Finally, he reached for the soap and began cleaning himself, starting with his face.

Then the water shut off.

***

Blair yawned and stretched as he emerged from the bathroom, dressed in a pair of sweatpants, a sweatshirt, and socks. He settled on the left side of the bed and looked for a few moments at a framed picture of a smiling, red-headed woman. The writing on the picture said: To my wonderful, free-spirited son. Love, Naomi

***

Jim was so surprised that the water had shut off that he opened his eyes. Then he hissed as soap got into them. He shut them and blindly groped for the water faucet, fumbling as he twisted them and got confused. Then the water blasted back on ... ice cold.

He yelped and danced backwards, cussing a blue streak quietly as he tried to reach through the water to get to the knobs, but still couldn't see anything. So he quickly rinsed off his face, shivering with the chill.

***

Sighing, Blair settled more contentedly onto the bed, cans of beer sitting on the pillow beside him, and turned on the TV. Then he fed a quarter into the machine on the night table and the bed began to vibrate.

***

Having forced himself to reach through the ice cold water to turn it off, then back onto very warm, Jim had sighed in relief and quickly finished washing.

A few moments later, he turned off the water for the final time and pulled back the shower curtain ... only to stare in horror at the wreck the bathroom had become while he was in the shower.

Dirty clothes, toothpaste and shaving supplies littered the counter top by the sink and water was all over the floor, especially near the toilet. And all the towels were on the floor, having been used in an ineffectual attempt to mop up the huge puddle. Leaving Jim with only one washcloth to dry off with.

Realizing what had happened to turn off the water, Jim's jaw clenched to keep from bellowing the kid's name. He didn't want Sandburg to see him buck naked. He'd chew him out later about flushing the toilet, turning the water off and causing a huge mess later. Right now....

Stepping out onto the floor gingerly, he picked his way over and began using the single washcloth to blot most of the moisture off his body.

Moving over to the sink area, he was pleased to see that his stuff had escaped most of the damage done to the place. He quickly stepped into his black silk boxers and slid them up, grimacing as the cloth stuck damply to his body. He plucked at the fabric, pulling it away from his skin, then hurriedly brushed his teeth and combed his hair into place.

Rinsing off the toothbrush and replacing it, he sighed and made his way carefully out of the bathroom, hoping that finally the trials and tribulations were over and he could get some rest.

***

Sighing, Jim fitfully refolded the pillow and slammed it onto the bed as he lay curled on his side under the blankets, trying to get to sleep.

Beside him, Blair shifted bouncily, jostling the irate detective.

"Excuse me," the younger man said quietly.

Jim merely grumbled at him.

Things were silent for a moment and then Blair said hesitantly, "I'd switch pillows with you, but I'm allergic to sponge. I'd be sneezing all night with that thing. That's why I carry my own pillow. It's hypo-allergenic."

Silence from Jim.

"I had no idea those beer cans were gonna blow like that," the younger man said apologetically.

"You left them on a vibrating bed," Jim growled. "What did you think was gonna happen, Chief?"

"It's been a long day," Blair replied quietly, defensively. "It just ... just didn't occur to me."

Ellison sighed. "It didn't occur to you, so I have to sleep in a puddle of beer. You're just lucky that you're of legal age to be drinking that shit, Sandburg."

"Wanna switch?" Blair asked hesitantly.

"No. I just want to sleep."

"Me, too, man. I am bushed."

"Goodnight."

"G'night."

They were both silent for a while and then Jim heard rustling behind him. After a few moments, he figured it out. Blair had picked up his Anthropology Today magazine and was reading by pen- light, which was really annoying the shit out of Jim each time the pages rustled or turned.

***

In Cascade, Carolyn was lying angrily alone in bed, watching TV for news of the Chicago snowstorm that closed down O'Hare.

***

In Wichita, Blair had finished reading his magazine and was now cracking his knuckles and his neck very loudly. Then he scratched vigorously at his right leg, causing the entire bed to shake. Everything was quiet for a few moments, making Jim think it might finally be over, when abruptly, loud snorting noises issued from Blair, who was attempting to clear his sinuses.

Jim snapped.

Surging out of bed, he roared, "Goddammit!"

Blair sat up, startled. "What? What?"

"That's it!" hissed the cop, and he stormed over to where he'd left his clothing, turning on a light as he went, his entire body tense with rage as he snatched up his jeans and T-shirt.

Blair admired the view of the tall, muscular, gorgeous man clad in nothing but black silk boxers for a moment, then said, "If I don't clear my sinuses, I'll snore all night." When Jim turned, allowing him to see the cop's anger, he hid his nervousness. "Geez, sorry. Man, if your kid spills his milk, what're you gonna do -- slap him?"

Jim glared sharply at him. "Whoa, whoa! What is that supposed to mean?! I don't even have kids!"

Blair frowned. "You're not a very tolerant person."

"You've been under my skin since New York, Sandburg!" Ellison snarled. "Starting with ripping off my cab!"

"God, you're a tight-ass!" Blair muttered, staring at the older man in disbelief.

"Shut up, kid, before I send you on a quick trip to loose tooth city!"

"Ooh, and hostile, too. Nice personality combination: hostile and intolerant. That's borderline criminal! And you're a cop."

Jim pointed a stern finger at the younger man. "Fuck you, Sandburg! I know what I am. But you don't have a fucking clue!"

Angry now, Blair got out of bed and walked around to stand a foot away from the enraged detective.

"Who let you stay in the room?" he demanded to know. "I even let you pay for it, so you wouldn't feel like such an intruder. Which you most certainly are!"

"Oh, I'm an intruder," Ellison replied in a soft, silky voice. It was a voice that lots of criminals and a few of Jim's co-workers knew well. That voice meant all hell was about to break loose and they'd be lucky if there were pieces left to gather up and put back together again. Hell, most people could clue in to that tone pretty fast and recognize that it was time to back off.

But, true to form, Blair remained oblivious and kept on going.

"Yes, you are!" he snapped. "I was having a perfectly nice trip until you walked into my life!"

"I walked into your life! Really. Well, who was that who talked my ear off on the plane? Who was that? I'm curious," Jim shot back sarcastically.

"Who was it who told you to book a room?" Blair returned. "I did, out of the kindness of my dumb ol' heart. Man, you're an ungrateful jackass! Well, fine. Go ahead, sleep in the lobby! See if I care! I hope you wake up so stiff you can't even move!"

"You're no saint, Sandburg," Jim sneered. "You got a free cab, a free room, and someone who'll listen to your boring stories." He ignored Blair's shocked look and expression of deepening hurt. "I mean, on the plane, didn't you notice that when you started talking, I eventually started reading the vomit bag? Didn't it give you some sort of clue, like, hey, maybe this guy's not enjoying it? You know, everything is not an anecdote. You have to discriminate. You choose things that are funny or mildly amusing or interesting. You're a miracle! Your stories have none of that! They're not even amusing accidentally!"

Blair's mouth was drooping slightly at the corners, his hurt blue eyes watching as the cop pantomimed an introduction.

"'Honey, I'd like you to meet Blair Sandburg; he's got some amusing anecdotes. Here, borrow my gun so you can blow your brains out! You'll thank me for it!'"

The younger man stoically blinked back the tears that began forming in his eyes. He hadn't expected a man this gorgeous to be so cruel.

"Y'know, I could tolerate any insurance seminar," Jim said, almost conversationally. "For days I could sit there and listen to them go on and on with a big smile on my face! They'd say, 'How can you stand it?' and I'd say, 'Because I've been with Blair Sandburg. I can take anything.' And they'd say, 'I know what you mean. The anthropologist neo-hippie witchdoctor punk ... from hell!' It's like going on a date with a Chatty Cathy doll. I expect you to have a little string on your chest that I'd have to pull out and let snap back. Except I wouldn't pull it out and snap it back, you would! Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah!" He made quick pull and snap motions from his own chest to illustrate the point.

Blair swallowed hard, blinking back his tears again.

"By the way," Jim added sarcastically, "when you're telling these little stories, here's a good idea: have a point. It makes it so much more interesting for the listener!"

Finally, he fell silent and stared at the anthropologist, breathing hard as he calmed down from his tirade. And as he calmed, he saw the hurt he'd inflicted on the mostly harmless young man. He knew Blair hadn't done any of this with malicious intent; it was just his apparent nature. Jim began to feel mildly ashamed that he'd lost his temper so flagrantly as he turned away from the smaller man.

With a quick, hard sniff, Blair cleared his throat and said, "Fine. You want to hurt me? Go ahead, if it makes you feel any better. I'm an easy target."

Glancing over his shoulder at the average-height, long-haired, hyperactive, motor-mouthed science nerd, Jim was forced to agree with that assessment. But it didn't make him feel any better.

"Yeah, you're right," Blair continued. "I talk too much. I also listen too much. I could be a cold- hearted cynic like you. But I don't like to hurt people's feelings."

Jim hid his flinch as his feelings of remorse and shamefulness kicked into high gear. He lowered his head, staring at the floor.

"You think what you want about me. I'm not changing. I like -- I like me," Blair said hesitantly, softly. "My mom likes me. My students like me. 'Cause I'm the real article. What you see is what you get, man."

He gave Jim one last hurt and reproving look before turning to go back to bed, sitting on the edge of it. He stared at his picture of Naomi, glanced over his shoulder at Jim once, and then turned away, crawling under the covers and laying down with his back to Jim.

Jim was silent for a few moments. Finally, setting aside his pride, he put his T-shirt and jeans down again. Still silently, he reached out and turned off the lamp, sending the room back into darkness. Then he climbed back into bed, laying with his back to Blair, pulling the covers up to his chin. His presence in the bed was silent admission that he recognized he had behaved like an asshole and was apologizing for it.

"Goodnight," Blair said softly, no hint of censure in his voice.

"Goodnight, Chief," Jim mumbled, and closed his eyes.

With the tension level reduced slightly, the two men managed to fall asleep fast and hard.

In fact, they were both so exhausted that they never heard or felt the man who broke into their hotel room and quietly rifled through their wallets, taking all their cash, and then sneaking out, muffling his giggles as he went that he'd just stolen from a cop.

***

Jim sighed happily, smiling a little. Solid warmth was pressed up along the length of his backside from shoulders to heels. He was holding onto his bedmate's hand, which was holding onto his left pectoral, right over the nipple. He felt soft lips nuzzle at his neck, then kiss his ear twice before his mate snuggled next to him, and was pleased at this apparent forgiveness from his wife.

Sighing again, he shifted back ... and felt the heat and hardness of a morning erection pressing against his buttocks.

Eyes blinking open, he gave the hand entwined with his a quick squeeze. The hand was definitely larger and coarser than Carolyn's. The body pressed against him was all bumps and ridges, not curves and softness. The lips that were still pressed to his ear had morning stubble surrounding them, the coarseness grating across his sensitive skin. And there was something else down there along with that morning woody....

"Blair?" he asked hoarsely. "Chief?"

"Urrghnn ... yeah?" the younger man replied groggily, coming awake.

"Why did you kiss my ear?"

Jim felt the lithe body behind him tense up a moment later and knew that Blair was finally completely awake.

"Why are you holding my hand?" Blair murmured, confusion lacing his voice.

Jim frowned. "Where's your other hand?"

"Between two pillows."

Now Jim's eyes snapped open wide. "Those aren't pillows!" he shouted, and bolted for the edge of the bed.

Behind him, Blair did the same thing and the two men leapt to their feet, yelling and shouting and shivering as they fought to ignore the fact that they had been wrapped around each other so closely and aroused by it.

They began stretching, deep breathing, attempting to let each other know that they were manly men, not any kind of fairies or fags or sissies.

And all the while, they were covertly checking each other out and so very much liking what they saw.

"You see that Bears game last week?" Jim asked, deepening his voice.

"Oh, yeah, helluva game, helluva game," Blair responded, deepening his voice, too, and coughing. He turned away before Jim could see the fact that his erection was not dying down, especially at the sight of all those muscles flexing and moving with only a pair of black silk boxers on that body.

"Bears' got a good team this year," Jim muttered, his eyes dropping to see that fantastically round ass as Blair presented his back to him, and he closed his eyes as he felt his own erection give a morning wave "hello". Quickly, he turned and headed for his clothing, snatching it up and stalking into the bathroom, Blair's reply of, "Yeah. Goin' all the way," echoing behind him and only giving him other ideas that had nothing to do with football.

Sighing hard, he braced himself on the counter in front of the sink and stared at his reflection in the mirror.

You are a horny old goat, Ellison, he told himself. You're still married to Carolyn. You love Carolyn. Don't let this get to you. You see pretty men all the time, but you don't have to do anything with them. Be strong. You can do this. Be strong!

Sighing again, he turned on the water and cupped his hands, splashing some on his face. A few moments later, he wondered why the water stank so bad and he looked down ... and gaped in horror to see Blair's socks floating in a pool of dirty, smelly water in the sink.

Gagging, he reached out and grabbed up the closest piece of cloth and he closed his eyes, patting his face dry quickly.

What the...? This doesn't feel like a towel....

Opening his eyes, Jim's revulsion deepened as he realized he was drying his face with a pair of Blair's -- thankfully -- clean BVD's.

Just then, Sandburg called out from the other side of the door.

"Hey, Jim? Take my socks out of the sink if you're going to brush your teeth, okay?"

The poor, grossed-out detective was too horrified to answer.

Half an hour later, while Blair was in the bathroom taking his shower, Jim, already clean and dressed, sat on the bed and called his wife.

"Where are you?" she demanded.

"I'm in Wichita."

"You're still at the airport?"

"No, I'm at a motel. I spent the night with this young kid I met on the plane. He's this know-it-all kid genius anthropology professor."

"You shared a motel room with a stranger?" Carolyn stated incredulously. "Are you crazy?"

"Not yet, but I'm getting there," Jim replied tiredly.

"Well, hurry up and get back to the airport! You have to come home, quickly."

"Why?" Instantly, he was on alert. "Is there something wrong? Simon hurt? An emergency?"

Carolyn sighed roughly. "No. I want you home for Thanksgiving. We're going to go to my parents' house for the holiday."

Jim felt his jaw sag open for a few moments, and then he shook his head slightly, closing it. "We're what?"

"We're going to my parents' house for Thanksgiving," she said firmly.

"Oh, we are?"

"Yes."

"Whether I want to or not? Carolyn, I'm not interested in--"

"I know you don't like Daddy, Jim, but it's a mutual feeling, so don't worry about it. Mother promises he'll be on his best behavior, so you will be, too. You like her cooking, remember? Surely that's worth the inconvenience of getting back here in time for the holiday, even if you don't want to spend it with me."

Not caring for the iciness in her tone, especially not caring for the way she had informed him he would be doing something he didn't want to, he snapped, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that if you really wanted to be home for the holidays with me, you wouldn't be sharing a bed with some young male genius when you could be at the airport, getting on a flight by stand-by or something!" she yelled.

"You're out of line, Carolyn--"

"Oh, I am, huh? Then what are you doing at a motel?"

"It was better than sleeping in the airport, uncomfortable as hell, only to still be stuck there due to traffic back-up!"

"So you're more comfortable in bed with a complete stranger in Kansas than you are here, at home, with me?"

"I did not say that. Don't go putting words in my mouth--"

"Whatever," she growled. "Just do your best to get home quickly so we can get to Mom and Dad's before the next century."

"Carolyn, I thought it was just going to be us this Thanksgiving, since we both have the time off together, for once. I don't want to go to your parents' house!"

"Too bad. You promised to make this marriage work; to compromise occasionally. Well, now it's time for you to do as you promised. See you soon ... or so I hope."

With that, the connection between them was terminated on her end.

With a snarled, vicious curse, Jim slammed the receiver down hard.

***

An hour later, they sat in a diner, side by side, eating a thick, hearty meal.

"Did you call the airline?" Blair asked.

"Yeah. They're booked solid, but I have a good chance of getting on stand-by."

"And if they told you that wolverines make good house pets, would you believe them?"

"I'm not spending Thanksgiving in Wichita," Jim snapped. "I've got a wife waiting for me. I'll get home."

"Not by airplane," Blair argued. "They've got eighteen hours of air traffic backed up. Odds are, any way you slice it, we're gonna be having our turkey roll right here. If we wait for the flight."

The waitress leaned over the counter and refilled their coffee mugs.

"Thanks," Sandburg said, flashing her a huge grin. She returned it with a wink and then sauntered off.

Jim saw this and rolled his eyes as he forked up another bite of eggs. He swallowed it, then asked, "Well, how the hell else can we get home? I checked with some old Army buddies of mine, but they don't have anything going to Cascade and can't explain an unscheduled trip."

"Bert Dingman. An old buddy of mine. He works for the railroads."

"Train?" came the incredulous reply.

"Yeah. I helped tutor one of the regional manager's sons. He owes me a favor, big time."

The waitress came back and plunked down the check. Chuckling, Blair picked it up, but Jim snatched it out of his hand.

"I'll get that," the cop grumbled. "I've paid for everything else."

"I can't let you do that," the younger man denied. "You're making me feel like a free loader, man."

Jim regarded him silently. Maybe 'cause you are a free loader, Chief? Don't think I missed that crack last night about how I should feel grateful that you let me pay for the room.

When Blair raised an eyebrow, Jim gave him a tiny smirk and said, "Get me on that train, Chief, and we're square."

"You got it," Sandburg said, grinning. He lifted his cup to sip his coffee. "That's the easy part."

Jim dug his wallet out of his jeans' pocket and flipped open the billfold, shock skirling through him to find his cash gone. Anger growing fast and furiously within him, he turned to stare accusingly at Blair.

"What?" the young professor asked.

"You know goddamned well 'what'," Jim snarled back.

"I'm sorry, I don't."

"I had over $700 in here," Ellison growled, slamming his wallet down on the counter.

Blair glanced at the wallet, then back up at the angry man. "I didn't touch your dough, Jim. I'm a lot of things, but I'm not a thief."

"You went into my stuff last night, right?"

"I didn't take your money. And I don't care for the accusation!" Blair snapped.

"Well, I had over $700 in here and you went into my wallet to pay for the pizza you ordered for us last night. Not too bright stealing from a cop, Chief."

Angrily, Blair pulled out his own wallet and slammed it down on the counter as well. "Count it!"

"You wouldn't keep it in there. Sandburg, it's my job to know criminals--"

"There's $263 in there," Blair interrupted, "and if there's a dollar more, then you can call me a thief and I'll deserve it. Count it! Go on, count it."

Jim opened the wallet and somehow was not surprised to find what he did.

"$263, right? Right?" Sandburg demanded.

Ellison tossed it onto the counter with a sigh. "Empty."

Shocked, the younger man snatched up his wallet and hurriedly looked through it. "What?!" He looked over at Jim, his face white. "We were robbed!"

"Ya think?" The older man sighed hard. "Can't believe I was so tired that I never heard ... never felt...."

Seeing that Jim was about to flagellate himself for being so exhausted that he hadn't heard the intruder in their room last night, Blair reached over to lay a hand on the bigger man's left shoulder. He felt the muscles tense beneath his palm and fingers before relaxing minutely. "Hey, man. Some days, we're all so exhausted we can't notice anything. It happens to all of us. And you had a hell of a day yesterday, especially putting up with me. Don't let this ruin your blood pressure, big guy."

Jim glared at the kid next to him and opened his mouth, ready to give a snarling, sarcastic reply. But he looked into soft, sincere blue eyes and felt himself soften a bit. "Thanks, Chief," he said quietly.

A wide grin and a pat on his shoulder was the only reply.

****

"You know, I've been thinkin'," Blair said as he sat beside Jim outside of the Braidwood Inn, the two of them perched atop his battered old trunk. "We're dealing with a small time crook, right?"

Jim merely grunted, not glancing at the younger man. He had not liked having to charge a simple, cheap meal to his credit card. Nor did he like being forced to sit outside in the cold, waiting for another "buddy" of Sandburg's to show up since neither of them had the cash to pay for a cab ride to the train station.

Not that he wanted to be anywhere near "Dooby's Taxiola" again.

Blair took the grunt for an affirmative and continued talking. "He didn't take the credit cards, right? So, we charge our way home. What kind of plastic do you carry?"

Ellison sighed. "I've got a Visa and a gasoline card. Oh, and a Neiman Marcus card in case we want to buy a gift for someone," he added sarcastically.

"I've got a Chalmer's Big & Tall Men's Shop card." At Jim's incredulous stare, Blair said defensively, "I happen to like baggy clothes, in case you couldn't tell." He offered a cheeky grin, then added with a sigh, "Unfortunately, it does us no good here, since it's a clothing chain that runs out in our neck of the woods. Namely, the Pacific northwest."

The detective sighed again. "Just get me to the train station and I'll take care of everything else."

"Oh, I've got that all covered. Gus' son is gonna pick us up."

Before Jim could reply, a pickup truck entered the parking lot and slid to a halt about seventy- five feet away from them. A man climbed out of the driver's side and came around the front, stopping to stand fifty feet away and simply stare at them.

Ellison and Sandburg looked the man over from feet to head. Mud encrusted winter boots encased two average sized feet. Worn and dirty jeans with thermal pants underneath, judging from the rips in the denim, went up long, lean legs. A flannel shirt covered the torso with a thermal shirt beneath, and was topped by a down-filled sleeveless vest. A hat was perched atop mussed up dark chocolate hair. Stubble covered the man's jaw and when he opened his mouth, he revealed tobacco stained teeth.

Then his mouth worked and he spit a stream of tobacco juice onto the pavement in front of him from the wad of chewing tobacco he had stuffed in one of his cheeks.

Jim and Blair looked at the small puddle with hidden disgust and then at each other.

Blair glanced at the young man again. "Are you Gus' son?"

"I'm Rafe," the young man agreed, and spat again. "You that professor fella?"

Blair nodded and got up, walking over to the other man with his hand outstretched. "Yeah. Yeah! I'm Blair Sandburg. How are ya?"

They shook hands.

"This is Jim Ellison, a detective in Cascade, Washington."

Jim got up and approached with his hand out and a polite smile on his face. "Hi."

They shook hands and Rafe glanced between the two of them. "Pleased to meet you both," he said. Then he snorted deeply from the back of his throat and nose, then spat more tobacco juice on the ground.

Both Jim and Blair were grossed out, but they managed to keep it from their expressions.

"I'm t' drive ya t' Wichita t' catch a train?" Rafe drawled, watching them closely.

"Yeah, we'd appreciate it," Blair agreed, smiling.

"Train don't run outta Wichita. Less'n yer a hog or a cattle," the other man replied, then snorted deeply again.

Jim and Blair were still grossed out, but again managed to keep it under wraps.

"People train run outta Stubbville," Rafe added.

"That'll be fine," Blair instantly agreed. "Just fine."

He and Jim turned to gather up the luggage, slinging their bags over their shoulders and each grabbing one of the trunk's handles, lifting it up and beginning to carry it all to the bed of the pickup.

"Leave it be," Rafe told them. They paused and watched as Rafe turned to the woman sitting in the cab of the truck, holding a baby, and he yelled, "Get yer lazy behind out here an' put that trunk up in the back!"

The woman put down her baby and immediately hopped out of the truck, revealing herself to be small and slender.

The two Cascadians were horrified at the idea of this woman doing such heavy work and immediately began protesting.

"We've got it," Jim said, shaking his head at Rafe and his wife.

"It's very heavy," Blair insisted, grinning charmingly.

Rafe shrugged as his wife slammed the door shut and moved to stand beside him, her denim skirt hanging around her skinny legs. "She don't mind. She's short an' skinny, but she's strong. Her first baby ... come out sideways. She didn't scream or nothin'."

Jim and Blair traded deeply horrified glances, then fixed polite expressions on their faces and looked back at the couple before them.

"Isn't that something?" Blair chuckled weakly. "You're a real trooper. But, no, thanks. We've already got it; it's done."

Quickly, they moved to the back of the of the pickup and hefted the luggage into the bed, situating it carefully before climbing in and picking their way carefully through the straw towards the back of the bed where it met the cab.

And, as it usually did, Jim's hearing abruptly spiked and he heard the faint rustle and beat of a heart beneath the straw. Smell suddenly kicked in as well and he caught the scent of fur and musk that meant "dog" to him, and so he carefully avoided the area where the animal was hidden beneath the straw. Then his senses died down to normal again, leaving him to shake his head in an instinctual move to regain balance.

"You okay?" Blair asked as they pressed the trunk up close to the cab wall, the two of them moving to sit on it with their backs to the window, their bags settled around them. Rafe's wife firmly shut the tailgate and then she and Rafe climbed back into the cab.

"Fine, Chief. Don't worry about it," Jim said, and then he held on as the truck was put in gear and they were off, quickly heading out onto and then down the interstate.

In the very cold, snowy, weather, the two men were quickly cold. Jim had his hands tucked beneath his armpits and his head hunched down into his turned-up coat collar.

Beside him, Blair was bundled up in the down parka he'd taken from the trunk as well as the previous day's ensemble, plus a pair of fleece gloves, a scarf, and the fake bear fur hat.

"You know, Stubbville's a little farther than Wichita," Blair said conversationally.

"How much farther?" Jim replied, his jaw clenched to keep his teeth from chattering.

"Thirty miles," came the casual reply. "Maybe forty. No more than forty-five, though."

Jim closed his eyes, willing away the despair that tried to swamp him.

"Depending on which way he goes. If he takes the back roads, it could be up to seventy miles."

Jim opened his eyes as he once again began his silent mantra. I can't kill him, I can't kill him, I can't kill him....

He sighed roughly and looked down. A rough leather glove peeked through the straw. It was big enough that he could fit both hands into it in a tight squeeze, or wear it first on one, then on the other, trading off every few minutes. Knowing full well that the dog was right next to it, he was not surprised when he leaned down to retrieve the glove and the dog popped up, barking and snarling.

"Give me the glove!" he shouted, and reached down for it.

The dog growled, bared its teeth, and nipped his fingers hard, causing him to draw back with a hiss and a flapping of pained fingers.

"Give him the goddamn glove!" Blair shouted then.

The two spent the next few minutes attempting to get the glove away, but nothing worked. Seeing how red Jim's hands were getting, Blair sighed and said, "Listen, Jim, I'm really, really sensitive to cold and I'll get frostbite within two minutes if I give you my gloves. But my scarf is fleece, too, and if you wrap it around your hands...."

Jim stared at the younger man for a long moment, taking in the powerful puppy dog eyes, then finally sighed and nodded, holding up his hands. He kept them pressed together, palm to palm, and Blair quickly removed his scarf and wrapped it around Jim's hands, making certain every inch of skin was covered before he pulled all his collars up close and tight around his own neck and hunched down into the warmth.

They rode in silence for a little while longer and then Jim gave a tiny groan of dismay as they left the interstate and took to the back roads, as he'd been hoping they would not do.

Unable to give up hope just yet, he asked, "Are we there yet?"

"No, not yet," Blair replied, looking around at the snow covered countryside. "Beautiful country, though, isn't it?"

Ellison sighed. "What do you figure the temperature is?"

There was a short pause and then Blair said morosely, "One."

The detective said nothing; he couldn't. There was nothing to say. He simply scooted closer, pressing against the younger man for body heat and was grateful when Blair silently pressed back.

***

Close to an hour and a half later, the truck finally pulled into Stubbville, not a moment too soon. The occupants in the bed of the truck -- Jim, Blair, and the dog -- were covered in frost and nearly frozen.

Twenty minutes later found them on the platform of the train station, their luggage checked in and Jim in the process of completing the purchase of their tickets as the train pulled into the station.

Walking up to the anthropologist, Jim held out a ticket to the younger man. "They, uh, didn't have two together."

A disappointed expression stole over the animated face, blue eyes darkening. Jim shivered as that fine mouth drew into a small pout. "You gotta be kidding me! Ohhh, I knew it! Y'know, I - I - the secretary was new and I explained it ... aw, geez, I'm sorry!"

"I think that they're just full, Sandburg," Jim replied gently.

"Yeah, it's the holidays, I guess," Blair agreed, shoulders slumping. Then he perked up a bit and shrugged. "Hey, we're lucky we got tickets."

"Yeah," Jim said. "So, uh, if I don't see you again...."

"Well, I'll see you on the train! Want to meet for a drink?"

Ellison shook his head. "I think I'm just going to get some sleep."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. Anyway, it's been interesting, Chief," the cop said as he held out his hand to the younger man.

Blair took it, laughing. "That's the understatement of the year. Hey, thanks for the ticket. But I need your address so I know where to send the reimbursement."

"No, Chief, you don't--"

"I do, Jim," Blair said earnestly, blue eyes wide and sincere. "You've been so generous to someone who obviously annoys the crap out of you. I can't let that slide. I swear, once I get home and get into my bank balance and play with a few things, I'll pay you back."

"Chief--"

"Jim. Please."

There was a short pause and finally, Jim relented with a grin. "Fine. No time limit, though, okay? Pay me back in monthly installments if you want. But, Chief?"

"Yeah?"

"This ticket is a gift. Don't argue with me. Happy holidays, Blair," Jim said quietly with a grin.

Blair blinked back tears for a few moments as he looked at the big, strong cop. Then he startled the hell out of Jim by stepping forward and wrapping Ellison in a fierce hug. Jim blinked, swallowed hard, then wrapped his arms around Blair, hugging back and patting him lightly.

"Okay," Blair whispered in the older man's ear. "Thank you, Jim. For everything."

Jim nodded, squeezing lightly, amazed that he was letting this strange kid touch him -- that he was touching back! -- and then let go gently. They smiled at one another and finally pulled apart, moving slowly away to climb aboard separate cars.

***

This is nice, in a weird sort of way, Jim mused as he stared out the window at the passing countryside. It's quiet, peaceful. The person in the seat beside me is a young college girl who has no interest in talking to me whatsoever. I'm being left alone to my own devices. So why does it feel too quiet?

Jim pondered this for a few more moments before closing his eyes and letting his head rest back against his seat, quickly slipping into much needed slumber.

In another car, Blair sat in a window seat as well. Though his eyes were fixed on the view outside, all he could see in his mind was a gorgeous hard body clad in black silk boxers.

***

It really came as no surprise to Jim when, a couple of hours later, he heard a loud bang coming from the front of the train and felt the train come to a shuddering halt. As others got to their feet and began speculating, the detective sighed, shook his head to restore the feeling of balance when his ears went back to normal, and sat slumped against the window. There was no point in jostling and jockeying about for a position in the tiny aisle. They were all going to be getting off this train sooner or later.

***

"You walk a mile, mile-and-a-half," the conductor told him, "to the highway. You meet the trucks there and they'll take you into Jefferson City."

Jim nodded, giving a polite thanks, and then grimaced as he looked around at his fellow passengers who were currently picking their way across a frozen, fallow field, snow surrounding the edges. Hefting his duffel bag higher on his shoulder, Ellison looked for one passenger in particular.

And saw the familiar battered old trunk bumping and bouncing through the frozen grooves in the ground, the average-height, well-bundled figure of Blair Sandburg pulling with all his strength even as he carried a duffel bag of his own and his backpack.

Shaking his head in wry amusement, Jim hurriedly and carefully picked his way across the field and bent to take hold of one of the trunk's handles.

Blair turned, surprised, when he felt the other end of the trunk suddenly take wing. Twisting, he glanced over his shoulder and found Jim nodding at him, a half-smirk gracing those sensual lips, and he grinned.

His day was looking up.

****

Blair glanced over at his obviously irritated companion, who sat beside him on a bench in the bus terminal in Jefferson City, one leg crossed over the other, arms crossed over the broad chest, and scowling fiercely.

"You're in a pretty lousy mood, huh?" he asked softly.

"To say the least," Jim growled back.

"You ever travel by bus before?"

"Only when I was on my way to boot camp after I signed up for the Army."

Blair gave a weak chuckle. "Then your mood's probably not gonna improve much."

Ellison sighed and struggled to keep his misery from his face. It wouldn't solve anything.

****

An hour into the bus ride, and Jim was hot, cramped, and damn near nauseated. He had the migraine from hell and he was severely irritated. The kid who kept running up and down the aisle, jostling him with each pass, did not help.

Unable to sleep, he sat upright and let his mind wander with thoughts of the big, warm bed he could have been in right then, a home cooked meal in his belly after he showered in his own bathroom, toweled dry with his own towels, and then slid between crisp, clean cotton sheets....

And talked with Carolyn a bit, too, probably. She'd be hounding his ass to know why he hadn't been home earlier.

Well, Caro, you see, it's like this. I met this kid named Sandburg and everything just kind of snowballed from there...

Suddenly, a nudge from Blair, who sat on his right, by the window, got his attention. He glanced up and over and saw a mischievously grinning Sandburg, blue eyes twinkling, and the younger man nudged him again and then pointed as he said, "Hey, look at that, man!"

Turning his head, he glanced over to the people who were sitting in the seats across the aisle from them. A large black man with short cut hair and a moustache, and a slender young blonde woman with straight, shoulder length hair.

They were making out as if they were the only two people in the world. As he watched, he could hear faint moans and whispers of "Oh, Henri..." and "Yeah, Rhonda, baby," coming from them.

Unable to look away, he watched as the woman -- Rhonda -- fell back into the aisle, her lover Henri following her down, kissing her neck and throat, working his way down the bared skin of her chest to the point of her V-neck sweater.

As if aware of the scrutiny, Henri lifted his head, met Jim's gaze, and said snarkily, "Hey, man, why don't you take a picture? It'll last longer."

Not appreciating the tone in the slightest, and thinking that making out so heavily in public on a crowded bus was kind of vulgar, Jim flashed his coldest smile that was all teeth, then reached down and pulled out his badge, holding it directly in front of Henri's eyes so the man could get a good look at what he was speaking to.

Henri sighed, shrugged, then pushed Jim's hand and badge away and went back to snacking on Rhonda.

Disgusted, Jim put his badge away and then looked at Blair when the younger man grabbed his arm.

"Aw, man, leave 'em alone," Sandburg murmured, grinning softly. "It's nice to see two people from two different ethnic backgrounds so obviously in love that they don't notice anyone else."

Jim gave his traveling companion a cutting look. "You need to get your eyeglasses prescription updated, Chief. That's more lust than anything else."

Blair let his eyes drop, taking the chastisement, and then they both looked back over at Henri and Rhonda.

Only to find the two of them smoking cigarettes, their eyes heavy-lidded and sated.

Jim let out a quiet snort of disgust and tilted his head back, closing his eyes.

***

All the passengers cheered and clapped as the showtune they'd all been singing came to an end.

All but one, of course. However, Jim was starting to get into it. Blair, the one who had started the group sing-along, had a very nice voice.

"Yeah, that's great!" the young professor enthused. "How about another song? Who's got one?"

Taking the bull by the horns, Jim grinned at his young friend. "Uh, well, I do, Chief."

"You do?" Blair said excitedly. "Okay! Hey! Jim Ellison has one!"

The passengers clapped and then waited expectantly.

Only to be confounded as Jim began singing Santana's "Black Magic Woman."

Aware of the utter silence and the incredulous stares directed at him, the mortified cop quickly shut up.

Everything was quiet for a moment and then Blair, attempting to break the silence, began singing again. He soon had the other passengers singing along with him in joyous abandon as they entered the city of St. Louis, Missouri.

"Flintstones; meet the Flintstones! They're a modern stone age family! From the town of Bedrock, they're a page right out of history! When you're with the Flintstones, you'll have a yabba doo time, a yabba doo time, you'll have a gay old time...!"

****

Realizing that they couldn't do everything by credit card, Blair quickly came up with a plan to garner them some cash.

Of course, he waited until his cop friend was attempting to use the somewhat filthy payphones in the bus terminal to try to call his wife.

Then he set about opening up his trunk and selling the Peruvian jewelry he'd been lugging around. It made him cringe slightly, but he knew there were more to be had where the stuff came from and right now, it was for a good cause.

By the time Jim came back from the payphones, they had a little over $250.

****

"Call the wife?"

Jim looked up from the steak he was currently cutting into and nodded at his dinner companion. "She wasn't home. She's the Forensics Chief at the PD. She was probably at work."

Blair frowned. "Didn't you call there, then?"

The older man sighed and shook his head before taking a sip of coffee. Then he said, "No. By now, she is royally pissed. I left a message on the answering machine. I didn't really want to listen to her tell me again that I'm using this whole transportation mess to avoid being home with her and my in-laws, whom she informed me we're going to go see for Thanksgiving and didn't ask my opinion of whether or not I wanted to, which is typical." Jim gave the younger man a smirk. "In case you can't tell, we're having some problems."

Sandburg nodded sympathetically. "I'm sorry to hear that."

The cop nodded. "Yeah. How 'bout you? Anyone waiting for you at home?" Jim asked politely.

Blair shook his head. "I haven't been home in years." At Jim's surprised expression, he amended with, "It's a figure of speech, man!" Chuckling, he explained. "As an anthropologist, I'm on the road so much, it's like not being there."

Jim nodded, a little disappointed that he apparently wouldn't be able to drop in on Sandburg from time to time in Cascade, like he'd been vaguely planning to do.

"By the way, I called a friend of mine at Eastern Airlines," Blair commented, forking up a bite of eggs. "It doesn't look good."

Ellison took another sip of coffee. "I know. I called all the airlines."

The professor gave a slight frown. He'd been trying to come off as helpful, but apparently Jim was ahead of the game. "Well, at least we're still sitting on over a hundred beans from my brilliant idea."

Jim chuckled. "Yeah. For an anthropologist, you're a terrific salesman."

"Jim, our whole profession is about selling ideas, getting people to buy our theories," Blair snickered. "Calling me a 'terrific salesman' is high praise indeed."

The older man chuckled again, then sighed. "Y'know, I've been thinking...." When Sandburg nodded encouraginly, he continued. "When we put our heads together ... we really ... we've really gotten nowhere

Blair's excited, pleased grin faded as the words registered. Words he had not been expecting.

"I think I'm holding you up," Jim finished quietly.

Why does this feel like he's breaking up with me? Blair wondered inanely, trying to gather his wits. Finally, he shook his head and replied, "Awww, no. Don't say that about yourself. It's not true, Jim, it really isn't true."

"No, I really think we'll get to where we're going if, uh, if we're ... alone, okay?"

C'mon, Chief, take a hint, will you? I can't stand to be around you much longer. You're beautiful, generous, quirky, amusing, aggravating -- so aggravating ... so damn attractive that you're sorely tempting me from my marriage vows. My problems with Carolyn aside, I am married to her and I do love her still. I don't want to be tempted by you, kid. I don't need that guilt trip on top of everything else.

Jim watched as Blair did indeed take the hint. The once open and animated face closed up with a stiff, shuttered expression, attempting to hide the hurt his words caused. Thick, dark brown lashes veiled those blue eyes that showed Blair's emotions clearly, hiding from Jim even further. Not that any hiding would help; Jim knew he'd hurt the younger man.

Blair nodded stiffly. "Okay. Yeah, I see."

Sighing, Jim clasped his hands and looked down at the table, unwilling to watch Blair's hurt any longer.

Blair silently fiddled with his cutlery for a few moments, then reached for the check.

"Think I'm just gonna take care of this and then, uh, get goin'," he said quietly.

"I appreciate that," Jim said just as quietly, pointing to the check. "It's just harder for two people to travel--"

"Yeah, yeah. Sure," Sandburg said hastily, his voice clipped, controlled, cold as he counted out bills for the check.

"If you have reservations--" Jim tried again.

"Yeah, I understand." No quarter given, no excuses wanted.

"Thanks for the meal," Jim said meekly, and then lapsed into embarrassed silence.

Blair nodded again. "It's okay. Umm ... think I owe you some of this, too..."

"No, no, no, no..." Ellison protested.

That started an argument with rising voices, kept to a barely civil decibel level as Blair tried to push the rest of the money on Jim and the cop refused it.

"I'm just gonna leave it here!" Jim snapped, slamming the money that Blair had shoved into his hands back on the table between them.

"Then leave it!" Blair snapped back in a near shout, surprising Jim. He closed his eyes, swallowed hard, and regained control. "I don't care. I'm done, okay? I'm just ... done." He got to his feet, pulling on his coat. "I gotta get goin' now, so if you'll excuse me. Y'know, things I've gotta do, and, uh..." Running out of excuses to run away, Blair swiftly bent to grab his backpack and duffel bag, slinging them up over his shoulders. "Good luck to you and I hope you get home soon."

"I'll see you, Chief," Jim replied quietly as the younger man began walking past him.

"Yeah. Sure you will," Blair said coldly, his hurt very obvious now. Then he was gone, striding quickly towards the front of the diner to pay for the meal.

Jim swiveled around, watching him go, before turning back to his dinner, depressed. Picking up his fork, he toyed with it as he whispered softly, "I'm sorry, Blair. I didn't want to hurt you. Take care of yourself, Darwin."

****

Jim climbed down the steps of the Marathon Rental Agency shuttle bus, carrying his duffel bag over his shoulder and holding a ticket in his hand. Once he was on the ground, he turned back to look up at the driver, who was speaking to him.

"It's a white Lincoln Town Car, space V-5," the man said.

"Thanks," Jim replied with a tired smile, a wave, and then turned to walk up the long row of cars as the shuttle bus slowly took off.

He counted off the spaces once he got to the V-section and then paused at the space marked V- 5, looking up from his rental ticket.

Only to find an empty space.

Stunned by the disbelief that the car he had charged on his card to rent was not where it was supposed to be, Jim stared stupidly at the empty parking spot for a long moment.

Then his hearing abruptly heightened and he heard the grind and chug of the bus' gears moving through the parking lot. His head snapped around and his eyes easily read the small print on the side of the bus as though it were right in front of him. He shook his head hard, his senses snapping back to normal, and then took off running, shouting as he went.

"Hey! Hey! Stop! Stop! Hey, stop! You gave me the wrong car! It's not there! Stop! Come back! Stop!!"

The bus driver ignored him and the bus left him behind in a belching cloud of diesel fumes.

Jim stared after it in quiet incredulity for two seconds.

And then Mount Ellison erupted.

A single, powerful arm came up. The arm that clutched the leather duffel bag. With all of his strength, Jim threw it down on the ground in front of him as he let out an enraged bellow that echoed around the parking lot. The other arm flung away the ticket packet that contained the rental ticket and agreement. The cold, autumn wind caught it and sent it skittering away under cars. Not that he was paying attention. At the moment, Jim was kicking at his duffel and punching at the air viciously as he screamed out filthy curses, tears of frustration flooding his eyes as his temper reached the boiling point.

It wasn't until he seriously considered taking out his gun and using it on the surrounding vehicles that he calmed down, his inate sense of morality checking his temper.

***

Three miles back along the highway. Anyone of these people passing me can see I'm having transportation problems, but do they stop? I don't care if it is the correct thing to do! I could use a little help, here! Some human kindness! But, I forgot. Humans don't have kindness. Selfish bastards that we are. Except ... Sandburg. Sure, he's selfish, but not to the huge extent others are. He at least has a healthy dose of generosity to round it out.

Jim was thinking this as he walked three miles along the highway back to the airport, carrying his leather duffel, cars whizzing past at well above the speed limit, or so it looked to him, the occasional horn toots hurting his ears.

Eventually, he came to a snow-covered embankment that led down to an access road that connected to the airport runways. He slowly made his way down the slope, but his feet still slid out from under him and he rolled down the slope. He landed hard on the ground, right next to the tire tracks in the slush, his knit hat falling from his head. An instant later, he flinched back as the Marathon shuttle bus roared past, rolling over his hat and picking it up, taking it down the road stuck to the tire, while slush was splattered over him from head to foot.

Groaning, he made his way up onto his feet, mourning the loss of his favorite knit cap, and then grabbed up his duffel bag. Glancing around, he saw no traffic coming his way and quickly crossed the road, making his way onto airport property, crossing a runway as he headed towards the terminal.

His ire growing with each step, he entered the airport and made his way up to the Marathon rental counter. Only to find himself put on hold while an overweight, giggling woman in her mid- forties chattered on like a parrot to her family, completely ignoring her job as a customer service representative.

Jim lost his temper. Quietly.

Finally, the woman said goodbye to her family and hung up, turning to face him with a bright and chipper smile that faded when she saw the dirty and wet condition he was in. Her smile faded further when she saw the ice cold blue eyes glowering intently at her from a face that could have been stone for all the warmth it held.

"Welcome to Marathon," she said politely, her tone forcibly pleasant. "May I help you?"

His teeth bared, Jim's voice was pure danger when he growled, "Yes."

Swallowing, she asked, "How may I help you?"

Safety breakers trashed, Jim stepped up to the counter and began speaking slowly and clearly, his teeth still bared, as he let his anger and frustration show visibly.

"You can start by wiping that fucking dumb-ass smile off your rosy, fucking cheeks," he hissed.

The clerk's eyes went wide, her rosy cheeks darkening further with a blush.

Jim, however, continued. "Then you can give me a fucking automobile. A fucking Datsun, a fucking Toyota, a fucking Mustang, a fucking Buick! Four wheels and a seat!"

"I really don't care for the way you're speaking to me," she said quietly, politely.

It was far more polite than Jim was feeling at the moment.

"I don't care for the way your fucking company left me in the middle of fucking nowhere with fucking keys to a fucking car that isn't fucking there," he snarled hatefully, his voice smooth and cold as iced silk. "And I really didn't care to fucking walk down a fucking highway and across a fucking runway to get back here and to have you fucking smile at my fucking face. I want a fucking car. Now."

Her face calm, her eyes icy and a trifle hurt, the clerk kept her voice calm and polite. "May I see your rental agreement?"

"I threw it away," Jim growled.

"Oh, boy," she moaned softly, rolling her eyes.

"'Oh, boy' what?"

Abruptly, her expression changed to one of malicious pleasure, causing a chill to creep down Jim's spine, and her voice hardened as she replied succinctly, "You're fucked."

Later, he was never quite sure how he managed to hold back the whimper that wanted out right then.

***

Sighing, Jim made his way out of the airport quickly and up to the cabstand that was situated across from the double doors that led into the terminal.

"Hey, 86, wake up!" the cabbie manager yelled as Jim approached. "You're gonna block the line!" Then the man, easily two inches taller than Jim and heavier by 175 pounds, turned and smiled at the detective in greeting. "Yeah, where ya goin'?" he asked cheerfully.

"Chicago's O'Hare airport," Jim said shortly.

"Chicago?" the manager echoed.

"Chicago. And from there to Cascade, Washington."

The manager looked at him like he was crazy. "You know you're in St. Louis?"

"Yes, I do," Jim said tiredly, as though he had spent a long time trying to explain an abstract complex to a brain-dead hamster.

"Why don't you try the airlines? They're a lot faster and you get a free meal," the man replied, chuckling.

"If I wanted a joke," Ellison began icily, "I'd follow you into the john and watch you take a leak. Now, are you gonna help me, or stand there like a slab of meat with mittens?"

As he lay on the ground, staring up at the sky two seconds later, Jim figured he must be tired if he hadn't seen or anticipated that ham-sized fist heading straight for his face. Then he saw a wreck of a car heading straight for him at high speed and he knew he was never gonna get out of the way in time, even as the car hit the brakes while he curled up defensively, screeching to a halt.

Barely an inch from his head.

Rolling over onto his back again, he opened his eyes and blinked blearily up at the person standing upside down above him, his vision fuzzy. But there was no mistaking that hat perched atop those curls. Or those wide, concerned blue eyes. Or that utterly carnal mouth.

A mouth that was currently snapping in Blair's voice: "What're you doing?! I almost crushed your head like a melon!"

"Ch-Chief?" he stuttered as he blinked again, his vision clearing.

"Get yer car outta here!" the manager yelled, gesturing at them.

"Yeah, just a minute, man, okay?" Sandburg replied distractedly, bending towards Jim to help him up.

"Get it outta here!" the big man bellowed.

Slowly, Blair straightened up and looked at the manager incredulously. "What is your problem, man? You insensitive prick! Can't you see there's an injured man in the street? Now, I'll move my car, but I want you to help him up!"

"No!" Jim yelled, his voice panicked, his eyes widened.

"My pleasure," rumbled the bigger man, tightening his glove on his hand.

Then he bent down, grabbed Jim firmly by the crotch, and yanked him out of the street.

All Jim could do was let out a low, animal moan of pain.

****

Blair glanced over at the man sitting in the passenger seat of the rented shitbox car, turning his gaze away from the state highway they were traveling along.

"Y'know, I had a feeling when we parted ways that someday, somehow, our paths would cross again. Are you all right?" he said conversationally.

Ellison gave him a bleary-eyed, pained look and a soft moan.

"I've never seen a guy get picked up by his testicles before," the younger man continued. "It's a good thing I told him you're a cop and showed him your badge. Otherwise, you'd be lifting up your schnutz to tie your shoe laces." He laughed quickly, stopping at Jim's second pained look and uncomfortable shifting. "I'm sorry, that's terrible. Do you have any idea how glad I am I didn't kill you?"

In a slightly higher pitched voice, Jim replied hoarsely, "Do you have any idea how glad I'd be if you had?"

"C'mon, pal; you don't mean that," Sandburg denied cheerfully. "Remember what I always say: go with the flow!"

"How can I go with the flow," Jim argued, still with the higher pitched voice, "when a rental agency leaves me in a car parking lot with keys to a car that isn't there? And then I have to walk three miles back only to find out they don't have any more cars?!"

Blair winced and gave a weak chuckle. "I got a car, no sweat at all."

"Well, Chief, you're a charmed man," Jim shot back sarcastically, Smurf-voiced.

The younger man gave him a mischievous grin and a wink. "Nope."

Ellison rolled his eyes. "Oh, I know. You just 'go with the flow'."

"Like a twig on the shoulders of a mighty stream," Blair agreed with a chuckle.

The older man merely sighed and closed his eyes.

***

Later that night, while Jim drove -- voice back to normal -- Blair sat in the passenger seat playing with the power controls for the seat, raising and lowering the seat back.

"Would you please stop doing that with the seat, Sandburg?!" Jim finally groused, losing his patience.

The professor gave him a wide grin. "Aw, c'mon, man! This is cool! I don't get stuff like this to play with every day."

"You're going to break it, so stop!"

With another grin and a shrug, Blair did so.

Then he reached to take off his shoes, only to find Jim slapping his hands away.

"Leave 'em on, Chief," the detective instructed.
"I can't relax if I leave my shoes on."

"Yeah, well, you've got foot odor that could stun a yak and I don't care to breathe it. Leave the shoes on!"

Blair rolled his eyes. "Gee, it must be swell to be so perfect and odor free. You know, there's plenty of things you do that bother me, but I'm decent enough not to bring them up."

"Oh, really? Lots of things?"

"Yes, really."

"Name one! I'm curious, so name one."

"Name one, huh?"

"Name one."

"Fine. Uh ... ah-ha!" Blair gave Jim a triumphant grin. "You play with your balls a lot!"

There was a short, silent pause and then Jim, in a strained tone, replied, "I do not play with my balls."

"Please. Orvelle Wallace doesn't do as much ball handling in a single night as you do in an hour!"

"Are you trying to start a fight, Sandburg? 'Cause if you are, you'll lose, I promise."

The dark danger that coated Jim's voice let the younger man know he had better heed the warning. Besides that, it made him shiver pleasurably with arousal and he struggled to control his body. Something about older, big, muscular, dangerous men just did something to him.

"No, I'm not. I'm just stating a fact, that's all. You fidget with your nuts a lot."

"Know what would make me happy?"

"A couple more balls and an extra set of fingers?" Blair shot back with a sly look.

"You offering, Chief?" Jim countered, shocking the younger man.

"Even if I thought you swung that way, you've got a wife."

"So you don't think I do?" Jim asked coversationally.

"You're saying you're bisexual?"

"You saying you're gay?"

Blair went silent and looked away.

In the driver's seat, Jim grit his teeth. Great. Terrific. First he notices that I've been adjusting myself in his presence -- all his fault anyway -- and now I find out that he likes men. Could want me. Just fantastic. This fuckin' sucks!

Finally, after a moment, Blair said quietly, "So, what would make you happy, huh, Ellison?"

Why is he punishing me by handing me a loaded phrase like that? Jim pondered quietly for a second before he said aloud, "It'd make me happy if you gave your mouth a rest." No, actually, that's a lie, but he's right, I am married. Sort of.

"My pleasure," Blair growled.

Jim sighed. "I like a little silence when I'm driving."

"No problem."

"Well, thank you," the older man snapped back snidely.

There was silence for a few moments and then Blair began playing with the seat again for a few more seconds before laying flat in order to get some rest, making a point of adjusting his balls to a more comfortable position visibly.

Jim merely gritted his teeth and said nothing.

***

"You broke the seat. You broke the goddamned seat! I don't believe it," Jim grumbled later as Blair took his turn behind the wheel. He himself was fiddling with the seat, trying to get it to a comfortable position that would hold.

"It wasn't broken when I got out," Sandburg replied a bit hesitantly.

"You messed around with it until you broke it," the detective shot back.

"How could somebody break a car seat? It's impossible!"

"Whaddya mean 'it's impossible'?"

"You wanna drive?!"

"No, I don't. Why did you do this?" Jim shouted, exasperated.

Suddenly, the seat back began pushing forward, taking Jim with it no matter what he tried, until finally, it halted with his face smushed hard against the windshield. At least it was turned to the side and he could breathe.

"Look, I'm not gonna be held responsible for faulty engineering," Blair argued, denying responsibility.

"Oh, this is comfortable," Ellison mumbled. "This is really comfortable!"

The seat then abruptly dropped very far back, startling him.

"I don't want to fight. Let's not argue," the professor muttered, his eyes on the road.

"Then I'm going to sleep," Jim declared. "I'm putting my wallet in the glove compartment. Don't let me forget it, okay?"

"Okay."

Tilting his hips, Jim dug his wallet out of his back pocket and leaned forward, placing the wallet in the glove compartment and then lay back. He reached into the back seat to get his coat and pulled it over himself after he turned on his right side so he could sleep comfortably.

All was silent for a few moments and then Blair reached out and turned on the radio. Immediately a song came on that he liked; Ray Charles' "Mess Around". Turning up the volume, he began dancing behind the steering wheel as the rollicking music flowed, several times taking his hands off the wheel in his excitement, always grabbing it again and bringing the car back into its own lane when it veered off course.

Tuned into Blair's enjoyment, his happiness, Jim still managed to fall asleep despite the loudness of the music.

Finally, the music ended and, laughing, Blair reached over to turn the volume down. He turned, grinning excitedly, to say something to Jim, only to find the older man asleep. Smiling tenderly, he reached over and tugged the jacket up to cover Jim's broad shoulders, tucking it around him, then turned his attention back to the road, surprised to see another car passing them. They'd been alone on the road for so long.

Unfortunately, he hadn't noticed the lit cigarette that had come in through his open window to land in the back seat, courtesy of the person sitting in the passenger seat of the other car, who had casually flicked the cigarette out of his window, not knowing it would land in Blair and Jim's car.

A few minutes later, Blair began to feel very warm. Considering that he was wrapped in three or four layers of clothing plus a down parka, it was to be expected. He began shifting and wriggling to pull his right arm out of the parka sleeve, his left hand gripping the wheel, and then blinked as he felt the sleeve get caught up on one of the seat handles. Grunting, shifting, he tried to pull free and couldn't. Biting his lip, his mind focusing on the problem, he reached to get himself free with his left hand.

And immediately latched onto the wheel, putting the car back into its lane. He steered for a few more moments, then once again was taken by the urge to use his left hand to free himself.

Once again, he was forced to put the car back into its proper lane.

By now, he was roasting hot and distinctly uncomfortable.

Hmm. If I get my left arm free, then it won't matter if my right arm is caught. I can work on it then if the jacket is loose, he thought, and holding onto the steering wheel with his knees, he dropped his left arm down and back so he could wriggle out of that sleeve.

Promptly getting it caught up on the seat handle on that side.

Worried now, Blair tugged futilely on both sleeves for a few seconds, then kept his attention centered on the road, steering carefully with his knees and thighs.

"Okay," he whispered to himself. "Okay. You're fine for now. Just don't panic and you'll continue to be fine. Don't panic."

That mantra lasted for all of two seconds.

"Let go, let go!" he snarled, yanking frenziedly.

He never noticed as the car veered sharply from the lane it was in, across the other lane, and off the highway onto an exit. He did see the stop sign coming up when he opened his eyes again.

Shrieking at the top of his lungs, he hit the brakes hard and yanked, tearing himself free, latching onto the wheel again as the car did several 360's across the road, until they finally came to a stop, facing the entry ramp from the other side of the highway.

Not that he noticed this.

As he sat hunched over the steering wheel, panting, eyes wide, Jim sat up, blinking and yawning sleepily. He looked around and muttered groggily, "What's happening?"

"Oh, nothin'," Blair said shakily. "Almost hit a deer, that's all." No way was he going to admit to Mr. Macho Man that he'd done something stupid and gotten himself caught up on the seat handles.

Ellison noticed the shakiness and he turned to look at the younger man, noting the pale, sweating features. "You all right, Chief?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine," Blair replied, pulling himself together enough to flash a reassuring grin at the other man.

Jim yawned again and then settled back as he said, "It's getting pretty hot in here. You oughtta take your parka off, avoid heat stroke."

Sandburg nodded. "Yes, I will." No way in hell am I going to try that now.

He put the car back into gear and began driving up the entry ramp to get back on the highway again ... still not realizing that they were heading north on the southbound highway. Not knowing that there were two 16-wheelers driving side by side, heading straight for them.

About twenty minutes later, two people did notice.

"Holy shit! Look at that guy on the wrong side of the highway! He's going to kill somebody!" a man shouted, getting his wife's attention.

"Oh, my God!" she gasped, horrified.

The man began honking frantically on the car horn. He rolled his window down and leaned out, shouting, trusting his wife to steer for him. "Hey! HEY!"

Blair looked over, frowned, and honked back angrily.

Jim sat up, then, unable to get back to sleep, returning the seat to its full upright position. "What's going on?" he asked sleepily.

Neither of them noticed the smoke drifting up from the back seat.

Blair gave his traveling partner a sly grin. "Some joker wants to race." He shifted in his seat, excitement skirling in him.

"Turn around!" the man screamed out his window.

"Don't race," Jim chided. "It's ridiculous."

Blair ignored him. "Alright, let's go, let's go..."

The man gestured frantically. "Put your window down!"

Jim frowned as the man's urgency got through to him. "He wants something."

"Probably drunk," was the younger man's opinion.

Ellison rolled down his window.

"You're going the wrong way!" the man screamed.

"What?" Jim called back.

The man's wife joined him in the next shout. "You're going the wrong way!!"

Jim pulled back into the car and looked over at Blair. "He says we're going the wrong way."

"He's drunk," Blair laughed. "How would he know where we're going?"

Somehow, this reasoning didn't sit well with Jim. He had the feeling something was wrong, but he couldn't place it. "Yeah, how would he know?" he agreed. He turned to wave to the man in the other car. "Thank you, pal; thanks a lot. Terrific."

Blair added a sarcastic wave of his own. "Thank you!" He honked the horn and chuckled. "What a moron."

The two semi's blew their own horns as they rumbled closer.

"You're going in the wrong direction!"

Blair grinned and made drinking and then staggering drunk gestures.

"You're going to kill somebody!!" both the man and woman screamed now, and Jim's hearing suddenly kicked in, allowing him to hear them and their panic clearly.

Leaning forward, he looked down at the snow and slush along the road, wondering why it looked different, and then he realized. When a car traveled along in conditions like this, with snow and slush on the road, the cast off from the tires invariably traveled in the same direction the car was going.

The slush on the road was going past them, in the other direction, not following them as it should be.

He looked up, shocked, at the man and the woman in the other car, his vision heightening so he could see their frightened faces easily as they screamed again, "You're going the wrong way!!!"

He understood and leaned back into the car, intending to tell Blair what he'd figured out, when suddenly, two semi's appeared in front of them, headlights and running lights blazing, air horns blaring.

Jim pointed frantically with his right hand, so shocked and frightened by what was approaching that he couldn't speak coherently, as he yanked on Blair's right arm with his left hand.

Blair, who had been watching the occupants of the other car and not the road, said, "What? What??"

Then he looked forward and saw the trucks just as they came up to them.

Screaming, he gripped the wheel and, acting upon instinct, aimed the car towards the gap between the two semis.

Sparks flew from both sides of the car as metal pressed against metal, grating hotly in forced friction, the scream of stressed metal horribly loud.

But not as loud as the combined screams from the two men as their lives flashed before their eyes.

Two seconds later, they were clear of the trucks and Blair hit the brakes hard, their luggage flying from the open trunk and landing 100 feet away, while the two semis continued to roll down the road, air horns still blasting.

Jim and Blair sat still and silently except for their shuddering, panting, still panicked breaths. Eventually, the two of them managed to relax enough for Jim to pull his fingers from the deep, deep groves he'd dug into the dashboard, while Blair peeled his stiffened and cramped hands from the steering wheel he'd bent in half.

A moment later, Blair pulled the car around so that it was facing in the *correct* direction, on the shoulder.

Shakily, they climbed out of the car, Jim pulling his coat on, Blair grabbing his backpack. He glanced at the damage on his side of the car, the moved to stand by the trunk, staring down at the now closed lid, then over at their luggage, then back at the trunk.

Blair moved around the car, taking in the peeled and scraped away paint, the scorched metal, the missing rear view mirrors, and gouges.

He chuckled nervously, ignoring the car that passed them, having to dodge their luggage lying in the road and blowing its horn as it went by.

"Well, this isn't so bad," he said, oblivious to Jim's frozen and angry expression. "I thought it would be a lot worse than this. They'll be able to buff this out, no problem."

Another car passed them, tooting as well, and Jim continued to glower at the younger man.

Still slightly nervous, Blair moved to stand by the detective and said, "Oh, yeah. Wow! I mean, that was close!"

Jim turned his head slowly to look at Blair with quiet fury.

"We can laugh about this now," Sandburg continued, grinning a trifle wildly. "We're all right. The whole, uh..." He trailed off as he saw Jim's expression and got the hint that Jim was extremely unhappy with him at the moment.

"Maybe we should just get our stuff off the road. Whaddya think? Yeah. Yeah, that's a good idea. Yeah," he said quietly, and meekly turned away to go collect his duffel bag and trunk.

Jim watched him go, his teeth baring in a lip-curling sneer, and then he shivered, getting himself under control, and moved to collect his leather duffel bag. He picked it up and set it beside Blair's plain one and the backpack, where Blair had set them on the shoulder of the road, then hurried to lift the other end of the trunk that Sandburg was attempting to drag from the road, getting out of the way of the oncoming cars.

"Here, set it down just a second," Jim grunted.

"Whew! What a night!" Blair said softly.

They carefully set the trunk down, about a hundred feet from the car, and sat down on it, trying to catch their breath as they sat facing away from the car.

The car that abruptly began burning behind them. Neither of them noticed for a few moments, until a suddenly blaze of heat at their backs and the sound of breaking and tinkling glass and the roar of flames got their attention.

Blair turned to look first, saw the burning car, shrugged, and turned back around.

Jim turned a moment later, saw the burning car, shrugged, and turned back around.

When it sunk in a few seconds later that it was their car that was burning, they looked at each other incredulously, then turned around again. Slowly, they got to their feet and watched silently as the car became engulfed in flames.

Abruptly, Jim began laughing. Slowly, at first, until it built up into a crescendo of hysterical giggles.

Blair began to laugh as well, reacting to the sound of Jim's hilarity, and asked, "What? What?"

"You ... you finally did it to yourself!" Ellison gasped out, and laughed again.

"Huh?"

"I mean, good luck turning the car in! They're gonna be happy as pigs in shit to see you!" Jim said, and then began howling with laughter.

Blair caught on and he began laughing, too.

"How could you rent the thing anyway, without a credit card? I mean, you couldn't have; how could you?" Jim asked, snickering.

"I gave the gal at the counter some of the leftover Peruvian jewelry," Blair giggled back.

Ellison stopped laughing and turned to face the shorter man.

"You can't rent a car with jewelry, Sandburg. It's illegal," he rumble, his voice dangerous.

Blair stopped laughing then and he glanced up into cold eyes and a hardened face. He squirmed, shfiting on his feet a little, then hesitantly said, "Well, I, uh..." At Jim's encouraging nod he continued. "S-somehow, your Diner's Club card ended up in my wallet. Uh ... and I just--" Mount Ellison erupted again, bellowing like an enraged moose.

"You stole it!!"

"Not exactly."

"You stole my card!"

"Not exactly!"

"I know you stole it!"

"I did not!"

"You stole my card, rented a car, and burned it up!"

"I didn't steal it!" Blair protested vehemently. "I -- I thought you put it there!"

Jim stopped beating and kicking Blair's trunk. He stared at Blair in utter shock and then screeched in octaves Blair swore could shatter paper: "WHY would I put it there?!"

Sandburg shrugged and replied hesitantly, "Kindness?"

"Kindness?" Jim yelled hoarsely. "Kindness! Goddamn it, you stole it! You stole from a cop!"

"I didn't! I was gonna send it back to you, with whatever the rental car charge was, plus interest! But you didn't give me your address! What was I supposed to do? You just ditched me! I had no money, no cards, nothing!"

Jim's patience and anger snapped. Reaching out, he grabbed Blair by his coat lapels and hauled him up face to face, forcing the younger, shorter man to stand on his tip-toes.

"Alright, you neo-hippie witchdoctor punk! Give it back!"

"I can't!"

Jim shook the professor hard. "Why not?!"

"Because!"

Jim shook the professor hard again. "Because why?!"

"B-Because when we stopped to gas up, I put the card back in your wallet!" Blair stammered.

Both men froze and then slowly turned their heads to see the car burning merrily. Along with the glove compartment in the car where Jim had left his wallet.

"Are you mad at me?" Blair asked quietly.

Growling violently, Jim shoved Blair away hard. The younger man stumbled back and landed hard on his ass. He stayed where he was and looked up at Jim with wide, startled, slightly fearful eyes, his mouth drawing down in a pout.

Jim stared down at Blair in utter fury, wanting nothing more than to beat the crap out of the kid, but he couldn't. Not with him sitting there looking all of 17 or 18, eyes big and sad, pouting. It'd be like kicking a poor, sad, defenseless puppy, and even at his angriest, Jim wasn't capable of that kind of cruelty.

Turning, he intended to stomp dramatically away with majestic ire.

That plan was negated when he took one step and tripped over Blair's trunk, sprawling over it and landing face down, scraping and bumping his chin hard.

****

The still smoking, burnt, tattered wreck of a car pulled slowly into the parking lot of a motel that was close to the highway.

"You know, you could've killed me by pushing me back like that when I wasn't ready," Blair commented as Jim put the car in park and turned off the ignition.

"I was a Ranger in the Army, kid," Jim replied in a growling sneer as he peeled his hands from the melted plastic wheel. "You're lucky that's all I did, considering how pissed off I am."

Blair paled and gulped hard and then scrambled out of the car quickly to follow Jim as he got out, slamming the door shut and hissing at the contact with the hot metal.

"One good thing," the younger man said, "with all this fresh air, we're gonna sleep like babies."

Ellison ignored him completely and went inside without him.

"Jim? Hey, Jim, wait up!" Blair called out, scurrying after the taller man. He found the cop already at the counter.

"I need one room," Jim enunciated clearly to the clerk behind the counter.

"Y'know, if you're pissed at me, we can get separate rooms," Blair muttered over Jim's shoulder.

"You get your own room!" Jim snapped back over his shoulder before he turned his attention completely to the clerk.

"I'll need a major credit card," the man said.

Ellison nodded and pulled out his torched wallet gingerly, withdrawing three melted, burned, curled up cards. "I have, uh, Diner's ... Visa ... and, a, uh, gasoline card." His voice was smooth and silky, but for all that, the tone still implied that he was working with the last reserve of his patience and dignity and had only one nerve left.

The clerk hesitantly picked up one card, barely able to see the Visa logo in one corner, and carefully put it back down. "Uh ... these aren't ... um, credit cards."

"Alright, I'll pay cash."

"$42.50."

Jim patted himself down and smiled at the clerk, then dug into his coat pockets and withdrew a handful of crumpled bills. "How 'bout ... seventeen dollars?"

"I can't do that," the man replied quietly, calmly.

Jim swallowed hard and leaned closer. "Please. Have mercy. I've been wearing the same underwear since Tuesday."

"I can vouch for that!" Blair said suddenly, stepping around Jim and smiling at the clerk, who gave the two of them some very odd looks indeed.

Jim put his hand back, found Blair's face with his palm, and pushed.

Blair stumbled back, shaking his head.

Putting an unlit cigarette in his mouth, the clerk stammered, "I don't -- I don't -- I don't own the place."

Ellison sighed and pulled his badge from where it hung on his belt and placed it on the counter. "My name is Detective James Ellison, Major Crime, Cascade PD, Washington. It's a very, very long story. I've had a bad trip. Call my boss, Captain Simon Banks. He'll pick up the tab."

The clerk looked at him silently.

***

Blair watched through the lobby window as the dark, near indistinctive shape of the burnt car was backed into the empty parking spot in front of the lobby and then the thump as the car door was slammed shut after Jim got out.

Then he turned to grin charmingly at the clerk, who smiled back.

"Um, would you like a room?" the man asked calmly.

"I've got a slight problem," Blair said with a chuckle. "I don't have the $42.50."

"You have seventeen dollars and a nice watch, maybe? Or are you a cop, too?"

"Uh, no, no. I'm an anthropologist, from up in Cascade. I've got a trunkful of authentica Peruvian jewelry and figurines and I'm wearing a ... Casio. I've got a Casio! Oh, and two dollars," Blair said with a wide, ingratiating grin.

The smile faded when the clerk gave him a smirk and said softly, "I'm gonna have to say 'goodnight', so..."

***

Jim sat down wearily on the clean hotel bed and after a big sigh, he lifted the receiver on the phone by the bed and began to dial.

Only to find it blocked by a lock on the dial.

He gave a mirthless chuckle as he played tiredly with the dial for a moment, then hung up the receiver with an exhausted thunk.

***

In the loft back in Cascade, Carolyn sniffed back angry tears as she placed a few pieces of clothing in a suitcase. In the time since Jim's last call, she had managed to convince herself that he didn't love her and their marriage was over.

***

He was almost asleep when he heard a voice he shouldn't have been able to hear, since he had not invited Blair into his room.

Eyes snapping open, Jim lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling as he listened in on Blair's audible conversation to someone who clearly was not with him except in memory.

"Well, Naomi ... once again, Mom, you were right as rain. I am, without a doubt, the biggest pain in the ass that ever came down the pike. I meet someone whose company I really enjoy; a guy with a fantastic body, a killer smile, generosity out the wazoo and more patience than I would have expected from a guy with his temper, even though he's a tough guy and a 'pig', as you would say. I meet a guy like him and what do I do? I go overboard. I smother the poor soul. I cause him more trouble than he has a right to."

That had Jim up and out of bed and moving to twitch the curtain aside. Looking out, his eyes easily found Blair sitting in the driver's seat of the wreck, wrapped in hat and coat and scarf and gloves. Saw him as clearly as if he'd been standing next to the younger man. Snow was coming down, covering the shivering figure who sat seventy-five feet away with his back to Jim.

"God, I have a big mouth," Blair continued sadly. "Wonder when I'm ever gonna wake up? All I do is irritate people. I'm just ... no ... good. I wish you were here with me, Mom. {sigh} But, I guess that's not gonna happen. Not now, anyway."

Jim sighed, closing his eyes briefly before opening them again. No, Blair. It's not you, Chief, not really, he thought quietly. That you think I'm such a wonderful guy, when all I've done is yell at you, is amazing. Sure, you talk a lot, you do careless, thoughtless things, but hell, everyone does that. I'm no saint, that's for sure. And I'll be damned if I leave you to freeze out there, kid. Time for this sorry old fuck to eat some crow.

Moving to the door, he opened it, stepped out into the cold, snowy air, and called out softly, "Blair."

Startled out of his self-recriminating thoughts, Blair turned in the seat, craning his neck to look over his left shoulder, and found Jim standing in the doorway to his motel room, wearing black silk boxers and a black silk tank-top.

His heart doing a double-thump and grateful that it was too cold for him to get it up, Blair swallowed hard, his eyes going wide.

"You're going to freeze to death out there," Jim said quietly, a soft, apologetic smile on his face.

His eyes flicked to the doorway and then back to Jim, questioningly.

Jim smiled again and gestured for him to come inside.

A hesitant smile lighting his face, Blair climbed stiffly out of the car, grabbed his backpack and his duffel bag, and slowly walked over to Jim, still slightly nervous. He flinched when a strong hand reached out and grabbed him by the shoulder.

Jim felt the flinch and softened his grip as he gently guided Blair inside the warm room.

***

Small liquor bottles and snack-sized potato chip bags littered Jim's bed, the case the small bottle had come in propped on the end, still half full.

Dressed in his warm, comfortable sweats and socks, Blair was settled into the armchair across from the foot of Jim's bed, while the detective sprawled atop the covers, unconsciously posing and presenting Blair with a luscious view of some very definite high quality eye-candy as the two of them did their best to get rip-roaring drunk, rather than mildly buzzed as they currently were.

"How's your drink?" Blair asked conversationally.

"Good," Jim replied, nodding.

"Go for another one?"

Jim leaned up, reaching out with his hand. As Blair fished for another drink, Ellison asked, "So, you've been to lots of places? Like, Italy? That where you got the amaretto? Thanks for the gin, by the way."

Blair grinned and tossed a small bottle labled "TEQUILA" to Jim, who caught it deftly. "Sure. Got that on the Mexican trip. Amaretto was an early Christmas present from a friend at the
convention I attended in New York."

"But you're Jewish?"

"Yeah, so?"

"You celebrate Christmas?"

"Hey, man, I celebrate anything that'll get me free goodies."

Jim laughed and nodded. "Sounds good."

Blair shrugged. "Besides, nobody freaks out about my 'good and generous nature' at that time of the year," he said with a sarcastic sneer in his voice.

Jim frowned. "Hey, Chief ... don't knock it, huh? I've already apologized for being a prick. You are good and generous. I appreciate it, Darwin."

"Yeah."

Sighing, Jim decided to let it go. He looked down at what he held in his hands -- a bag of Doritos and the tequila -- and then lifted them, grinning. "Is this a good combination, or what?"

Blair took a long look, then grinned and shook his head. "No, probably not."

Ellison opened the bottle anyway, grinning, and took a quick drink.

"Me, I think I'm goin' back to Jamaica," the younger man sighed, and then got silly. Affecting a rather bad Jamaican accent, he said, "Jamaica, mon. Go to Jamaica, have some rum, mon. Iree, Iree, mon."

They giggled drunkenly, Jim collapsing atop the mattress, doing his best not to spill his drink.

Sandburg sighed then, suddenly morose. "Oh, shit. Y'know, when I'm dead and buried, all I'm gonna have to prove I was here was a few articles written about a dozen or so various tribes and a half-assed theory about Sentinels. Great legacy, huh?"

"At the very least. But, uh, Chief...? What's a Sentinel?" Jim asked, confused.

"Huh?"

"What's a Sentinel?"

"You really wanna hear about 'em?" Blair was incredulous.

"Yeah, sure. Sounds interesting, anyway," Jim replied with a shrug and a grin.

"Okay. Okay." Suddenly excited, Blair licked his lips and sat forward, his eyes lighting up, and Jim shivered at the unconsciously sensually exciting image.

"Okay. It's like this. A Sentinel is someone who possesses genetically heightened senses. They've got the same five senses any other human has, except for one thing: they can sense *more* than anyone else. Like people who work in a perfume company can smell more than others, detect imperfections, and people who work as tasters in candy factories or whatever? See what I'm trying to say, here?"

"Yeah, Chief, I gotcha. They receive more in-depth information from their senses than average people do. It's genetic?"

"Uh-huh. Oh! Another good example: the Viet Cong scouts, they could smell a Westerner by his waste, so the army long range recon scouts had to--"

"Change their diet to fish and rice, I know. Huh. So, what's so fascinating about all this?"

"Are you kidding me, man?! Not only would it be the living proof of a modern-day myth that was brought to light a hundred years ago by Sir Richard Burton--"

"Liz Taylor's husband?"

"No, no. The explorer, not the actor."

"There were two of 'em?"

"Yup. This Burton was back in the 19th century--"

"That was during the 1800's, right?"

"Right. Now, anyway, this explorer, Burton, he found evidence of sentinels down in Paraguay and wrote about them, along with his translation of Arabian Nights and the Kama Sutra--"

"Holy shit! That guy?"

"Uh-huh."

"But, that was in the Victorian era, right? He'd have been Victorian-era raised?"

"He was an anthropologist, man. We aren't known for adopting rules and society styles and all unless we happen to be living in one for a time. We go with the flow, man. That's what Burton did. His wife, though ... she was definitely Victorian. Burned a lot of his papers when he died, especially the ones that were sexually explicit, so a lot of his work is either missing or lost. I found the obscure reference to sentinels in a monogram. In fact, I think I've got it in my trunk, if you want to see it..."

"Maybe tomorrow, Chief."

"Sure, man. But what I'm trying to say, is, think about the possibilities! Like, say, if you had them! As a cop, you'd be unstoppable! You'd be a monster, man! An organic crime lab, with superhuman surveillance abilities!"

Jim frowned. "You say these senses are genetic. You have to be born with them?"

"Uh-huh."

"Is it possible for someone to come into them late in life? Have them be triggered by something?"

"Possibly. High trauma, high stress ... maybe a period of isolation, but I can't guarantee that. Why?" Blair asked, curious.

Jim looked at him hard for a moment, then said, "'Well, Naomi, once again, Mom, you were right as rain. I am, without a doubt, the biggest pain in the ass that ever came down the pike. I meet someone whose company I really enjoy; a guy with a fantastic body, a killer smile, generosity out the wazoo and more patience than I would have expected from a guy with his temper, even though he's a tough guy and a 'pig', as you would say. I meet a guy like him and what do I do? I go overboard. I smother the poor soul. I cause him more trouble than he has a right to.'"

Blair's jaw dropped open and he sat up slowly, staring at Jim in shock. "What ... how...?"

"I was standing over by that window, Chief. Actually, I was in bed when you first started talking. Then I heard what you were saying and it got my attention, so I got up to go look at you. And I could see you as clearly as if it were broad daylight and I were standing right next to you," Jim replied, staring down at the debris littering the top of the bed.

"You heard me..." the younger man whispered, barely moving his lips, his voice sub-vocal.

Ellison lifted his head, glowering slightly. "Isn't that what I just said? Just proved? Of course I heard you! I wouldn't lie about something like this!"

Blair swallowed hard. "And you saw me, clear as glass?"

"Clear as crystal, Sandburg. Think out-of-body experience, but I didn't go anywhere. My eyesight telescoped and ... I dunno, the brightness level dialed up or something."

"What about ... you said my foot odor could stun a yak. But no one's ever complained of it being that bad before. They might have noticed something, but nothing to that extent...."

"Believe me, I noticed it," Jim said with a shudder. His expression became thoughtful and he gazed at Blair softly. "But you don't smell all bad, Chief. There are times when you smell warm, almost like ... cookie dough, or something. Like the vanilla stuff that goes with baking. Warm and kind of yummy...."

Both men blushed and looked away then. After a moment, Sandburg cleared his throat and said, "Okay, so that's sight, hearing, and smell. What about taste and touch?"

"Them, too, sometimes. Look, Sandburg, it's not a constant thing. Just sometimes one sense or another, maybe two, heighten on me and then I give a headshake and it goes back to normal."

"Huh. Your senses aren't fully on-line yet and you have partial control," Blair theorized. "First time you get lost in the woods, though, I'd bet dollars to donuts they'll come on with a vengeance."

Jim groaned. "Terrific." He sighed. "So, what do I do about it, Chief? 'Cause I happen to love camping and had planned to go sometime after Thanksgiving."

Blair shuddered. "As cold as it is? Ew. Good luck, man--"

"Sandburg."

"Yeah?"

"So what do I do to keep from going insane? So far, they aggravate me and frighten me, a little. I really thought I was going insane, or that I was ill--"

"No, man, you're neither of those things. As for what to do ... well, I'm sorry, but I don't know. Unless I can get you into the lab at Rainier to do some tests.... Burton wrote about how each sentinel had a companion of some kind, to help them out, keep them safe, 'cause Sentinels are vulnerable. Between the sensory spikes -- when your senses suddenly heighten on you -- and the zone-outs ... kind of a gray space that the Sentinel falls into. A nuetral zone. Concentrating so much on one sense that all else fades away from conscious perception. Have you...?"

"No, never got that far. Felt it happening a few times, but I'd always shake my way out of it," Jim confessed.

"Huh. Maybe when your senses come fully on-line..."

"Every Sentinel has a companion, huh? Someone who ... guides, I guess? Guides them in use of their senses?"

"Well, the use of the senses is instinctive to the Sentinel. But the, um, 'Guide' would be there to protect and even, sometimes, point the way, I guess. So, yeah, you could call the companions 'Guides', if you wanted to," Blair mused, and then grinned. "I never thought of it that way before. Thanks."

"Sure. So, since you know so much about it all ... if and when my senses come fully on-line, as you say ... would you be willing to teach me how to use them? Even if it means getting into a fucking lab like some kind of rat," Jim groused.

Blair shifted uncomfortably. "Jim, man, listen. The way you've managed to repress your senses, it could be years before they come on-line--"

"But you just said--"

"I know, but that was just hypothesizing, actually. And I'm gone so much, always traveling around; it's my job. Without it, I'm broke, homeless...."

Jim sighed and nodded. "I get it. Thanks ... thanks anyway, Chief. And thanks for giving a name to what I'm going through; what I am."

"No problem, man," Blair replied quietly, and the two of them lapsed into silence.

A few long moments later, the younger man sighed and scrubbed tiredly at his face. "Whoa. Whoa. Oh, man. A Sentinel. I've looked so long for one of you. And to think we missed each other by a few years; a few miles, maybe, since we both live in Cascade...."

Jim nodded solemnly. "Well, for what it's worth, Chief, I really don't regret meeting you. You're a really, really nice guy. I'm sorry I've been such an intolerant, insensitive prick."

Blair smiled a drunken, happy smile. "Gee, thanks, man."

Jim yawned and then slid under the covers. "Do me a favor, Professor, and move those bottles, huh? Or I'm gonna kick 'em off...."

"Yeah, sure. Hold on."

Blair got unsteadily to his feet, grabbed the trashcan by the bed, and swept the debris onto it. He then moved the case of liquor bottles to the floor, then returned the trashcan. He overbalanced, however, and twisted, only to land on top of Jim, who braced him up.

They stared into each other's eyes for a long, breathless moment and then they leaned into each other slowly. Lips met, eyes closing, and they sighed into each other's mouths as their lips parted gently. They kissed softly, slowly, tongues meeting languidly for a precious few heartbeats, and then they pulled back.

Jim stared at the sexy young man atop him and reached up, lifting a hand to brush Blair's hair back from his face, tucking it behind one ear.

Blair stared down at the most beautiful man he'd ever had the good fortune to meet, and felt his heart break at the regret in those gorgeous blue eyes.

Ellison saw the knowledge in Blair's eyes. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "Chief ... Blair ... I'm sorry. I can't. You're a lovely, unique individual and I'm very attracted to you, but I can't. I'm sorry. If things were different; if I weren't still married...."

Blair gave him a rueful grin and shrugged as he said lightly, "What is unique? Is that Latin for, uh, asshole, or something?"

The older man snickered. "A lovely asshole. Yep."

"I do have one."

His eyes suddenly hot, Jim swept his gaze up and down Blair's sweatsuit covered body and then grinned at the younger man. "I bet you do. But we're still off limits to each other, Blair. I'm sorry. Otherwise..."

Blair sighed, nodding. "I'm not going to ask you to betray your marriage vows with me, Jim. I'm not that callous. But, yeah ... otherwise. I'm sorry, too. I really like you." He gave a shy grin. "One for the road? So I can remember the one that got away?"

Jim grinned back, then gently tugged the younger man down. Their mouths met, meshed hungrily, and they both shivered; both wanted so much ... and then they both pulled away again, their lips clinging silkily.

A silent exchange of gratitude between the two of them, and then Blair got up carefully and walked awkwardly to the bathroom, Jim watching him go, well aware of the bulge that tented the soft cotton sweatpants. The bulge that matched the one in his silk boxers. Knowing full well what Blair was going to do, he pressed both pillows on the bed to his ears and closed his eyes, calling up every gruesome murder scene, every commando raid he'd ever been part of, to help take the edge off.

It worked well enough and thankfully his nose decided to behave, because when Blair came out of the bathroom again, he smelled clean and not too musky.

He watched as Blair turned out the light, wincing when the younger man's fingers grazed the hot light bulb under the lampshade, giving a soft cry of pain. "You okay, Chief?"

"Uh-huh," Sandburg muttered, flapping his hands, and finally found the on/off switch. He turned the light off, plunging the room into darkness, and headed for his own bed, sucking softly on his singed fingers.

Jim closed his ears to the soft suckling sound I'll give you something hot to suck on, Sandburg! and rolled onto his side a moment later to face Blair once the younger man was situated on his own bed.

"Well, I'll tell ya, Chief," the detective murmured a moment later, "as much trouble as I've had on this little journey, I'm sure one day I'll look back on it and laugh."

Blair snickered. "You think so?"

"I am already." He proved it as he gave into the tired giggles he'd felt welling up in him. "Oh, God, when the car blew up..."

The professor was doing some giggling of his own. "Was that seat hot or what? I feel like a big Whopper. Turn me over, I'm done on this side. I'm afraid to look at my ass in case it has those griddle marks on it."

The both of them giggled, but they both experienced a fresh wave of arousal that they had to battle down as they simultaneously thought of Jim checking Blair's ass for him, among other things.

Jim yawned, stretching. "Why do I feel like I'm in summer camp?"

"Dunno, man, 'cause it's cold as a witch's tit outside!"

They giggled some more and then, after an exchange of murmured goodnights, they both closed their eyes and drifted off to sleep.

****

"All set?" Blair asked, sitting in the driver's seat.

"Just a minute," Jim replied, grunting a bit as he worked his way through the snow bank.

The two of them were dressed, their luggage loaded in the burned wreck, and they had scooped most of the snow out of it. Now they were trying to get the car out of the snow drift it was sitting in, since the snow had come down fast and thick last night.

Getting into position, grateful for his thick, sturdy, water-resistant hiking boots with the heavy treads, Jim gripped the scorched, slightly melted frame of the roof and windows.

"Give it a good push," the younger man instructed.

"Yeah, yeah."

On three, they went into action. Blair pushed down on the gas pedal while Jim pushed against the car, straining.

"Push! Put some oomph into it!" Blair called out.

"I am! I am!" Jim yelled back.

"Push, for Christ's sake!"

"Shut up, Sandburg! You're Jewish! You don't believe in Christ!"

Despite their grunting, heaving, and yelling, the car didn't budge and Jim slipped and fell into the snowbank.

"I think we have to rock it a bit," the professor said, slightly frustrated.

"Alright, okay," Jim agreed, climbing out of the snowbank and moving to the front of the car, bracing his hands on the hood.

"Back and forth, back and forth. Here we go, ready?" Blair asked.

Jim paused and looked steadily at Sandburg as he raised a single, eloquent eyebrow. The younger man blushed brightly and dropped his gaze to the bent-in-half, burnt, melted steering wheel.

Ellison grinned. "Yeah, Chief. Ready." With that, he began pushing against the car.

"Here we go. Reverse!" Blair shouted, and stomped on the gas pedal after shifting the car into gear.

It reversed alright. Clear into the lobby.

Blair twisted around to view the shattered glass, the snow that spilled into the lobby, the chairs and debris pushed into the floor, and he blushed. "Whoops."

Jim snapped his sagging jaw shut and waved frantically at his friend. "Come on! Come on, hurry up, get out!"

Sandburg floored it and the car roared forward, plowing through the snow pile impressively enough for a burnt, half-melted wreck, and screeched to a halt beside Jim. "Get in! Hurry and get in!"

Ellison didn't have to be told twice. Gripping the frame, he jumped up and slid his long legs through the missing window, doing a Dukes of Hazzard maneuver and slid the rest of the way into the car even as Blair drove away from the motel.

They made it out onto the highway and began traveling north. Once they were away from the area, Blair looked over, a few tendrils of hair escaping from the fake bear fur, ear-flapped hat to waft around his grinning, laughing face.

"Man, I don't believe you! You're a cop, running away from the scene of your own crime!"

Eyebrows waggling, Jim grinned mischievously as he replied, "Yup." At Blair's shocked expression, he added, "Don't worry, kid. I'll be hearing about it from my boss one way or another. And if I don't, I'll call them and make repair arrangements myself."

They stared at each other for a few more moments and then roared down the highway, cracking up.

***

Much, much later, around mid-morning, they were earning concerned and curious glances from the other people on the road as they went down the highway in their burnt, tattered wreck. They were both wrapped up in heavy-duty clothing, Jim wearing Blair's fleece scarf tied over his head, covering his ears, and wrapped around his neck once before being tucked into his zipped up jacket. He was also wearing a pair of heavy gloves seen lying in the roadway about an hour back, thanks to a sensory spike of his eyesight. Blair, of course, was wearing his parka, four layers of clothing with thermal beneath them, his gloves, and his bear fur hat.

The two of them were howling out Journey's "Wheel in the Sky" at the top of their lungs. They didn't sound too awfully bad, considering there was no music involved.

They never noticed the cop car they passed at a high rate of speed.

He noticed them, though. Him and his radar gun.

A minute later, Jim twisted around as he heard the siren behind them. He saw the black and white State Patrol unit and sighed as he turned back around.

"What?" Blair asked, concerned.

"A cop behind us. I told you it felt like we're going too fast. How fast are we going, anyway?"

"Dunno, man. Speedometer's melted," came the glib reply with a shrug.

Jim rolled his eyes. "Pull over."

Blair did so and the cruiser pulled in after them. They sat quietly, waiting, and it wasn't long before the cop came up to them. He was a mildly pudgy, middle-aged black man who looked like nothing more than a teddy bear in a cop uniform, the name tag of which read TAGGART.

Blair smiled up at him. "Top o' the mornin' to you, Officer!"

"Hi," the man replied with a quick smile before his face became serious again as he took in the damaged vehicle.

"Is there something I can help you with?" Sandburg asked innocently.

"What the hell are you guys driving?" Taggart asked, incredulous.

"Oh, we had a small fire last night, but we caught it in the nick of time," Blair said with a chuckle.

Taggart sighed, grinned, and shook his head. "D'you have any idea how fast you were going?"

"Funny enough, I was just talking to my friend, Detective Ellison, here, and was telling him our speedometer's melted, and as a result, it's hard to say with any degree of accuracy--"

"You're Jim Ellison?" Taggart interrupted suddenly.

"Yeah," Jim replied, frowning in confusion. "How do you know me, Officer...?"

"State Patrolman Joel Taggart. Simon Banks and I go way back. I called him last night, just to talk, and he let me know you got delayed." He then eyed the car and whistled. "Not like this though. Guys, level with me: do you feel this vehicle is safe for highway travel?"

Both Jim and Blair replied simultaneously and firmly: "Yes."

"Yes, Joel, I believe it is," Jim added with an ingratiating smile.

"It's not pretty, but it'll get you where you wanna go," Blair said with the same smile.

"And you are...?" Joel asked politely.

"Doctor Blair Sandburg, anthropologist."

Joel looked at the almost maniacally grinning young man for a long moment, then gestured at the car. "You've got no outside mirrors."

"No, we lost those," Blair agreed.

"You've got no functioning gauges."

"No, not a one."

Taggart's eyebrows rose high on his forehead.

"Radio still works, though," Blair chuckled. "Funny as that may seem, even in all this mess, the radio's the only thing that's really working good. It's clear as a bell, don't ask me how!"

Joel sighed and shook his head again. "Sorry, guys, but I can't let you go ahead in this vehicle."

"Can't what?" Jim questioned.

"It's not fit for the road. Jim, you know the procedure, I'm sure. A vehicle like this has to be impounded until such time as it can be made safe for travel."

"But it's trashed," Blair pointed out, his eyes going into what Jim now privately called "Puppy Dog Mode".

"Yep. C'mon, guys. Transfer your stuff into my patrol car while I call in a tow truck. We'll take you and your vehicle into the nearest town."

"Is there a rental agency there?" Jim asked resignedly.

"No, but there are several good motels and restaurants. You can make reservations for the evening, Blair, while Jim checks in with Simon."

Both men sighed, realizing that they had no choice, and they climbed out of their burnt wreck to begin moving their luggage, Blair's trunk included, into the patrol car.

***

Jim stood on the sidewalk outside the town precinct station, looking for Blair. He watched the tow truck disappear down the street, heading for the impound lot, dragging their wreck behind it, and felt a surprising spurt of regret for the little car. It had been a pretty decent car, getting them where they needed to go.

His head turned again when he heard the piercing blast of an airhorn from a semi at the other end of the street and he watched a bright red, shiny tractor-trailer cab turn onto the town's main street. It was followed by the long white body of the trailer and rolled towards him. He was surprised when it slowed down to stop in front of him.

He wasn't so surprised a moment later when he saw Blair sitting up in the cab, grinning down at him.

"Well, our ship has come in!" Blair shouted over the noise of the idling diesel engine.

Jim shook his head with a small grin and took a quick look at the logo on the door. A circle with a cow's head in the middle of it, with the words OSH KONOGIN BRAND written along the circle.

Blair opened the door and hopped down to the ground, walking up to Jim.

"It's free and it's non-stop to Chicago," he informed the detective, "thanks to the fact that he's run for my uncle before. The uncle who runs a trucking business." He flashed a wild grin at his friend. "Told you I'd get you home!"

"I don't care how, so long as the heater's working," Ellison chuckled, and stepped towards the cab, certain that their luggage was stowed in the trailer.

Blair grabbed his arm, halting him. When he saw the hesitant expression in the wide blue eyes, Jim sighed. He had the feeling he was about to be disappointed again. "What?"

"Ben's a bit freaky about riders up in his cab, so we can't ride there," Sandburg said quickly.

Ben leaned over and slammed the door shut, rolling up the window as he stared paranoidally at the two of them.

"If we can't sit up there, Chief, then where are we supposed to ride?" Jim asked with quiet resignation.

And groaned when Blair pointed to the trailer.

As he followed the younger man around to the back, Ben hopping out to join them so he could lock the door behind them, Jim thought, Oh, well. Like the kid said, it's free and it's non-stop. How bad could it be for a two hour ride?

***

The two of them sat huddled together on top of the trunk, surrounded by thousands of packages of frozen beef as they rode in the back of the refrigerated trailer, clothes wrapped tightly around themselves to contain as much body heat as possible.

Jim sat with his arms crossed, hands tucked under his armpits, and his right leg crossed over his left at the knee. His face was pulled into a ferocious scowl.

Blair glanced over at him, puppy dog eyes in full force. "Beats walkin', huh?"

Ellison refused to say a word.

"We're gonna be at O'Hare in roughly three hours or so, if we don't hit any traffic. I don't think we should, since it's Thanksgiving Day. And from there to Cascade, which'll be another couple hours, then home. So, we'll be in our home town by six at the latest, I think."

Ellison still refused to say a word.

He heard Blair sigh a moment later and looked over to see the younger man slumped with a forlorn expression, puppy dog eyes aimed at the floor. Feeling like a schmuck, Jim rubbed at the top and back of his head, trying to generate some warmth. The scarf didn't offer much to his short hair and the receding hairline, but what protection it did offer went to protecting said hairline and his ears.

Jim was startled a moment later when nimble fingers reached over and plucked the scarf away from him. Angry, he twisted to face the younger man, only to flinch as something hot and heavy plopped onto his head. Blinking, he reached up and felt the fake bear fur hat on his head, the ear flaps coming down to provide blessed wide-range cover, the material still hot from Blair's head. Looking at his friend, he watched as the scarf was wound over the top of Blair's head and down along the sides to cover the ears, which were already covered by the thick cloud of soft, silky hair, before being knotted under Blair's chin.

Flashing him a mischievous smile that had a tinge of apology to it, Sandburg muttered, "Sorry, man. It occured to me all of a sudden that I've got more natural protection than you do. You need the hat more than me. Sorry it took me so long to realize it."

"Chief--" Jim began, reaching up to remove the hat and hand it back, though it practically killed him to do so.

But Blair stopped him, shaking his head. "No, Jim! No, really. It doesn't look like much, but it'll help you. Please?"

For a long moment, Ellison simply stared at the younger man. Finally, he nodded slowly and was rewarded with a huge, blinding grin. Glancing down, he saw Blair's backpack hanging over his shoulder, and got an idea.

Reaching out, he yanked the knapsack from Blair's shoulder, elliciting a startled "Hey!" from the younger man. Turning, he straddled the trunk and slung the backpack over his own shoulders so that it was situated firmly on his back. Then he leaned back and smiled. It offered enough protection against the frozen packages. He grinned at his friend and opened his arms.

"Scoot in here, Chief, back to front. We'll share some body heat, what do you say?" he said softly.

"Thought you were married?" Blair teased, but he quickly moved to do as told.

"Shut up," Jim murmured affectionatly and nestled his face into the curve of Blair's shoulder atop the bulkiness of all five collars combined of shirts, jacket, and parka. He wrapped his arms around Blair's torso and pressed his thighs along the outside of the younger man's legs, squeezing their bodies together tightly.

"They teach you this in Ranger training?" Blair asked quietly, snuggling in and enjoying the feel of the strong, hot body behind him.

"Mm-hmm. Among other things," Jim agreed. "Try to get some sleep, Chief. We're going to have precious little of it once we get to O'Hare."

"Mmmm," Blair agreed, and he closed his eyes. Sure, his butt was cold and pressed atop the unyielding surface of his battered old trunk, but that was a minor discomfort compared to being snuggled against Jim Ellison.

Soon enough, they were both asleep.

****

As they walked along, carrying the trunk between them in Cascade's National Airport, Jim reflected on how easy it had been once they had arrived in Chicago. They'd been able to check in their luggage and get on a standby flight after a call had been placed to Captain Simon Banks. The plane had left within an hour of their arrival, with their luggage on board, and they were now in Cascade, walking through the terminal towards the outside exit, where Simon had promised to be waiting in the "Pick Up 'N' Go" parking lot.

"Can you believe this?" Blair asked quietly with a grin.

"It's been a hell of a trip," Jim agreed.

"Yes, it has."

Jim coughed slightly and admitted, "But, uh, after all is said and done, you did get me home."

"Hey, next time, let's go first class all the way, huh?" Sandburg asked with a chuckle.

"Chief, don't get me wrong, but God, I hope there isn't a next time!" Jim laughed back.

They shared a chuckle as they made their way outside and over to a row of benches along the wall, well away from the exit at Blair's direction.

Setting the trunk down, they took a deep breath and grinned, moving a few steps closer to each other.

They heard a horn honk, but only Jim caught the faint sound of a familiar voice shouting his name, and he craned his neck, looking around. Blair mimicked his action and they both saw a tall black man standing by a car, waving at them. Jim lifted his hand to wave back, gesturing for Simon to hold on for a moment.

"That your boss?" Blair asked quietly.

"Yep. Captain Simon Banks. One of my closest friends and one of the finest people in the world, as well as one of the best cops in town."

"I'll take your word for it, man."

They stared into each other's eye for a long moment, then reached out and joined hands, shaking slowly.

"It's been great meeting you, Jim, it really has," Blair said softly.

"Yeah," Jim agreed with a smile.

"Sorry if I caused you any trouble...."

"No, you didn't cause me ... much trouble," the older man amended after a moment's hesitation, and they both chuckled. "No more than I caused you sometimes. Hey, you got me home. A little late..."

"Two days," Blair snickered.

"But a little wiser, too, Chief. In more ways than one."

"Me, too."

They let go of each others' hands, finally, and looked at each other, strangely reluctant to take their leave of one another.

"Well, uh, happy holidays," Jim said quietly.

"Same to you," Blair replied just as quietly.

After a moment's hesitation, they grinned and then moved together for a hug, holding onto each other tightly.

"Happy Thanksgiving, Jim," the younger man said huskily, searching for something to say. He wanted to say so much: "I love you," "let me stay with you," "don't go" ... but he knew he could never say those things to this man. This married man.

Slowly, they parted and Jim reached up to give a painless tap to Blair's cheek, which brought out a brilliant grin on Blair.

"Same," the detective whispered back, and stepped away a bit further, forcing himself to create some distance between them.

"Uh ... give my love to your family. Maybe I'll meet them someday," said Sandburg.

"Sure, Chief. Say hello to your mom for me. I feel like I know her."

An unreadable expression flitted across Blair's face for a few brief seconds and then he gave a tiny, strained smile. "Yeah. Yeah, okay."

"So ... okay. Hey, you need a ride? Simon won't mind--"

"No! Uh, no, Jim, thanks anyway. No need to put him out of his way. I'll get to where I'm going, no worries," Blair said cheerfully with a big grin.

"You sure?" Jim asked, concerned.

"Yeah. Person I'm waiting for ... she's probably already here," the professor replied with a shrug.

"Oh, okay. Well, Chief ... so long and take care. I'll look you up sometime."

Another unreadable expression flashed across Blair's face and disappeared. He gave a small grin and a shrug when he said, "'Bye, Jim. Make the world safer for us neo-hippie witchdoctor punks."

Jim grinned, saluted, and after hitching his leather duffel bag higher onto his shoulder, he turned and walked away towards the parking lot where Simon was waiting.

"Jim! Thank God," the big black man said fervently, drinking in the sight of his dirty, disheveled, exhausted friend with concerned eyes. "Are you all right? Was that Professor Sandburg? Does he need a ride?"

"Hi, Simon," Ellison replied with a tired grin. "Yeah, I'm all right. Yes, that's Sandburg, and no, he doesn't need a ride. Just ... just take me home, sir, please."

"Fine. But Carolyn's not at all happy with you," Simon rumbled as he opened the trunk so Jim could place his bag inside, then closed it.

"Too bad. It's not like I chose this delay," Jim grumbled as they climbed into the car.

"It stunk, huh?"

As they pulled out of the parking space the car had been in and began driving down the street, past the terminal, Jim watched Blair's reflection in the rear view mirror and saw the younger man watching them --him-- go with a wistful expression.

"No," Jim murmured. "It wasn't all bad."

***

As they disappeared from view, Blair sighed and turned away, choosing to sit down on one of the nearby benches that was situated far enough away from the hubbub of people.

And blinked away a few tears that attempted to fill his eyes.

***

Jim was silent on the ride back to the loft and was grateful that Simon seemed to realize his need for the quiet and didn't pressure him for details just then.

Resting his head against the window, Jim stared out into the gathering dark of evening, but he didn't see very much. Instead, he was watching memories of his time with Blair playing through his mind.

The image of the two of them snuggled together in that bed in Wichita, Blair kissing his ear while he held Blair's hand, neither of them aware of the other yet as a potential lover.

Grinning, almost blushing, Jim gently shook his head, dislodging the memory. Another one took it's place, the one of the two of them laughing hysterically as the car burned in the night.

He giggled softly and closed his eyes, aware of Simon giving him a confused, slightly concerned glance, but saying nothing.

Another memory came to the fore, but this one wiped his amusement away. In his mind's eye, he saw himself making those string-pulling-from-his-chest motions, back when he'd torn Blair a new one in Wichita. An instant later, he saw Blair's big blue eyes, filled with hurt, and heard the younger man's voice say in his mind say, I like -- I like me. My mom likes me.

Frowning, Jim shifted uncomfortably as another memory played, this one of Blair's monologue while sitting out in the snow and the burned car. I wish you were here with me, Mom. But, I guess ... that's just not gonna happen.

Another memory, this time of the two of them sitting in that diner in St. Louis, just before Jim had told him to take a hike. He heard his own voice say I've been spending too much time away from home. He could see Blair's face, the almost hidden wistful expression as the younger man replied, I haven't been home in years.

Another memory. This one very recent. Blair's face with an almost unreadable expression after he'd asked the younger man to say "hello" to Naomi for him ... but now Jim could read that expression clearly in hindsight. It was sadness. Sadness and regret.

With a gasp, Jim opened his eyes and sat up straight. "Simon!"

Surprised, the bigger man jumped and the car swerved a fraction, but he quickly brought it back under control. "Huh? What?!" Banks snapped.

"You gotta go back," Jim instructed.

"Go back where, Jim?"

"To the airport. It's ... it's Sandburg."

"Jim, what are you going on about?"

"Simon, I'm a detective, remember? It's my job to piece together clues to a puzzle, and I think I just solved one. I don't think Sandburg has anybody."

"To pick him up?"

"That, too. But what I mean is, he doesn't have anyone he can count on. I don't think he has anyone. No family, no friends ... hell, I think he doesn't even have a home," Jim replied, his voice gruff with urgency.

Simon was silent for a few moments. Then he took the next opportunity to make a U-turn and the two of them were heading back to the airport quickly.

***

Ellison walked quickly through the airport, back to where he had left the younger man ... and found him and his stuff sitting further down the way, perched silently on a bench and staring down unseeingly at his hands. Sighing, he walked over to stand directly in front of the younger man.

Blair glanced up when feet entered his field of vision, saw Jim, and his expression became slightly worried.

"Blair, what are you doing here?" Jim asked quietly.

Sandburg glanced down at his hands again and Jim moved a step closer.

"You said you were going home. What are you doing here?" Jim asked again.

"I, uh..." Blair began, then trailed off. He was silent for a moment, then took a deep breath and looked up at Jim with naked pain in his eyes, causing the older man to flinch. "I don't have a home."

Ellison wasn't surprised. He gazed down at his friend sadly, then moved to sit carefully beside him.

Blair turned to face him and added quietly, "I'm so hyper and annoying and -- and -- and ... anyway, Rainier pretty much has me traveling all the time to keep me outta their hair."

"But what about...?"

Sandburg sighed heavily and shook his head, his pained expression deepening, leaving Jim with the urge to wrap his arms around the younger man and never let go.

"Naomi ... my mom has been dead for eight years," Blair confessed quietly.

Jim sighed quietly. He had been expecting it, but he was still saddened by the answer. He thought hard for a moment, then made his decision. Getting to his feet, he held his hands out invitingly to the younger man.

"Come on, Chief. You've got a home with me," he said softly.

Helplessly, wanting so much, Blair slowly lifted his hands, placing them in Jim's even as he said, "But, Jim ... your wife...?"

The detective tugged his friend to his feet and smiled gently. "Don't worry, Blair. We'll play it as it goes. Now, c'mon. It's not nice to keep a police captain waiting."

"Police captain...?"

"Yeah. Simon, my boss, remember? He's waiting to take us home."

"But..."

Jim grinned and tapped Blair's mouth with a single finger, silent admonition to shut up and give up.

With a resigned sigh, the professor did so.

Together, they picked up Blair's trunk, Jim taking his friend's duffel bag while Blair carried the knapsack, and they made their way to where Simon was once again waiting in the "Pick Up 'N' Go" parking lot.

When they halted by the back of Simon's car, Blair looked up at the big man with silent trepidation, worried that he'd caused a whole lot of trouble.

"Are you Professor Sandburg?" Banks rumbled in a deep growling voice.

Blair nodded. "Yes, sir."

Holding out his hand, the captain said, "Hi. I'm Simon Banks. Thanks for helping my detective get home, Professor. That was very nice of you."

Surprised, the younger man blinked even as he accepted the hand and shook, and said, "Actually, he helped me more than I helped *him*."

"Really? From the summary he gave me, you were instrumental and generous above and beyond the call with helping him get home."

"Whichever it is," Jim interrupted, "can we just go home, please? I'd like to get some sleep before the New Year comes in."

Simon nodded and turned to open the back doors of the car and mumbled under his breath, "Good luck after Carolyn sees him..."

Jim heard the mumble and felt a chill race up his spine. Banks was right: Carolyn was not going to look favorably on this.

****

Two men, different as can be, walked companionably together towards the building known as 852 Prospect, carrying a large battered old trunk between them. Hooked over their shoulders were a leather duffel bag, a plain nylon one, and a beaten up old backpack.

They struggled into the building together, the trunk between them, and into the elevator that, for once, was working just fine.

Arriving at the third floor, they stumbled out and then the taller of the two led the way down the hall, stopping at the door numbered 307.

With a grin to his friend, Jim fished out his keys and unlocked the door, pushing it open. Then he tugged and Blair followed his friend and his trunk inside, pushing the door shut quietly behind them. Wearily, they set everything down on the floor gently and then grinned at each other, quiet laughter in their eyes.

"Jimmy?"

Both men turned at the light, feminine voice, and saw Carolyn standing over by one of the sofas in the apartment.

She frowned as she looked at them and then walked up to her husband.

"Hi, honey," he said with a tired smile.

"Where the hell have you been?" she yelled up at him.

Startled, he blinked and then glanced over at Blair, then back to his wife. "Um, hi, honey."

"Don't you 'hi, honey' me, James Joseph Ellison! Answer the damn question! Where have you been?"

Jim sighed. "Trying to get home, Carolyn. My God, you wouldn't believe the way my luck ran. I was in New York, trying to catch a cab at rush hour. I raced some guy for an empty one, but tripped at the last second and sprawled in the street, so he got it instead of me. Then I paid some attorney for the one he'd hailed, but somebody took it before I could get into it--"

Blair noticed that Jim didn't mention his name at all. He took one look at the angry petite woman and realized the detective was trying to protect him.

"--but finally I got one. Then the snowstorm closed down O'Hare, so we got re-routed to Wichita. Spent the night with Blair, here, courtesy of the fact that he's wise to the ways of travel. He knew we'd be stranded there, so he called a few old friends of his and got us a motel room. It was a surprise to both of us, though, that it was only one room. They were booked up. And while we were sleeping that night -- God, this is embarrassing -- I guess I was so exhausted that I never heard the guy who broke into our room and stole our money."

Carolyn shot Blair a frosty glance that sent the message that she was sure who had stolen the money.

Jim caught the look and shook his head. "His money was stolen, too, Carolyn. Anyway, so the son of the friend who owns the motel, he drove us about 60 miles to the next town where we caught a train, but we were only on the tracks for a couple hours when the train broke down, and then we caught a bus ride to St. Louis, and then--"

She cut him off with an impatient wave of her hand. "I don't give a jamn, Dim! A--"

At the quickly muffled snort of amusement from Blair and the quirk of her husband's mouth, Carolyn realized she was so angry she'd goofed with Jim's name. Sighing roughly, she tried again, her embarrassment increasing her temper.

"I don't give a damn, Jim. You know what this sounds like? This story is so -- so far- fetched...! I think you're making it up. I think you used any excuse you could come up with so that you could avoid going to my parents' house for Thanksgiving! Don't think they don't know that, Jim. I have never been so embarrassed in my life--"

"Whoa, whoa! Hold up!" Jim ordered, holding up a hand. "You think I'm lying to you? Just to avoid doing something I was told I'd be doing, instead of asked whether or not I wanted to?"

"Yes!" Carolyn fumed.

Face like a thundercloud, Jim retorted, "You know I don't lie, Carolyn. You know I have no tolerance for liars. Even as pissed as I was --am-- about being ordered to to your parents' house for Thanksgiving would not get me to pull a juvenile stunt like this. Don't you care that I was stranded without money and that I'm a bit worse for wear? No, of course you don't, because you think I'm lying. My God, I don't believe you!"

"I don't think you're lying, Jim. I know you're lying. You didn't want to go to my parents' house; instead you wanted to spend the time with your little--" She looked Sandburg up and down derisively "--boy toy."

That did it.

"My WHAT??!!"

"I'm WHAT??"

Jim and Blair exchanged incredulous glances and then they both looked hard at Carolyn.

"What exactly are you trying to say here, Carolyn?" Jim asked gruffly.

She sneered at her husband. "I think you know exactly what I'm talking about, dear. It took you two days to get back to Cascade because you were 'traveling' with your, um, friend here. When you could have been home yesterday if you had simply stayed at the airport in Wichita. Yes, it's becoming crystal clear who you wanted to spend the holiday with, and it wasn't me!"

"Let me get this straight--"

"Right," Carolyn interrupted rudely.

Jim growled in frustration, then tried again. "Let me make this clear: I'm married to you, you're my wife. I took a vow of faithfulness, and you're accusing me of fucking around behind your back?! With another man?!"

"Yeah, pretty much," she agreed.

Blair took one look at Jim's red face and glittering ice blue eyes, and murmured, "Geez, man, don't blow an artery!"

Carolyn, because she was standing so close, heard the murmur and turned to face the younger man. "And you're the -- the -- the ... whatever you are that stayed with my husband?"

Sandburg blinked, then frowned. "I'm an anthropologist," he said indignantly, "not a 'whatever'."

"Oh, is that what they're calling people like you these days?" she sniped.

"Don't go there, Carolyn," Jim warned in a hard, cold voice.

"Shut up, Jim. You can't tell me what to do!" she shouted.

"But you can tell me? How is that fair?" he yelled back.

"More fair than you cheating on me with this ... this stray you've dragged home! How much money did you spend on him, anyway?! Was he worth it?" she asked savagely.

"Yes," Jim replied quietly. "Because I was not cheating on you with him. I would not do that. But he helped me get home to you because that's what I said I needed to do. He's become a good friend, Carolyn, and I trust him. I resent the rudeness you're displaying by accusing him of being a whore and a stray."

"Well, if the shoe fits...!"

Man, what a bitch,? Blair thought quietly.

Jim sighed roughly and shook his head. He glared at Carolyn and said, "I know we've been having problems, and we agreed we were going to try and work to save our marriage. However, trying to save our marriage would require the cooperation of both of us, and it's plain to see that's something you don't want to give."

Her eyes went wide with shock, filling with wounded hurt. "What do you mean, Jim?" she demanded, her voice quavering.

"What I mean is, if we were working on a cooperative effort here, there is no way you would have told me we were going to your parents' house; you would have asked. But, no. You arbitrarily decided we were going and told me I would, that it was my turn to 'compromise'. Doesn't strike me as cooperation, Carolyn. What, exactly, have you compromised on for me?"

Her mouth gaped like a fish as she stuttered, "I -- I -- But, I..."

He shook his head again. "You have never compromised, lady. It's always been me bending over backwards, meeting your demands, trying to make you happy. Well, those days are well and truly done. I've had enough. Don't let the door hit your ass on the way out."

Her face went bone white, then flushed an ugly red color. "Well, guess it's a good thing I already had my bags packed, then, isn't it?" she snarled.

"Guess so," he agreed quietly. "You wanted to go to your parents' home so badly, Carolyn, well ... have a nice trip. Say 'hi' to them for me."

She sucked in her breath in a sharp gasp, her face paling again. Shooting a furious look at Blair and then her soon-to-be ex-husband, she whirled around and stomped upstairs. She slammed around for a few minutes, then came downstairs with two bulging suitcases, struggling awkwardly with them.

Jim didn't make a move to help her.

Blair stepped forward with a bright smile. "Need a hand?"

"No, I don't need a hand, you -- you -- you fucking boy-toy!" she shrieked at him.

Immediately, Jim was there, standing between the two of them. He didn't say anything, merely glowered at her warningly and jerked his head towards the door.

Getting the hint, she stomped over to the front door and plunked down her suitcases. She snatched up her coat and scarf, putting them on quickly, and then grabbed up her keys. She opened the door, bent to retrieve her suitcases, and was ready to step out when Jim called out to her.

"Before you go, Carolyn, I'd like the keys to the loft that you have, please. It would save me the trouble of having them made for my boy-toy, as you so eloquently call him."

Blair was certain that his jaw hit the floor at Mach One. That just left a hell of a dent on these hardwood floors, he thought inanely.

Sputtering in her rage, Carolyn set down her bags and yanked frenziedly at the keys on her keyring. When they were off, she threw them violently at Blair, who raised his arms to shield himself from the projectiles.

"Fine!" she screamed. "Here they are! I hope you're both fucking happy together!"

She grabbed up her suitcases and stepped out into the hallway.

"Your lawyer; my lawyer, Carolyn," Jim said.

"I'll be ready after the holiday," she spat.

"Fine."

Whirling, she stormed off down the hallway to the elevator.

"Toodles," Blair said quietly, waggling his fingers in a skimpy "goodbye" wave.

Jim quietly walked over and shut the door in the wake of her departure.

The loft was totally silent as they looked at one another for a long moment. Then they both spoke.

"I'm sorry," they said at the same time.

They grinned and Blair gestured at him. "Uh ... you first, man. Your home and all."

Ellison huffed out a breath and lifted a hand to scratch ruefully at his hair. "Um, sorry about that display of temper there, Chief. Sorry for Carolyn's rudeness. She ... well, she's not used to anyone saying 'no' and especially not used to anyone telling her she's wrong. She took it out on you. I'm sorry for that. Your turn."

Sandburg blushed and looked down at the floor as he muttered, "Sorry for ruining your marriage, man. I didn't mean to, I swear! I just ... people have that reaction to me...."

Jim walked forward and firmly gripped Blair's shoulders, giving him a tiny shake. "Chief, look at me."

When he had, Jim smiled at the younger man. "Blair, it's not your fault, not really. Carolyn and I have been having problems for a while, now. You were the handy excuse she used to bring it all to a boil. I know the truth, so don't worry about it."

"I'm going to for a little while, Jim. I'm Jewish, remember? We do guilt, man, and we do it big," Blair chuckled.

"Yeah, I can understand that. Listen, as my new roommate, I'll be nice to you and let you have first dibs on the shower--" Jim began, but Blair shook his head, cutting him off.

"No way, man. That's a courtesy offered to guests, not roommates. By now, your skin must be itching--" and suddenly, his voice broke off as it sunk in.

Roommate.

Not guest.

Roommate.

Eyes widening in surprise, Blair looked up at his friend and whispered, "Roommate?"

Jim smiled and nodded. "Uh-huh."

"For how long?"

Now Jim frowned. "What do you mean?"

"What do you mean, 'what do you mean'? I mean, how long do I have until I have to find another place to stay? A week? A week is cool. I swear, man, a week and then I'll get out of your hair. I'm sure the university will have another trip or something lined up and waiting for me--"

Jim clamped his hand over the younger man's mouth and halted the flow of words. "Chief ... I thought you understood. I'm providing you with a home, here. There's no time limit."

"Not ... not even when I get on your nerves?" Sandburg asked hesitantly when Jim took his hand away.

The older man frowned and shook his head. "Not even then. Blair ... when I asked you to come home with me, I didn't intend for it to be a temporary thing. Or, if you wanted to find another place to live, I'd have let you stay until you had enough saved up for a nice apartment somewhere. But I would really, really like it if you stayed."

"Why? So I can be your 'boy-toy'?" Blair asked, his grin mischievous and shy at the same time.

Ellison smiled back and gently lay his palm along the side of Blair's face. "Yeah. Something like that. But ... but not until the divorce is final, okay? Blair, I'll be honest with you. I like you a lot, really I do. I think ... hell, I think I could easily fall in love with you. But I'm still married and until a judge and a piece of paper declares that I'm not...."

"I understand," Blair said quietly. He reached up and gently stroked the back of Jim's hand and then grinned. "So, man, where do I stash my stuff and where do I sleep?"

Jim laughed and took his friend's hand and led him to a tiny room under the stairs that was currently a storage room....

****

EPILOGUE

Blair Sandburg blasted through the front door of the loft at a high rate of speed, his backpack over one shoulder.

"Jim! Hey, man!" he called out, slamming the door shut behind him.

"Hey, Chief," Jim called back distractedly from where he sat at the kitchen table.

"Whatcha got there, big guy?" the younger man asked, hanging up his backpack and tossing his keys into the basket by the door.

Turning, Jim smiled at his friend, roommate, partner and held up a sheaf of papers. "They came."

"They? What are th--oh."

"Yeah. 'Oh.' I'm about to be a free man, Sandburg."

"No, you're not. Unless ... you've changed your mind?"

Jim heard the hesitancy in Blair's voice and he snagged his friend around the waist, pulling him closer, looking up into unsure blue eyes.

"Blair, no, I haven't changed my mind. I promise, once I sign off on this, I'm free and clear to let you own me," he said softly.

"Not 'own'," Sandburg replied, just as softly, with a smile. "More like a 'trade', since I'll be trading your heart for mine."

"Nah, 'trade' sounds so ... I dunno, crass, somehow."

"Sharing?"

A luminous smile lit Jim's face. "Yep. Sharing. That sounds just right."

Blair laughed. "Well, then, big guy. Sign off on that sucker and let's get on with our life, what do you say?"

Jim chuckled huskily and gave his friend a quick squeeze around his waist, then let him go. "Sure. But ... I'd like a few minutes alone with this, if you don't mind? It's really not very easy for me. I did love her at one time and we used to be friends...."

"I don't mind at all," Blair replied softly. He bent and pressed a quick kiss to the top of Jim's head and said, "I'll go start dinner. Baked chicken and salad okay with you?"

"Fine, Chief. Thanks."

Blair nodded and headed into the kitchen to begin dinner, leaving Jim alone as he'd requested.

Ellison watched him for a while as he thought about the changes the last six months had brought to both their lives. After Thanksgiving, he and Carolyn had met with their lawyers and filed for divorce. She had, at first, tried to accuse him of adultery, but he had quickly shot that idea down in flames by citing that she had no proof of it and that he would never do such a thing because he took his marriage vows seriously. He had then had a long, private talk with her and she had finally agreed that they were simply not suited for each other, and she had changed it to a "No Fault" divorce claim, which had greased the wheels of the divorce court and allowed them to gain their legal separation that much faster.

In the meantime, several other things had happened. While Blair had been talking to Rainier, stating that he had acquired a home and family, of sorts, and that he wanted to stay and teach for a while, Jim had gone camping as he had planned. He had invited the younger man, but Blair had said that while he was flattered to be asked, it was not a good idea for three reasons, those reasons being: it was cold, he needed to get his full-time teacher application into Rainer right away, and if he were stuck in a tent with Jim, alone, for God knew how long, he'd probably have jumped him. So, regretfully, Jim had gone camping alone.

And his Sentinel abilities had come fully on-line.

It had been an agonizing drive back for him when three days of solitude suddenly caused the massive sensory spike. He had made his way into the loft on sheer willpower, shut and locked the door, and then had collapsed onto the couch, where he had promptly zoned on a drop of water on the balcony windows through which sunlight was being refracted. This was how Blair had found him when he'd come home and had been sort of expecting it. After an intial moment of panicking, he had thought long and hard and then figured that if he stimulated Jim's senses -- talking, touching, giving him something to smell -- well, then, one of those things had to work. They had and Jim had come out of it, shaking, sweating, and scared, but Blair had held him, comforted him, talked him through it, and soon they had begun working on testing his senses, finding his limits, figuring out how to control them as they went along.

Then had come the sobering realization that Jim needed Blair with him to watch out for the zone- outs and to keep him safe if a sensory spike hit. They had talked privately with Simon, given him proof of Jim's senses, and once Simon had bought it, he'd come up with some song and dance that justified him hiring a consultant to the department, who would be partnered with Jim as his ride along while working.

The partnership had worked well from the beginning and Jim's case closure rate sky-rocketed. Already one of the best closure rates in the Major Crime department -- Jim was a highly intelligent man and his mind worked quite cunningly at solving puzzles and problems -- once Blair added his brains to the team, things really went on a roll. Jim felt vaguely jealous sometimes, but he was smart enough and man enough to realize that having a brainy partner to work with his own talented brains was a huge help. Not to mention it cut down on the amount of time they spent working on a case, leaving them personal time to spend together.

Not that they did anything sexual together. Maybe a couple of chaste kisses here and there, a hug, a cuddle, but nothing overtly sexual. Although Jim had had more than a few solo workouts with Blair as the star in his fantasies, he had kept his word and not touched the younger man as a lover and wouldn't until he'd inked his signature onto the documents that were sitting on the table before him.

He sighed as he considered them. Life with Carolyn had been good for a little while, but she had demanded too much from him and while some of the things she'd wanted he could agree with, some of them he couldn't give, or hadn't wanted to. It had become glaringly obvious in the last six months that Carolyn simply wasn't the one who completed him; wasn't the one he wanted beyond all else; wasn't the one he wanted to spend his life with.

That person was Blair.

There had been a few touch and go moments between the two of them as they had dated other people while waiting for Jim's divorce to go through. Blair had insisted on it; had stated that he wanted Jim to know if he really wanted Blair or if he wanted to sample the buffet that life had to offer first and find something better. There had been a few women who had gotten to him, a couple of men, but none of them gripped his heart the way Blair did. He didn't react to them the way he did to Blair. The bad memory of Jane Cunningham, a.k.a Laura McCarthy, was just that: a bad memory. Likewise were Christine Hong, Maya Carasco and Beverly Sanchez. And David Lash. And Garrett Kincaid. And the three fellow professors from Rainier and the two men whom Jim knew, one from the precinct, one from the gym he went to on occasion.

These people were merely brief flashes in his and Blair's existence. Here today, gone tomorrow, and still, they were together. Dates were just dates, pheromone-induced lust was dealt with, and apologies were given, accepted, and explained as unnecessary.

Yeah, through it all, I've still got Blair. Thank God for the day he walked into my life, annoying tendencies and all! Jim thought with a chuckle, and he pulled the papers closer to him.

Where the "X" marked the spot, he signed his name neatly, clearly, and with a slight flourish until, finally, every last page was marked and he was officially a free man.

He took a moment to look it over and then he got to his feet, stretching powerfully, and sighed contentedly as he felt his bones crack and settle.

Walking over to the kitchen, Jim stepped up behind Blair and paused, letting the other man know he was there with his body heat.

"All done?" Blair asked quietly as he rinsed off the lettuce for their salad.

"Mm-hmm," Jim replied, and wound his arms around Blair's waist, hooking his chin over the shorter man's shoulder. "All done. Free as a bird, Chief. Wanna cage me?"

"Hell, no," Sandburg retorted. "That would be criminal. But I'll fly with you, if you want."

"I want," Jim whispered. "I want very much."

"Okay," Blair whispered back. "The chicken's almost done, so we can eat soon and then--"

"No." The Sentinel's voice was implacable. "Now."

"Now?"

"Now."

And then Jim proved it. He stepped back quickly, turned Blair to face him, and slid his hands up to cup Blair's face, his palms molding to the strong jaw, his fingers cupping the surprisingly soft ears, sinking into the thick, luxurious hair. He held Blair like that and then leaned down and gently touched his lips to his friend, his partner ... his mate. He touched his lips to Blair's and softly kissed the younger man, a slow, sweet, introductory kiss.

A hard shiver swept through Blair, vibrating against Jim's sensitive lips, and then suddenly Blair's arms were wrapped around his neck and he was being yanked down harder against Blair's suddenly open, hot, and wet mouth.

They kissed hungrily, languidly, and everywhere in between for long, long moments before they pulled back with a harsh gasp, sucking air into starving lungs.

Jim grinned down at his lover, his friend, and received a grin in return. He took a deep breath, inhaling the scent that signaled "Blair" to him, and then grimaced. "Chicken, Chief. Pronto-like."

"Whoops." Coloring slightly, Blair hurriedly extricated himself from Jim's arms and turned, grabbing up the potholders. He quickly took the chicken out of the oven, shut the door, and then placed it on the stove top. "There. It can sit for a while."

"Fine. So what do you -- oomph!"

Jim found his arms and mouth full of Blair again.

He wasn't complaining.

"Bed," he whispered. "Upstairs, please."

"Why upstairs? What's wrong with downstairs?" Blair countered.

"Want room to spread you out, look at you, memorize you..."

Blair grinned. "Sounds like a plan. Upstairs. For a long time."

"Long time?"

"Yup. Unless you have other plans...?"

"Hell, no. Your plans are paralleling mine."

"Great minds and all that frog jazz."

"Frog jazz?"

"Jim. Shut up and take me upstairs so I can make love to you."

Ellison shivered. "You make love to me? What if I want to make love to you?"

"I'm flexible. I'm pretty sure you are, too. We can do both. But I want ... I want you, first."

"I'm good with that," Jim breathed. "I'm so good with that...."

Blair grinned happily and nodded his head towards the stairs. "Let's go, then."

Taking his hand, Jim led the way.

Moments later, they lounged together on the big bed, most of their clothing stripped off. Blair lay on his back, Jim lay propped up on his elbow beside him, the two of them looking their fill.

Reaching out, Jim ran his hand through the soft hair over Blair's chest, fingertips absently flicking over hardened nipples, toying with the gleaming gold ring that rested in one of the nubs. He smiled at the soft gasp, the arch and shiver, that resulted. "You're wonderful," he said. "So sexy."

"Me? Man, you're kidding," Blair replied with a genuine smile. "You're fucking gorgeous, you know? There's ... I can't choose a favorite piece of you, you know? Every part of you is touchabe, strokable, kissable, lickable. And that's just your body. The rest of you ... priceless, Jim. There's nothing that can compare to you, you know?"

Jim blushed and shook his head. "I don't see it, Chief, but I'll let you get away with it for now, since I seem to make you happy."

"You do," said Blair earnestly, tilting his head to stare into Jim's eyes. "You really do, Jim."

The older man smiled easily. "Thank you, Blair. You don't know how much it means to hear you say that."

"I'm glad it does mean a lot, but I'm only telling you how I feel. I'm telling you the truth."

"I know. That's why it means so much. Why you mean so much to me. I love you, Blair," Jim said softly.

"I love you, too," the younger man replied in a whisper, his eyes shining.

Jim felt as though his heart was going to burst out of his chest as he grinned. Then he laughed, unable to contain his happiness.

Blair grinned, subconsciously understanding why Jim laughed, because he felt the same way.

And then he felt a whole lot more when Jim's eyes abruptly lit with an inner fire and the man stared at him hard before swooping down and latching his mouth onto the pierced nipple.

Crying out, the younger man arched, his hands grabbing Jim's head and holding him in place, his fingers kneading the soft, short hair that covered his mate's scalp. "Jim!"

The only answer was a rumbling purr as Jim licked and suckled, then took hold of the ring with his teeth and tugged gently.

Blair exploded into motion, arching up and pushing Jim away. When Jim fell backwards onto his back and blinked up at him, startled, Blair grinned wolfishly and then dived down and began feasting his way across that gorgeous body.

Pecs were stroked and the washboard abs were teased. Nipples were nipped and nibbled into hard pebbles and shaking fingers caressed everything else. Then Blair scooted backwards and yanked off Jim's jeans and boxers and socks, leaving the older man naked.

"You, too--" Jim gasped, and then chuckled huskily when his partner's clothing was gone in the blink of an eye.

They gazed at each other, taking in the view of furry body and glorious, hairless skin, both of them eyeing each other's thick, red, weeping cocks appreciatively, for while dicks weren't much to look at, the size of both of them promised a lot of hot pleasure.

Jim reached for Blair and the younger man went to him, flowing up over him until they were melded together, mouths crushed against one another, bodies following suit.

Hot, hungry kisses were exchanged as flesh was groped, fondled, caressed, and enjoyed. Gasps and small cries and deep moans of pleasure filled the air as they tumbled over and around one another, jockeying for position.

Jim, shuddering from near overload on his senses, pushed Blair flat on his back and grinned, then bent and took Blair's cock into his mouth.

"Oh! Oh, God, Jim!" Sandburg gasped hoarsely.

"Nah ... just 'Jim'," the older man sassed after pulling off, then went down again.

Blair was certain he was going out of his mind. The heat, the wetness ... the incredible *suction* and that agile, clever tongue ... oh, man!

"Jimmmm..." he moaned low in his throat, and lifted his head so he could look down into blue eyes that were looking up even as Jim continued to suck him. "Turn around. Let me eat you. Please."

Hot, violent lust flared in those blue eyes and then Jim was twisting, flowing around so that his knees straddled either side of Blair's chest, all without removing his mouth from the younger man's cock.

Eagerly, Blair reached up and took hold of Jim's hips, tugging the other man back a bit, and when Jim was positioned just right, he grasped Jim's cheeks and gently tugged them apart, leaned up, and began licking Jim's hole gently.

A hard shudder rippled through the older man and his hips canted back at Blair, even as a luscious groan trembled in Jim's throat, doing wonderful things to Blair's cock. Sandburg moaned softly, then leaned in again, licking and nipping gently, then harder as Jim relaxed and loosened up.

Shivering, Jim whimpered and let Blair's cock slip from his mouth, his head lolling on one hairy thigh. "Oh, yeah," he choked out, his hips bucking backwards slowly, rhythmically, in time to that slick, flexible tongue's movements. "Oh, yeah, Blair ... oh, please, eat me, it feels so good, love it, love it, want it, please, slick me up, open me, want you in there, please, please, please...."

Blair gave a mewling, hungry noise as he drove his tongue into Jim, flexing and wriggling, caressing....

Only a few moments later, however, Jim writhed away from his mouth, twisting and falling to the side. Blair sat up, concerned, and watched as Jim stretched over to the bedside table and yanked it open, rooting through it frantically, then came back up holding a tube of lube.

He noticed the lack of a condom and grinned. It would have been pointless, anyway, since Jim had had his dick in his mouth, but that was okay. The two of them had been tested three months ago and their tests had come back negative. It was something they had always done, regularly gotten checked out, so that was no big deal. And with the results of the tests being what they were, and the fact that they had fallen in love with each other, both had agreed to no condoms.

He sat up and reached for the lube, but Jim batted his hands away and pushed him back down. Grinning, Jim opened the tube and squeezed some into his fist and then leaned down, taking his time as he coated Blair's erection with the slick gel, reducing Blair to helpless, quivering moans as Jim fisted him first slowly and gently, then fast and hard, then slow and hard, then fast and gently.

"Jim!" he yelped when he felt his orgasm drawing his balls up, and the hand went away immediately.

Anxious to be taken and filled, wanting this so much after months without, Jim straddled his lover and reached back, slicking up his entrance and carefully stretching himself. Not that he didn't trust Blair to do it correctly; he knew his mate would, fearful of injuring his Sentinel. But Jim wanted Blair now and he wasn't about to wait. He knew how far and how fast he could stretch himself.

When he was ready, he tossed the tube away, reached back and down to grip Blair's cock and guide him to his hole, and then pressed down.

Both men cried out at the joining of their flesh as Blair slid inside with a soft jolt.

Pausing, Jim breathed deeply, slowly, eyes closed as he fought to acclimatize his body to the sensation. Then, he felt Blair's fingers slide up from his lower belly, tracing over his abdomen and up to his chest, where he began toying with Jim's very sensitive nipples.

Gasping, Jim arched and he slid the rest of the way down until Blair was seated firmly to the hilt inside him. He shuddered, his internal muscles tightening and fluttering around the thick cock nestled inside his ass, and moaned softly at the extreme pleasure.

"Jim?"

Opening his eyes, he looked down at the man beneath him. Blair's eyes were wide and dazed and darkened with lust, but there as no mistaking the love and concern in his expression. Smiling, he clenched his ass tightly around Blair's dick and laughed when the younger man involuntarily arched up, thrusting up into his body as he cried out.

"I'm fine, baby," he replied, his voice dropping into a low, husky growl. "I'm fine. God, Blair, you feel so good, baby. Feel so good inside me...."

Unable to wait any longer, he began riding. He started slowly, getting accustomed to it, and then he increased his pace until he was moving hard and fast, Blair arching up and grinding into him from below. He braced himself by pressing his hands onto Blair's chest and teasing the nipples he found hidden in the soft chest hair, and laughed delightedly when tweaking the pierced nipple resulted in a wild, gyrating thrust from his lover.

Blair looked up at the man above him; the man he was buried balls deep inside of, the man who was laughing due to his almost overwhelming joy in the moment, and he felt something snap inside him.

Bucking up, he grabbed Jim and twisted, deftly rolling to the side and then over so that Jim lay on his back beneath him, staring up wildly at him as he hovered over the larger man.

"So good," he whispered hoarsely as he drew back, then plunged in deep. "So good. You take it up the ass so nicely, Jim. Do you like it, baby? Does it feel good to you?"

"You know it does," the Sentinel hissed back, pleasure straining his features, and he reached down to grab the back of his knees and pulled, bringing his legs up and back so Blair could reach him easier. "Love feeling you slamming into me, love feeling you mark me as yours, Blair, please do it, please mark me--"

Crying out, Blair thrust in hard, then leaned down and latched onto the curve of Jim's neck where it met his shoulders and sucked hard even as he bit down, creating a deep, dark bruise that let the older man know, without question, whom he belonged to. A moment later, he moved lower and placed a deep, sucking kiss to the skin over Jim's heart, creating a secondary reminder. It wasn't necessary, but Jim appreciated it all the same.

He appreciated it even more as Blair began riding him hard, thrusting in and out in a fierce, firm rhythm even as he used his lips and tongue and teeth to tease his sensitive nipples. Howling, Jim thrashed and bucked and rolled his hips, babbling as he begged for more, that he'd be good, so good, just please, give him more....

Excitement and lust gathered into a pulsing ball of pleasure in the pit of his stomach and Jim shuddered hard. God, it was delicious! Being fucked, making love, the heat and intensity of it, the pleasure of being with another person, especially someone he loved more than life ... it made him so hungry and all he could do was go along for the ride, shuddering and shaking as electrical ecstasy lit him up from balls to the back of his head.

Blair wasn't much better off. Jim was so hot, so tight, his channel slicked just perfectly with lube and Blair's own pre-come that everything was just so perfect, and he couldn't stop moving if someone had a gun to his head. He had to fuck, had to love, had to give Jim everything and take all that Jim could give, because he wanted Jim and everything that was Jim, in the worst way. He wanted to be part of Jim, to never let Jim go, to never be let go himself....

Gasping, he abruptly left Jim's nipples and caught his lover's head, holding it still as he sealed his mouth to the other man's and plunged in, tongue-fucking that glorious mouth as eagerly as he was fucking Jim's body.

When oxygen deprivation became a serious concern, he tore his mouth away and they both gasped in air and then Blair tucked his face down beside Jim's and he breathed into one of the sentinel's ears, "I love you. I love you. I love you."

He said this over and over again with each pounding thrust he made, his own body beginning to shudder.

"I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you, Jim. I love you, Jim! I love you! Jim! I love you! I love you, Jim!"

"BLAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIRRRRRR!!!"

The ear-shattering howl was torn from Jim's throat as his body seized, arching up. He grabbed Blair's hips and yanked him in hard as his untouched cock pulsed and shot come wildly between them. Unbelievable ecstasy raced along his nerves and slammed up into his brain, sizzling white and hot and drowning him and he did not want to be saved from it.

A wordless, sobbing cry was expelled from Blair's mouth as his own orgasm caught him, took hold, and shook him hard. His hips snapped in a sequence of frenzied thrusts as he emptied himself long and hard into Jim's body, his mind hazing from the pleasure that engulfed him from the tip of his toes to the top of his head and everywhere in between.

They collapsed together, gasping, shivering ... holding each other.

Long, long moments later, when their breathing had calmed and their bodies had cooled, Blair lifted his head.

Looking into sated, sleepy blue eyes that looked back at him with such love, Blair smiled and said softly, "I love flying with you."

Understanding what his mate was saying, Jim grinned back and laughed before hugging the younger man tightly. Then he said, "I love flying with you, too, Chief."

Grinning, they cleaned up with the handi-wipes Jim had stashed in the bedside table and then snuggled under the covers, curling up in each other's arms and dropping into a deep, contented sleep.

The End

Thank you to Blue Tattoo for her artwork, Elegy for her artwork and to Patt for the cover. Mary, thank you babe for the beta.

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