HEART AND HOME

(c) March 2004 by Charlotte Frost

 

PART TWO

Having put away the dusting supplies, Blair stood at the entrance to his office - which had once been the family room of their new home - and felt a strong sense of satisfaction. The office had a beautiful, sprawling mahogany desk that fit the room well. Tall, oak bookcases lined the walls. In the center of the room was a large worktable where he could spread out his work papers and seminar packets. In one corner was another desk with a computer, which would be for his new secretary. He had three interviews scheduled - two today and one tomorrow - and the first candidate would be arriving at any time.

The closing on the house had taken place in late October. They hadn't moved in until Blair had taken an extended leave the week of Thanksgiving. In the meantime, he and Jim had shopped for furniture. They'd moved Jim's bed, but otherwise they left a lot of their old furniture at the loft, anticipating Daryl and Sheila's moving in after their wedding on New Year's Eve. Daryl would have graduated then and he was looking to apply to precincts other than where Simon worked, in the need to establish some independence. He and his new wife would be strapped for cash for a while, so Jim and Blair both were glad to give them use of the furniture and only ask for rent equal to the relatively low mortgage payment, rather than a higher amount more in line with the current economy.

Now it was early December and Blair was grateful for the leave he'd taken. Since criminals didn't slow down for the holidays and Jim was plenty busy, it was left to Blair to be at home to meet delivery men with new furniture, or various workmen to fix a leaking faucet here or build a shelf there. Since he was so involved, Blair was able to feel the house was truly his as much as Jim's - something he'd never been able to feel while living at the loft; for, despite calling the loft home, he'd always thought of it as "Jim's place".

He had also calmed down about the financial end. Once he'd let Jim and Phillip Takei show him where all the money was going - and a fair amount was already being packed away into savings and various investments - Blair was able to drop the feeling that he was on a runaway train to nowhere. The only depressing moment - for him and Jim both - had been when Takei told him the amount he needed to pay the United States Treasury immediately, in order to catch up on his estimated tax payments. Having to give that much of one's income to Uncle Sam seemed downright criminal.

That tax payment had, in turn, led to Takei explaining why Blair needed to incorporate as a Sub-S and pay himself a regular salary. Taxes could be taken out of each pay period, so he wouldn't be hit with such a huge burden all at once. So, starting with 2002, Blair would be performing his services under the name of Blair Sandburg Consulting, Inc. 
 
Beyond his basic understanding of what was going on with their finances, he was still satisfied to leave the bulk of the responsibility in Jim and Takei's hands. He was much happier focusing on the cases the PD assigned him, preparing for next season's round of seminars, and concentrating on co-writing a series of books for the seminar company.

It was so ironic that, this time last year, he had turned down a regular job with a $92,000 annual salary, in deference to spending time at the PD with Jim, and getting paid for the odd case here or there when he was called in as a consultant. As it turned out, he'd already earned a hundred grand this year, and he was spending hardly any time with Jim. The latter wasn't an ideal situation, but he had somehow come back around to living a life closer to what he had always imagined. And he still had Jim, even if they weren't working together as much as he would have wished.

The one drawback to their financial situation - and perhaps he was merely imagining it - was that Blair was starting to detect an undercurrent of resentment from his former colleagues at the PD. It was now common knowledge that they had moved into an upper-middle-class neighborhood. Obviously, some had figured out that, since Jim could only get paid what the union scale allowed for his rank, position, and seniority, Blair must be raking in some big bucks from the PD, as well as having the seminars as a financial supplement. And he wasn't even a cop. Hadn't gone to the academy. Hadn't worked his way up through the ranks.

Blair could understand their feeling that way. He just didn't know what he could do about it. But those subtle feelings only served to make him all the more okay with the fact that he didn't have much reason to hang out in Major Crimes. When he was handed a case as a consultant, his first stop was usually Records, and sometimes he found it useful to head to Rainier's library, if there was something about the case where research outside the parameters of crime could be helpful.

What Blair did hope, now that their new home was set up the way they wanted, was that he could spend less time traveling. He liked the thought of working mainly from his elaborate home office. He liked giving Jim a full-course dinner to come home to, when he had the time to fix one. Unfortunately, today wasn't going to be one of those days. His first interview for a secretary was at two and the second one was at four. He wouldn't have time to put together a decent meal.

The doorbell rang and Blair went to answer it.

---

Jim came home before four.

"What are you doing here?" Blair asked, after greeting him with a kiss.

"Simon let me leave, since I got called in so early."

Blair's expression said Oh, yeah, obviously remembering that the phone had awakened them at a rude hour.

"Got the perp booked and the paperwork all handled." Jim moved to the refrigerator, then decided it was too early for a beer. He settled for a bottled water. "Want to go out for an early dinner?"

"I can't. I have another interview at four."

"Maybe afterwards then. How did the first interview go?"

Blair waved a hand. "Wasn't really what I had in mind. She's too young, too unsure of herself. A really nice personality, but I think I'd have to babysit her along. This next one has a resume with a lot of background as an administrative assistant. In fact, I'm worried that the position may not be challenging enough for her."

"On the other hand," Jim said, "she might appreciate a less stressful environment, especially if she's getting along in years."

"Yeah, maybe."

As Jim straightened to sip his water, his eye caught something in the aquarium in the living room. "Hey, Chief, I think we have another floater."

"Ah, man," Blair said, heading toward the fish tank.

Moving the aquarium had been an elaborate event, but they'd finally managed it. At first, it looked as though most of the fish had survived the stress, but they were now losing one or two almost daily. At some point, they were going to have to re-stock.

The doorbell rang. Since Blair had a net in the water, Jim said, "I'll get it."

He went to the door and opened it. Standing there was a tall woman with short black hair, a beak-like nose, and a tight, prissy mouth. She wore a dress and carried her purse on her arm in a way that reminded Jim of an old movie. She looked to be in her forties, but his senses could tell that she dyed her hair and he suspected that she was more likely in her fifties.

"Doctor Sandburg?" she greeted in a no-nonsense voice, holding out her hand.

"Uh, actually, I'm Jim, Doctor Sandburg's partner."  The formal name sounded very strange on Jim's tongue. He knew, at least, that Blair had already told all the potential candidates that he was in a permanent homosexual relationship, and if that bothered them they had nothing further to talk about.

"Janet Wilkerson," she said stoically. "Nice to meet you." Her tight mouth curved into a semblance of a smile.

Jim shook her cold hand. "Nice to meet you, too."  He opened the door wider and stood aside. "Please, come in. Blair - Doctor Sandburg - will be right with you." When she was in the foyer, he said, "Would you care for anything to drink?"

"No, thank you, I'm fine."

He put his hand near her back without touching her and gestured toward Blair's office. "Why don't you have a seat in front of the desk there? It'll be just a moment."

"Thank you."

Jim came into the kitchen where Blair was drying his hands.

"She in the office?" Blair asked.

"Uh-huh."  Since Jim knew Blair could sometimes hear what was happening in the kitchen from his office, he made a face with an eye-rolling gesture to indicate that Blair had his hands full with this interviewee.

Blair punched him lightly on the arm and moved off.

"Janet?" Jim heard him greet.

"Doctor Sandburg."

"Please, call me Blair."

"I prefer to call you Doctor Sandburg, since it is your appropriate title."

"Uh... okay. Would you like me to call you Ms. Wilkerson? Or Mrs...?"  Jim could hear the nervousness in Blair's voice.

"I believe Janet would be appropriate for my position."

Jim stepped out onto the back patio. He was enjoying the woman's forwardness and Blair's nervousness a little too much. From the patio he could still listen with his dialed up hearing, but they couldn't hear him snicker.

"All right then, Janet. Let me start. I see you met my partner, Jim Ellison. As I told you on the phone, we live here as a couple."

"That's none of my business, Doctor."

"Well, yes, but this work environment is rather informal. This is our house. We do live here. And while the area you have access to will be restricted to this office, the kitchen, the guest bathroom, and the hallway leading to those areas, I would hope that you could feel at ease working here. I'll probably be wearing jeans most of the time and you would be welcome to dress however you're most comfortable."  Pause. "Any questions, so far?"

"No, sir."

"Okay. Well, then, let me tell you a little more about what I do."

Jim listened to Blair give a spiel about the current projects he was working on, and how he hoped to shift more of his future responsibilities to publishing and his police consulting and less to the seminars. Then he said, "I see from your resume that you have worked in payroll before?"

"That is correct, sir."

"Uh, well, if you're interested, then perhaps you can handle processing a monthly salary check for me."  Nervous laugh. "My financial advisor told me I have to start paying myself. Tell you the truth, it feels sort of strange, but...."

"I assure you it won't be a problem."

Blair drew breath. "Good. Good. Uh, obviously, any financial information connected with this job is strictly confidential. For that matter, so is any work involving cases with the police department."

"I'm accustomed to high levels of confidentiality."

"Uh, yes, I see that from your resume. But please note," Jim could hear the effort Blair was making to stay friendly in light of Janet's brusque replies, "that if my partner, Jim, ever asks you about anything concerning this office or your job, he is to be told whatever information he wants. Nothing here is secret from him."

"I understand."

"Okay. Uhh... is there anything you would like to tell me about yourself? I'm restricted by law from asking questions that could be considered personal in nature."

"I would very much like this position, Doctor Sandburg."

"Well... okay, I guess that's pretty forthright. But let's forget your resume for a moment. What qualities do you possess that you think are reasons why I should hire you?"

"I'm highly experienced in accounting through the preparation of financial statements, including payroll. My first job was with a travel agency, so when scheduling flights, I know how to find the best prices.  I'm organized, efficient and punctual. I behave professionally at all times. When I don't understand something, I ask. On the rare occasions when I make an error, I admit to it. I'm dependable and responsible."

"And if I call your references, they will verify everything you've said?"

"Yes, they will."

"Okay. Um, the only real concern I have at the moment, Janet, is that, as you say, you're a very professional person. Very formal. But I'm a very informal kind of guy. I don't like tension or pressure. I'm not real big on telling other people what to do."

"I'm a self-starter, Doctor Sandburg."

"That's good, that's good. I'm just a little concerned that I've never had an employee before, so you might find me a bit unusual to work for."  His voice carried humor. "If I hire you, you might have to teach me how to be a good boss."  Jim could imagine Blair's smile.

"I'm sure I can do that, sir."

"Is there anything you would like to ask me about the position?" Blair seemed anxious for her to show some life beyond simply answering his questions.

"Yes. The job description calls for me to process invoices, including getting you reimbursed for expenses."

"That's right."

"How do you organize your receipts, so that I know which receipt goes with which job?"

Blair laughed nervously. "Uh, actually, that's been a bad habit of mine. I tend to tuck receipts away, and then once I realize I'm behind on invoicing for reimbursement, I take them out and sort them into piles according to which case or seminar they're for."  Amused snort. "At least, as best I can remember."

"I can't do my job unless you provide me with the information necessary to do it well."

"Uh... yeah, I realize that. You can probably give me some ideas on how I can be better organized for that."

"I'm sure I can."

"Yeah, uh, you can probably give me some helpful ideas for a lot of things. This is all pretty new to me."

"I would be glad to help, Doctor Sandburg."  Despite the formal answer, Jim could hear the eagerness in her tone to get Blair straightened out.

I love this woman.

"I'm sure you would. Okay, uh, any other questions?"

"My responsibilities would include writing checks to pay the vendors. Do you have a separate checking account for your business?"

"Not yet. But since I'm incorporating as of the first, my financial advisor told me it was mandatory. So, I'll be setting up a corporate account before then. It'll be your responsibility to keep up the check register and reconciling the bank statements. I'd also like for you to take care of the deposits - maybe dropping by the bank on your way to or from work - if that's all right with you."

"Very good, sir."

"Terrific. Any else?"  Jim could tell that Blair was eager to end the interview.

"Not at this time."

"All right then," Blair's chair rolled back on the carpet, "I think that's all for now. I have a few more interviews to do but I hope to make a decision by the end of the week."

The door was closed behind Janet Wilkerson a few moments later and Jim came back inside.

"Whoa," Blair said, shaking his head with a laugh.

"You're going to hire her, aren't you?"

"What?" Blair stood looking at Jim with wide eyes and his mouth open.

"Come on, Chief, I was listening in. She sounds terrific."

"Terrific? Jim, she scared the hell out of me. I felt like I practically wanted to wet my pants, like she's some wicked witch from hell and I'm a naughty little boy."

Jim laughed. "That's just the kind of secretary you need - someone who will get you organized and walking the straight and narrow."  He winked. "As far as your organization and accounting go, anyway."

Blair shook his head back and forth. "I can't hire someone who intimidates me. I don't want to be afraid of walking into my own office, because she's there."

"Look at it another way, Chief. Can you imagine her talking to those jerks down in the Accounts Payable department at the City? One phone call from her, and I'll bet your payments start coming in a lot more often than every sixty to ninety days. She's just the kind of person you need to go to bat for you. Assuming she's not just snowballing you with her resume - and you can call her references to find that out - she's exactly what you've needed. You need someone firm and strong on your side, since you don't like being like that."

Blair looked thoughtful. "You think?"

"Yeah. Besides, who else do you have to pick from? You didn't like the person this morning."

"I have another interview tomorrow. But she's a housewife trying to get back into the workforce after fifteen years. Her resume is pretty weak."

"Exactly. So, you either hire Janet or you'll have to run the ad again and risk a top notch secretary getting away from you."

---

In the end Blair listened to Jim. After being unimpressed by the third candidate, he called Janet and told her she had the job. She would only be needed a few days in December to get acquainted with what Blair had going on. Then she would start working fulltime in January, Blair intending to keep her busy with organizing his seminar materials and editing his manuscripts, in addition to keeping his corporate books balanced.

The week before Christmas, he mentioned to Janet that he'd like to introduce her, face to face, to the people in the Accounts Payable department at the City building, which was down the block from the Cascade PD. Since the latter was so close, he suggested that he also introduce her to the people in Major Crimes, as she might have reason to talk with them on the phone. She agreed and Blair was relieved that she seemed a bit more friendly as she greeted each person he introduced her to.

After she left, Blair took a seat at Jim's desk and did a check of the computer files concerning the Andersen case that he was working on. Jim was doing an interrogation and would probably be a while, so Blair settled in.

Rhonda came by the desk, looking grim. "Blair, can I speak with you privately a moment?"

"Uh, sure."  He couldn't imagine why she looked so... severe.

"The conference room is free," she said, turning toward it.

As he followed, Blair noted that Simon's office was empty, as he'd left for a meeting with the mayor. At least he'd gotten to meet Janet. In fact, Simon almost seemed a little unnerved by her straightforwardness, a situation that Blair found amusing.

Rhonda had her hand impatiently on the doorknob. As soon as Blair entered, she closed the door and crossed her arms. "So," she said shortly, "that's your new secretary."

Blair blinked. "Uh, yeah. What's wrong?"

She shook her head. "My sister wasn't good enough for you? Not even to have an opportunity to interview?"

Sister? Then Blair remembered. Oh. He knew his realization showed on his face, so there was no time to make up a lie. "Yeah, I remember Jim telling me about your sister wanting to know if I needed an assistant of some kind, a few months back. I didn't at the time. But since then, Jim and I decided it was a good idea and...."  He realized he didn't have an excuse to offer.

"So, why didn't anyone tell me so my sister could have at least had an interview?"  

He'd never seen Rhonda so angry. Was it this important to her? How come Jim never told me that? "Honestly, Rhonda, I had forgotten about it by then." And Jim was firm that he didn't want someone 'in the family' to work for us, anyway.

She snorted. "Great. Wonderful."  She uncrossed her arms. "Now since neither she nor her husband can find a job, they're declaring bankruptcy and are going to lose their house. What a great Christmas this is going to be for the kids."

Bankruptcy? Huh?

She reached for the doorknob. "While you get to sit there in your mansion and look down on all the little people."  She swung the door open and stormed out.

Little people? What the f...?

Why hadn't Jim told him how desperate Rhonda's family was? At the very least, he could have granted her sister the courtesy of an interview. Maybe he would have even liked her and could have had a regular person as his secretary, instead of the Abominable Snow Woman.

When he emerged from the conference room, a few eyes looked at him accusingly. Fuck. Everybody loves Rhonda.

Blair did too. Just not right now.

But there was somebody he was even more unhappy with.

He went down to the sixth floor, where the interrogation rooms were. He paced the hall, waiting.

After half an hour, Jim emerged. "Hey, Chief."

"I want to talk to you. Alone."

"You seem upset."

"Uh-huh."

Jim pointed to his chest. "With me?" he asked worriedly, then pushed open the door to the stairwell.

Blair didn't answer right away. He waited until Jim listened for sounds on the stairs above and below, and then nodded at him.

"I'm on Rhonda's shit list."

"Rhonda? How come?"

"Because, smart guy, you never told me how important it was to her sister to find a job. Their family is going bankrupt and losing their house."

Jim grimaced. "That's not your fault."

Blair sputtered, "I might have been able to give her a job if I'd known she was seriously looking for one. You never told me."

"I did tell you. Last summer. In fact, I think that's where the whole idea came from for you to get a secretary."

"Yeah. And you blew off Rhonda's sister right away, because you didn't want somebody related to anybody who knew us messing around in our house."

"That's right. And I still feel the same way."

"Yeah, well I never felt that strongly about it. And you never hinted at how desperate Rhonda's sister's family was. Dammit, at the very least, I could have given her the dignity of an interview."

"And then walked all over her self-confidence by not hiring her?"

"Maybe I would have. I didn't even give her a chance. I never thought about it. You blew her off as a candidate the minute you mentioned it."

"So it's my fault that she's losing her house?" Jim asked angrily. "You really think her sister would be a better secretary for you than Janet?"

Blair threw up his hands, sputtering, "I'll never know. Because I never gave her a chance."  He released a heavy breath. "Thanks a lot, Jim. Maybe Rhonda had a point when she said that I just sit in my mansion and look down on the little people."  

Jim's expression hardened.

Now wrung out, Blair said, "I'm going home. I can't even face everybody to go back in there and get my jacket."  He grabbed the railing and started down the steps.   

---

Fuck.

Jim watched Blair disappear around the bend in the stairwell. He started up the steps to the seventh floor. Look down on the little people? What fucking right did Rhonda have to make a statement like that to Blair?

Guess what, lady, life's rough. What a cheap shot. You should have come to me. After all, for all Rhonda knew, Jim might not have even told Blair about her sister's situation. But Blair was the easy target. That made him angrier.

As soon as Jim entered the bullpen, he snapped, "Rhonda," and pointed to the conference room. He didn't wait to see if she was following as he threw open the door. Nor did he care that everyone else in the room was watching him.

When she entered, her mouth set in a defensive frown, he closed the door behind her, but leaned on the knob. "Rhonda, I'm sorry your sister's family is in the situation they're in, but that's not my fault and it sure as hell isn't Blair's."

She looked him in the eye. "The least he could have done was let her interview for the position. Given her a chance."

"Neither he nor I owes your sister anything. I'm the one who axed the idea of hiring somebody related to anyone we both knew, last summer. If you want to blame someone, blame me."

She glared at him.

The fact that she wasn't backing down made him all the more angry. He leaned close to her. "And as far as that cheap shot about looking down on the little people..,"  he held her gaze, "all I know is that you can define 'little' by how petty someone is, not by how much money they have.  You are a little person, Rhonda. Because you only cared about Blair when he had to count pennies in order to buy a hamburger. That's pretty damn low - to think less of someone just because things are going well for him."

He watched her eyes widen in indignation.

Satisfied, Jim opened the door and stormed from the room.

He went back down to the sixth floor to consult with the officer who had been present during the interrogation.  When he returned to the bullpen, Simon was standing in the doorway of his office and called Jim's name in an unnecessarily loud voice. His superior didn't look at all happy and Jim couldn't help but notice that Rhonda's desk was empty.

"How is it," Simon began after he closed his office door, "that I can visit with the mayor less than two hours, and when I return, my secretary is in tears and the tension in the bullpen is so thick that it can be cut with a knife?"

I made her cry? Good. "Why are you asking me?" Jim asked as innocently as he could.

Simon raised his voice even louder. "Because you're the only one who isn't tense. You must have gotten something off your chest - at everyone else's expense. Especially Rhonda's."

Jim released a heavy breath. "Look, sir, it's all personal. It has nothing to do with work."

Simon's hands were on his hips. "I had to send Rhonda home because she was so upset. Why don't you try this 'personal' theory on me and see how far you get with it. Everybody likes Rhonda. I can't imagine what could have caused you to set her off."

Jim looked everywhere except at Simon.

"Out with it, Ellison."

"She got pissed at Blair, Blair got pissed at me, and I got pissed at her."  Jim inwardly cringed, realizing how ridiculously childish it sounded.

Simon blinked. More quietly, he asked, "Why on Earth would she have gotten pissed off at Blair?"

Jim let his sarcasm surface full-force. "Because he's actually earning some real money now and it's apparently his responsibility to share it with everybody else. Otherwise, he's 'looking down on the little people.'"

Simon turned to his desk. "Try that again in plain English."

Jim plopped down in a chair and relayed the sequence of events, starting with Rhonda asking him over the summer if Blair might need an assistant.

Simon groaned when Jim finished.

"I wouldn't even care," Jim defended, "except that Blair's already so damned sensitive about making a decent living. I can't just sit by and let her get away with making the comment that she did. People here just don't realize how hard Blair has worked to get where he is. All they see is the big smile and all that cheerful energy. They don't see the doubts and insecurities, and that he's been working for all of this since he was sixteen. What was Rhonda doing when she was sixteen? Doodling, 'I love Guy X' on her math book and calling cheerleading practice a hard day's work?"

Simon held up his hand. "That's enough."

Jim wondered if he'd really needed to make that last comment. Besides, he decided, even if Blair hadn't worked hard for his money, it still didn't mean he was automatically obligated to spread it around to those less fortunate.

"This is my only comment on this situation," Simon said, "and it had better be the last comment I ever have to make. I do not want to hear anything further about this situation - ever - in the bullpen or anywhere else on the Cascade PD premises. This is, as you said, an entirely personal situation and as such it has no place here. I'll relay that message to Rhonda tomorrow morning and to Sandburg the next time I see him."  He raised his voice again. "Do I make myself clear, Detective?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Get the hell out of my office and get back to work."

Jim eagerly escaped.

---

He put off going home as long as he reasonably could. He would have liked to have called Blair from work to get an idea of just how much in the doghouse he was, but he didn't want to risk Simon coming by his desk when he was talking to Blair about the very personal situation he'd been barred from discussing on the PD premises.

He thought about buying flowers on the way home, but he wondered if Blair might consider it bribery and therefore not appreciate the gesture.

Passing by the Christmas decorations on the street, Jim was reminded that this was the season for forgiveness. He cringed at the thought that Rhonda's family obviously wasn't feeling much of the season's spirit. Still, he couldn't fathom that he'd done anything wrong by not wanting the family member of a co-worker employed in their home.

When he opened the door, he found Blair standing in the kitchen with his arms crossed, looking out into the back yard. He laid Blair's jacket on the back of a chair and then approached him.

"Hey," Jim greeted softly, hoping Blair hadn't been standing there all day.

"Hey," Blair acknowledged without turning.

"Am I still in the doghouse?"

Blair glanced over his shoulder. "If you were, would you understand why?"

"Yes." Jim took a few steps toward him. Softly, he said, "But I hope you understand that you're mad about something that happened months ago. We've already talked about my letting you in on more things that happen when you aren't around. I've been doing what you want since then, right?"

Blair nodded, his back still turned. "What Rhonda said... it hurt."

Jim stepped closer. "I know. It hurt me when you told me."  He realized Blair might not appreciate what he next was going to say so he resisted the urge to put his arms around him. "I had a few words to say to her after you left."  He swallowed. "I guess they got through. Simon told me that he had to send her home because she was crying."  He straightened, hoping to pull Blair out of his funk with the pity card. "Now I'm in the doghouse with him, with her... and with you."

Blair inhaled deeply, then released it. "Life's a bitch, huh?"

Had there been a touch of humor there? "Yeah. I was just trying to stand up for you."

Blair made a partial snort, slowly shaking his head. "Man, does that ever boost my masculine ego. My lover has to go to bat in my defense."

Well, fuck. Firmly, Jim said, "She had no right to say what she said. I'm not sorry I told her what I did."

"What was that?" Blair asked curiously, his back still turned.

It was so hard not to touch. "That the little people are the ones who can't be happy for their friends when things go well for them."

Finally, Blair turned. "You said that?" He sounded pleased.

Jim nodded. "She needed to hear it. She seemed mad when I talked to her, but if she went home crying... I must have gotten through."

"Maybe she was just worried about her sister," Blair countered. "Bankruptcy is a tough thing to go through, especially this time of year."  He looked back out the window.

"Yeah. But no matter what you say, Chief, it still comes back to the fact that neither you nor I are responsible for her sister's situation. We don't owe her anything."

"Why doesn't that make me feel better?"  

Jim finally yielded to his urges and put his arms around Blair. He rested his chin on Blair's shoulder. "Because you're a sensitive guy who cares deeply about other people. That's why you need a tough guy like me to go to bat for you when you've been wronged."

"Hm," Blair said, as though noncommittal.

Jim turned his head to rest his cheek on Blair's shoulder. "Will you let me hold you for a while?"

Blair leaned back against him. "Do I look that pitiful?"

"No. I've just been worried all afternoon about how you're feeling."

"And if I was still mad at you?"

"That, too."  Jim grinned and kissed Blair's neck.

Finally, Blair turned around. "I'm not really that mad at you. I was just so caught off guard about what Rhonda said that I needed somebody to blame."

"I know."  Jim put his arm around Blair and guided him to the sofa. "I got raked over the coals by Simon for arguing about a personal situation at work. He's right. Rhonda had no right to bring that up to you in the bullpen, and you shouldn't have brought it up to me until we got home, and I certainly shouldn't have gone back to Rhonda about it."

Jim sat down, encouraging Blair to straddle his lap on his knees, facing him.

Blair rested his hands on Jim's shoulders. "Sometimes it seems that life was so much easier when I was just a poor, underpaid, over-extended grad student."

Jim reached beneath Blair's shirt and rubbed at the small of his back. "Who had to count pennies in order to buy a hamburger?"

"Hmm?" Blair asked, his eyes closing appreciatively.

Jim's hands rubbed more firmly. "That's what I told Rhonda. That she only liked you when you had to scrape pennies together to buy a hamburger."

Blair's eyes opened as he snorted, "I was never that poor."  He tilted his head. "Well, maybe once or twice I had to do that. Of course, not since I moved in with you."

Jim loved the way Blair's skin felt against his fingers. "You been worried about this all afternoon?"

Blair shifted to rest his cheek on the top of Jim's head. "Nah. I was actually talking to my editor at the publishing company. We got into an argument about the tone of the first two chapters I've written. I included some of the examples I'd used in the seminars - drawing on my anthropological background and stuff - and he said the books they've published previously have always been straight to the point and not so 'colorful'. And I said, 'You mean boring'."  Soft snort. "He didn't like that."

Jim hands moved farther down and slipped inside Blair's jeans. His massage now included the rounded globes within. "Who won the argument?"

"I pointed out that most of the evaluations from the seminar attendees say that my teaching style is a lot more interesting than the usual; and that's why I thought they wanted me to write the books in the first place. He said he's going to have to consult with an associate editor after the holidays."

"Mmm," Jim murmured, more because of what his hands were feeling than what Blair had said.

"So, I guess that means I won the battle, but the jury is still out on who won the war."

Blair started to say something else. Then he suddenly slid down next to Jim - bringing Jim's hands more toward his front - and kissed him. "I feel so much better," he whispered breathlessly.

Jim kissed him back - again and again.

---

On a cold, drizzly February day, Blair was grateful to be sitting in his cozy office with a fire going. He was getting a lot of work done and it sounded like Janet, clicking away at the computer on the desk in the corner, was too.

Blair opened the mail that had arrived a few minutes before. "Hey," he said happily, "the PD has already paid for the Hansen case."  That case had been concluded the month prior. "That's got to be something like a record."

Janet looked up at him. "I called them last week and pointed out that they had no reason not to pay the invoice within thirty days."

"That's terrific," Blair said. Janet had proven to be a wonderful employee. He was darned fortunate. He just wished she would be a little sociable, a little more chatty about ordinary things. She tended to stick strictly to business at all times. He certainly got a good day's work out of her - and, because she was so efficient, he had expanded her responsibilities - but it was weird that, even though she'd worked for him over a month, he didn't even know if she was married or had children. He didn't feel comfortable asking and she never offered.

Blair put his arms over his head and stretched, and then took the mail over to Janet so she could process it as needed. "I'm going to heat up a bagel. Would you like one?"

"No, thank you, Doctor Sandburg."

Of course. She never let him do anything for her. "And another hot chocolate sounds perfect on a day like this. Going once...."

She paused in her typing and glanced up at him through her sharp-rimmed glasses. Her mouth curved into a slight smile - the widest he ever got from her. "No, thank you."

"Suit yourself," he said with a sigh, heading for the kitchen.

He hadn't been surprised at her turning him down, though he'd been trying to break through her armor. Even Jim, when staying home with a cold, had said he'd tried to engage her in conversation when she was eating her sack lunch in the breakfast nook. She'd only given short replies to his questions and had seemed more focused on her newspaper.

Blair had decided that she was the way she was and it wasn't for him to try to "fix" her. Besides, things were going well now, all the way around. He'd gotten his editor at the publishing company to allow him to loosen up the narrative a bit in the books he was writing. Because of that project, he wasn't going to have to start doing seminars until March. He was actually excited about them again, because there was a new course he'd developed and he was currently working on the outline.

On a more personal level, he and Jim were settled into their new house so that it no longer felt "new". They both were enjoying it. Daryl and Sheila had gotten married on December 31st and they were now renting the loft. Daryl had been hired at the first precinct he'd applied for.

The situation with Rhonda had blown over quickly. She made no friendly overtures to either him or Jim, nor did she make an attempt to avoid them. At the PD, Blair's main focus was the Andersen case. Though he wasn't spending as much time on it as he would have liked, he was hopeful that he could find something useful that would justify all his paid time and bring closure to the families of the three murdered teenage girls.

---

It was because of the Andersen case that Blair requested Joel Taggart's presence when he and Jim next went to lunch with Simon. Joel had been the lead detective on the case. He'd made an arrest, but it turned out that the perp, a John Andersen - giving the case its informal name - had an ironclad alibi and he'd been released.

Blair went through a series of questions he'd come up with after reviewing the file yet again and Joel answered as best he could. When Blair's questions had been asked, Joel repeated what he'd said before: "I've always felt that the answer was right there in front of us. I must have stared at the crime scene photos for hours. But no matter what angle I've looked at - the direction the bodies are facing, the amount or lack of a fire in the fireplace, the time each victim was murdered - I could never come up with any theory that was consistent. But my gut feeling is still that those pictures have the answer."

Blair had always believed in gut instincts and he'd become an even stronger believer after hanging around cops. He squeezed Joel's shoulder. "I've looked at the pictures, too, but I haven't been able to come up with anything either. I've researched fire rituals, fireplaces... stuff like that. But I'll go back and look at those pictures again. There's got to be something that can give us a lead."

The conversation turned casual and the four of them got serious about eating their Mediterranean meals.

When the waitress brought the check, Blair snatched it up. He had his appointment book open and he wrote down "Andersen" on his copy of the receipt and made some notations in the book.

"Whoa, Blair," Joel said, "that's quite an impressive organizer you have there."

"Janet made me buy it," Blair responded. He put the receipt in a pocket sleeve, to join others that had already been placed there.

Jim said, "She's got him so organized that it's almost scary."

"You mean Blair actually keeps track of his receipts?" Simon asked.

"And his mileage," Jim added.

"Uh-huh," Blair said, finally looking up and adjusting his glasses. "I'm too terrified of her to screw it up. The last time I couldn't remember what case a receipt was for, she gave me such a scathing look that my dick shrank a couple of inches."

While Joel and Simon laughed, Jim said, "Not permanently though."

Joel shook his head and said, "I really didn't think she'd last when you brought her to the PD that time. She seems so different from the type of person you'd want to work with."

Blair shrugged. "That's what people thought about me and Jim."  He exchanged an affectionate glance with his partner.

Simon said, "I guess you never can tell."  He shuddered. "An organized Sandburg. What a scary thought."

---

A few evenings later, Blair came home after a late session at the library. His desk lamp was on and he moved into his office, finding Jim sitting behind his desk. "Hey. What are you doing?"

Jim's eyes were on the checkbook ledger. "Checking out Janet's work."

"Why?"

Jim looked up. "No particular reason. I just thought it wouldn't hurt to check up on her."

Puzzled, Blair said, "I trust her. Don't you?"

Jim nodded. "As much as I can somebody I don't really know very well. The fact of the matter is, Chief, that the people who are the most trusted are those who can most easily get away with embezzlement and crimes like that."

Shocked, Blair came around the desk to stand next to Jim. "You think she's doing something like that?"

"No, not at all."  Jim turned some pages. "I just thought it wouldn't hurt to do some spot checking, just to be sure."

Blair grinned. "You aren't, like, paranoid or anything, are you, Jim?"

Jim didn't fall for the bait. Seriously, he said, "She's handling tens of thousands of dollars of our money, Chief. Even an honest person can be tempted to skim some for themselves, if they think they'll never get caught."

Blair supposed that was true, though he couldn't imagine Janet doing anything like that. She was too honest, too forthright. "Are you finding anything?"  He bent over to look at the checkbook and other files that were spread around.

"No," Jim said with satisfaction, closing the book. "Everything appears to be in order. Meticulous order. She's great about details. It was easy for me to check the deposits against the paid invoices and the bank statements. And the files were easy to locate."

Blair straightened, his hands on his hips. "I'd be shocked if you could find anything amiss. She's great, Jim."  He smiled. "Even if she is a minus-two on the personality scale."

Jim stood. "Yeah, well, why don't you mention to her that I checked things over and was happy to find everything in order? That way, she gets complimented for a job well done; plus, it lets her know that somebody is looking over her shoulder, just in case she were to ever be tempted."

Blair nodded, though he had to bite his tongue to prevent himself from making another comment about Jim's paranoia.

---

It was March when Blair stared at the Andersen case file for the last time. He'd decided that he would have to admit failure and turn the file back in - and stop running up the PD's bill even further for his time - unless some new revelation came to him now, while he was holed up in a small room at the back of Records.

He stared at the three pictures, each of a body of a teenage girl in front of the fireplace at her family home, for the hundredth time.

Then he saw it - the thread that tied them all together. He leaned closer to get a better look at the photos, to make sure he wasn't imagining the similarity.

He slammed the file shut, quickly decided to forego a phone call, and rushed out of Records and up to the seventh floor. He entered Major Crimes at a half-run, unable to contain his grin. "Joel, man," he said breathlessly, relieved to see the big man at his desk, "I think you need to come with me to Simon's office."  He turned and made a "follow me" gesture to Jim, who was just hanging up his phone.

Blair knocked on Simon's door and turned the knob without waiting for an answer.

Simon had just picked up his phone. "What's this?" he frowned.

Blair knew he was beaming. "I have to show you this, Simon. It's about the Andersen case."  He took the photos from the file and spread them out on the table at the back of Simon's office while the three cops gathered around. "Look at this. Look at the clocks in each of these photos."

"I don't get it," Joel said. "The time is different in each one."

"No," Blair said breathlessly, "look at the clocks themselves."

Three heads bent closer. Jim said, "They're all the same style clock."

"Exactly!" Blair said in triumph.  

Joel picked up one of the photos and stared at it. "I never noticed before, because in this one the sides of the clock are hidden by pictures on the mantel."

Blair asked, "What are the odds that each of those homes just happened to have the same kind of clock on the mantel?"

Simon furrowed his brow. "Are you saying the killer put the clocks there after he murdered each victim? If so, the families would surely have noticed."

"No," Blair said. "But maybe each family bought their clock from the same store and that's how the killer knew each of the victims."

"Or," Jim said thoughtfully, "maybe he was a delivery man or someone who brought the clock to each home. Or maybe he even knew each victim's family and gave the clocks to them as a gift."

"Or something like that," Joel said, his own voice breathless in anticipation of finally getting somewhere with the case. "However it happened, this is the link between the three girls that we've been looking for."

"Get on it," Simon said. "Contact the families and go from there. Jim, you're back-up on this case."

Jim looked at Blair. "You coming with us, Chief?"

Blair shook his head regretfully. "I have to fly out to Boise tonight."

"Oh, right."

Blair glanced at his watch. "In fact, I need to leave for home soon and get my stuff together for my flight."

Jim nodded, his own expression regretful as he and Joel went out the door. "Guess I'll talk to you tonight then," he said in reference to Blair's nightly phone call whenever he was out of town.  

Simon squeezed Blair's shoulder. "Good work, Sandburg."

---

It turned out that finding the link with the clocks wasn't that simple. One family was on an extended vacation. Another couldn't remember how they'd come to buy the clock. The third family said they remembered the clock being a gift of some sort, but they couldn't remember from whom.

Blair was still beaming about his discovery at the end of the week. He was back in his office on Friday morning, working on his seminar manuscripts.

Janet was sitting on the floor, legs curled beneath her, pulling pages from three-ring binders that were located on the lowest shelf of a bookcase. She was wearing a dress, as she usually did, and Blair couldn't help but think she'd be much more comfortable in casual clothes. Still, he was growing more accustomed to her idiosyncrasies and had now worked with her long enough that her presence felt like a regular part of the office, rather than a stranger who visited each day.

He realized he needed a thick reference book that was located on the top shelf of the bookcase Janet was sitting near. The bookcases went all the way to the ceiling, and he had a stepladder that they both used to get to the highest shelves. He pulled it over to the bookcase where the reference book was.

Janet started to shift out of the way and he assured, "No, no, you're fine. I'll just move around you here." He placed the ladder next to her and climbed the first couple of steps.

He reached for the book he needed and thumbed through it to make sure it had the section he wanted. It did. Holding the book in one hand, still reading, he took his foot off the step to reach the next one down. Too late, he realized his foot had landed on the edge of the step, rather than firmly on the step itself.

He felt the ladder start to teeter beneath his insecure footing, and he quickly shifted in an attempt to compensate. But it was too late. The ladder tilted backwards, the book fell out of his hand as he lost his balance, and he came crashing down to the floor, feeling his upper left side hit the stepladder on the way down.

The thud jolted his whole body. He realized, with some relief, that he'd managed to hold his head up so that it didn't smack into the carpet, his upper back instead taking most of the impact.  

To his left, Janet was lying on her back beside him.

"Oh, God," Blair said, thinking only of getting to his feet. The awkward way he was lying, he first needed to brace himself against the floor to his left. He did just that, noticing that his hand wasn't on the floor itself, but on Janet. As he pushed off of her to get to his feet, he realized his hand was on her breast and he'd squeezed it in his attempt to lever himself up.

He snatched his hand away, then a moment later reached for her with both hands.  "Janet, oh, God, are you all right?"

Her eyes were open and blinking, as though in surprise. She raised her head and slowly started to rise.

"Oh, God, I'm so sorry!" Blair said, putting his arm around her waist as soon as she'd raised herself up enough to give him room. "Do you need a doctor? Should I call an ambulance? Don't get up too fast."

Blair was now on his knees, holding her, but unsure if she should get to her feet. He was aware that his upper left side was throbbing from where he'd hit the ladder.

She started to rise, so he helped her. "Easy, easy. Are you sure this is a good idea? God, I'm so sorry. What an idiot I am for not watching where I stepped!"

She pushed her hair back from her face and blew out a breath. "I'm fine, Doctor Sandburg."

Blair took his hands away. As his eyes raked over her and noted that she appeared to be uninjured, the back of his mind recounted the event and he realized that he hadn't actually fallen on top of her. Instead, it was merely his out-flung arm, desperately seeking balance, which had pushed her down as he fell.

"Oh, thank goodness," he said, putting his hands on her arms again. "I'm so glad you're all right. God," he took one hand away and smacked himself on the forehead, "I can't believe what a klutz I am!  I should have been paying more attention. I'm so sorry. Can I get you anything? Tea or...?"

"That's not necessary," she said, stepping back so that his other hand dropped from her arm.

Blair wished she didn't feel the need to be so... perfect... all the time. "You sure?"

She nodded. "Yes, Doctor Sandburg. I'm not injured."  She knelt back to the binders she was working on.

Blair watched her for a moment, feeling a mixture of relief that she was all right and annoyance at her brusque manner. Suddenly uncomfortable, he touched his throbbing side and said, "I'm going to see how badly I got bruised. Be right back."

As if she cared.

In the bathroom, Blair took off his shirt and sucked in a breath as he studied his side in the mirror. He had the equivalent of rug burn, where the flesh was scraped but not actually bleeding.  He was very sore there but was sure he hadn't cracked or broken any ribs. This was just severe bruising, nothing more. He'd let Jim give his evaluation when he checked it out upon arriving home tonight. In the meantime, he decided that his injury wasn't worth calling Jim about.

When Blair returned to his office, he said, "I'll live."  But he still felt very uncomfortable as Janet sat on the floor, rearranging sheets in the binders. He wasn't sure why. This was Friday and they'd both been rattled. "Hey, Janet, tell you what. Why don't you call it a day? I want to be sure you're not hurt. If you have any pain or anything over the weekend, go to the hospital immediately, and call me right away and let me know."

"All right, Doctor Sandburg," she said without looking at him. In record time, she had the binders put back on the shelf.

Blair was both relieved and puzzled by the easy acquiescence. As she gathered her purse and coat he tried a smile and said softly, "I really am sorry. I'll never be that careless again, I promise."

She nodded, her eyes darting to him only briefly. "Good day, Doctor Sandburg."

Blair sighed as the front door closed behind her.

---

Jim's subconscious identified the ringing of a telephone. Another part of his barely-awake mind deduced that the ringing was coming from Blair's office downstairs, and therefore it wasn't anything that required him to wake up.

Still, he dutifully muttered to Blair, "Your phone is ringing."

Blair grunted, clearly in a semi-conscious state of his own. 

They slept on, but Jim's mind wouldn't let him forget the detail. When he knew it was getting close to seven, and a Monday morning at that, he muttered, "Who do you think it was?"

Blair exhaled deeply, as though determined to cling to sleep and not answer. Then he mumbled unhappily, "Probably someone is sick and they need me to substitute for a seminar."

Jim groaned to himself. Blair was going out of town frequently again and he hated having him gone. He rolled toward Blair and put his arm around him, feeling his own body respond immediately to Blair's warmth. "Don't pick up the message, so you don't have to deal with it."

"Ouch," Blair whispered back, moving Jim's hand from his side.

Jim realized he had touched Blair where he'd been bruised from his fall. That killed the mood, so he wasn't as disappointed when Blair moved away from him and grumbled, "I better go see what it is."

The bed was suddenly cold.

Jim tried to doze a while longer, while aware that he never heard Blair get on the phone. Maybe (hopefully) the early call had been a wrong number.

In any case, Blair obviously wasn't returning to bed, so Jim put on his robe and went downstairs.

Blair was making coffee. His looked serious.

"What's wrong?" Jim asked.

Blair grimaced. "That was Janet who called. She left a message saying she was sick and wouldn't be in."

"Sick, not injured?"

"Yeah, sick," Blair said with a sigh. "I told her if it turned out she was injured from my fall that she should call me immediately."

Jim shrugged. "Maybe she really is sick."

Blair slowly shook his head. "I don't think so. She didn't sound sick. She didn't even sound like she was pretending to be sick. She was just her usual matter-of-fact self."  Blair leaned back against the counter, his gaze lowered. "Something's wrong. I can feel it. I felt it on Friday, even after she said she was okay."

"So, you think she's lying?"

Blair looked up at him. "Yeah, I guess I do. And yet, Janet doesn't lie."

Jim felt his pragmatism kick in. "You don't know her that well. Besides, maybe what she meant by sick is that she's going to the doctor to see how much she can get away with claiming that she was injured on the job and now Workmen's Comp is going to owe her a bundle."

Blair's frown deepened. "She wouldn't do that."

"Happens all the time, Chief."

The coffee had finished percolating. Blair filled both their cups. As he blew on his, he said, "I guess if something like that does happen, at least I've got the Workmen's Comp insurance."

That was something Phillip Takei had made sure they got, since it was the law that even home-based employers carry it.

Blair continued, "If she really was injured, I'd pay out of my pocket, if necessary. It was such a stupid thing on my part."  His voice lowered. "I just don't understand why she wouldn't be forthright about it. Surely, she knows that I wouldn't do anything to stand in the way of her getting compensated, if I caused her to be injured."

At times like this, it hit Jim just how naïve Blair still was about some things. "Like I said, Chief, she might start wearing a neck brace and claiming that she's disabled for the rest of her life, because of vertebrae problems or whatever. There's plenty of doctors who would gladly play along in order to get part of the Workmen's Comp money."

Blair rubbed his face. "Well, I guess I'll find out soon enough what's going to happen."

"Yep."  Jim didn't want Blair brooding all day. "How about coming in with me? The third family in the Andersen case is supposed to be back in town. Joel has to be in court, so I'll do the interview about the clock."

Blair face brightened. "Yeah, think I will. That'd be great."

---

From what Blair could tell, Theresa Livingston's family had done a good job of moving on in the years since their daughter's death. They appeared to be keeping as normal a life as possible for their remaining daughter. Unlike the other two families, they hadn't moved from the house where their child had been killed.

The clock was still on the mantel. "Do you remember," Jim asked, after explaining why they were there, "how you came to acquire this clock?"

"I do," Mrs.  Livingston said. "I remember because it seemed such an odd thing. We'd bought a car for Theresa from a used car lot. A few days later, a man came by and delivered the clock. He said it was a gift that the dealer always gave to people who had purchased one of his cars. They were out of the clocks the day we were there, he said, so he had to wait until they had more in stock."  She paused thoughtfully. "I remember thinking it odd, because the salesman had never mentioned anything about a clock. Surely, he would have, as an incentive to buy, especially because it's obviously such a quality clock."  She glanced up at it. Then she said, "I remember intending to call the dealership about it, but I never did."

"How long before your daughter's death did you buy the car?"

Blair knew the answer to that because he was so familiar with the file.

"About three months. The police already checked with the dealership, since we told them we'd bought Theresa a car there."

Jim nodded while Blair remembered seeing the car lot employees' interview reports.

"Where is this dealership located?"

"It's not there anymore. It was at the corner of Twelfth and Hampton."

Jim wrote on his notepad. Then he asked, "Is there anything you remember about the man who delivered it?"

"I remember that he had dark hair and thick-rimmed glasses. I'm under the impression that he was tall, maybe six-two or six-three."

"What about weight or complexion?"

She shrugged, "Medium for both, as best I can recall."

"What about what he was driving?"

"I remember it was a light-colored van, because I remember thinking that he must be an independent deliveryman, since there wasn't any company name on the side of the van. I wondered if he was happy in his life, knowing that making deliveries was probably a career that wasn't going to lead anywhere."

"How old do you think he was?" Jim asked.

"Late thirties or forties. That's why I was thinking about his life - if he had any ambitions."

Jim tilted his head. "Any particular reason he caught your attention like that - to the point where you would be wondering what his life was like?"

She looked pensive. "I guess only because there was sort of a... homeliness about him. Something very simple. It seemed sort of odd, you know, that he would be delivering clocks on behalf of a used car company, when car dealerships tend to be so... flamboyant."

Jim waited to see if she was going to add anything more, but she didn't. He glanced at Blair and Blair shook his head to indicate he couldn't think of anything Jim had missed.

They stood. "Mrs. Livingston, we need to take the clock with us. We'll give it back. We just need to find out the manufacturer and see if we can pick up any kind of lead from that."

"Certainly," she said, taking the clock from the mantel and handing it to Jim. "Anything to help find my daughter's killer."

---

The clocks were going to take time to research. The manufacturer, in Wisconsin, was going to go back through its records to find out who in Cascade bought or sold the clocks in the year the girls were murdered.

On Tuesday morning, Blair's thoughts turned to Janet. She had called in sick again, repeating her message at an early hour so she wouldn't have to talk to him directly. Later in the morning, he couldn't stand the trepidation any longer. He called her but wasn't surprised when there was no answer, not even a machine picking up.

Early that afternoon, there was a knock on the door. He opened it to see a young man standing there. "Doctor Blair Sandburg?"

"Yes?"

The man held out a fat envelope to him, which Blair took. "This is for you."

"What is this?" Blair asked as he watched the man make a notation on a clipboard.

"I wouldn't know," the man said, then hurried away.

Blair closed the door as he studied the envelope. The return address was a law firm. Fuck. He opened the envelope as he headed to his office. Inside was a single piece of paper labeled "Subpoena" and a fatter, stapled document with a blue cover labeled "Complaint". His eyes darted over the pages as he tried to absorb their meaning.

. . . civil litigation brought against you by Janet Wilkerson, Plaintiff vs.  Blair Sandburg, Defendant. . .  Civil Complaint. . . you are required to appear in court. . .  the above-named plaintiff asks judgment against you. . . . 
 
Blair's heart pounded as he stood in front of his desk, trying to find the part where Janet listed her injuries, how permanent they were and what her specific complaint was.

He didn't find any details about an injury. What he found instead was even more horrifying.

---

Jim was too engrossed in the case file before him to be annoyed when his cell phone rang. Without taking his eyes off the file, he opened the flap to his phone and pressed a button. "Ellison."

"Jim, oh my God!  Oh my God!  We have to get a lawyer."

Whoa. Not only was Blair's voice shaking, but Jim could hear his heart pounding through the receiver. "Whoa. Slow down. What happened?"

"Janet. I've got served some papers. She's suing me. Oh, God. Oh, God."

"Settle down," Jim said, trying to keep his patience. "Is she saying you injured her?"

"Oh, God, I wish."  Blair swallowed thickly.

"Blair, what is it?"

Blair's breath was unsteady. "She says... she says that I sexually harassed her. I can't - " Blair's voice became an inaudible sputter of anger and disbelief.

"What?" Jim said, his own voice rising. "Sexual harassment?"  He realized others in the bullpen were looking up at him. He turned toward the wall, lowering his voice, his own anger building. "What did she do, just make up a big story?"

"No!"  Blair was almost hyperventilating. "Everything she says is true. My hand landed on her breast when I fell. I-I squeezed it before I realized where my hand was, because I was trying to get up. I didn't mean to!  It was an accident. How could she think - "

"All right, all right," Jim said as soothingly as he was able. "It's going to be okay, Chief. Take a deep breath."  When he could still hear stilted breaths on the other end, Jim repeated more firmly, "Take... a breath."

He listened while Blair breathed very, very deep, and then exhaled slowly. "Good, Chief, good. This is all going to be fine. I want you to bring those papers down here. Don't rush. Drive carefully. In the meantime, I'll make some calls and get a lawyer who can handle this thing and try to get us in later today. All right?"

Blair gulped.  Then, shakily, he said, "Jim, everything she accuses me of is true. But it was an accident. And now she wants $25,000 because she says she can't come back to work here because of the 'hostile work environment'. I mean, I thought -- I-I thought that we had a good thing going. I thought she liked working here. I don't understand how she could...."

"Blair," Jim said as gently as he could in the hope of calming Blair down, "this is going to be fine. People do a lot of shitty things for a lot of shitty reasons. She's just making a play to get her hands on some money."

"But she's the last person I would have thought - "    

"Blair. Bring the papers here. I'm going to call Philip Takei right now and get a recommendation for an attorney. If he's not in, I'll call my father."

"Okay. Okay, Jim."  Blair released another breath. "I know I'm freaking out, but I don't understand how she could do this to me."

"Hang up and get in the car, Chief."

"Okay.  Okay. I'll see you in a bit."

Finally, the line went dead.

Motherfucking cocksucking bitch. Jim cleared the line, flipped through his date book until he found Takei's number, then dialed it.

Blair was the kind of person who would have been behind sexual harassment laws from the time he was old enough to understand anything about the legal system. Of all people to be accused....

---

By seven o'clock that night, Jim and Blair had been in attorney Jonathan Spikeman's office for over an hour. Jim sat quietly while Blair rambled on, often in a shaky, high-pitched, disbelieving voice, about his three-month history with Janet, the incident that had happened when Blair fell, and his complete, inconsolable disbelief that she was now claiming that the work environment at Blair Sandburg Consulting, Inc. was "hostile" - to the point where she could never return to work. Therefore, she wanted nine months of compensation in return for the time it would take her to recover from the trauma of being sexually harassed and find another job.

When Blair wound down, Spikeman put down his pen and rocked back in his oversized chair. "First of all, Mr. Sandburg, the reason she says the work environment is 'hostile' is because that's the necessary legalese in order to bring about a sexual harassment complaint. So, that's the only reason the 'hostile work environment' term is being used."

Jim felt better already. He only wished that Blair could.

"Now, as for your fall, did you see a doctor about your injuries?"

"No!" Blair exclaimed. "It was just bruising. The doctors wouldn't have been able to do anything about it."

"Did anyone see the bruising?"

"Just Jim."

Jim nodded when Spikeman glanced at him.

Spikeman drew a breath. "From what you've told me, everything Janet has said about the actual fall is true."

"Yes," Blair said breathlessly.

"That, right there, establishes her as a credible witness. A judge wouldn't have reason to disbelieve her when you yourself validate that she didn't lie."

"But it was all an accident," Blair ground out wearily. "Her complaint doesn't mention that part. What? She thinks I deliberately risked breaking my neck so I could fall beside her and get in a quick feel?"

"That's the strongest defense on your side," Spikeman acknowledged. "The idea of you falling on purpose is ludicrous.  However, her complaint seems to focus on you taking advantage of the fact that you landed on top of her."

"I didn't even know where my hand was!" Blair protested. "I didn't realize where it had landed and that I'd squeezed her until I'd already done it."

"The problem here," Spikeman said, "is that from her perspective, she may genuinely believe that you squeezing her and pushing off of her breast was unnecessary."

"I was just trying to get up as quickly as possible!" Suddenly, Blair deflated. "She probably really does believe that. It would explain why she suddenly went cold - cold even for her. That was part of why I sent her home."

Jim shifted in his chair, frustrated with how easily Blair was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt. "Or maybe she was already calculating how she could get some of our money for herself."

While Blair looked at Jim in disbelief, Spikeman said, "That's certainly always a possibility. You yourself say that you touched her after you helped her up."

"I was concerned about her!" Blair sputtered. "I thought she might be hurt!"

Spikeman held up a hand. "I'm just playing devil's advocate and considering all angles that her attorney is likely to use."

Blair didn't seem to care. "What?" he demanded. "I was supposed to stand ten feet away from her and tell her to haul her own ass off the floor?"

Chief....  Jim rubbed at his eyes. He asked, "Exactly what is the likelihood this thing will actually go to court, and what are Blair's chances of being cleared?"

"Few of these types of cases actually make it to trial. They're usually settled out of court.  A trial will mean getting one or more depositions from both parties.  I'm afraid that many people find the questioning in these situations to be difficult and sometimes humiliating, especially for a compliant of this type."  He looked at Blair. "Her attorney will ask about your past sexual history with women, and use that to indicate that you might still have urges that way, despite a permanent relationship with Mr. Ellison."

Jim sighed. "So, if we want to avoid that hassle, we have no choice but to hand her twenty-five grand without a fight?"

"No. What I suggest, if you want to avoid a trial, is make a much lower counteroffer - say five thousand - and then we'd probably end up compromising at a figure around twelve or fifteen thousand."

Blair grabbed the arms of his chair and leaned forward. "But that's like admitting that I'm guilty of harassing her!  I didn't harass her - and certainly not sexually."

The attorney held up his hand. "All it says is that you don't want to go through the time and expense of a trial. The settlement offer can include a statement that you deny any guilt."

"That's your recommendation?" Jim asked unhappily.

"Yes, unless you are certain you want to go through with a trial and all that entails, the publicity and the uncertainty, plus all the pre-trial hassles, including being deposed by this woman's attorney, who won't hesitate to pull out all the stops.  In addition to the cost involved, a civil trial can take months, perhaps a year or more, to schedule. Also, while I think her case is weak, there's always a chance that you might lose.  Juries can be very sympathetic towards victims of sexual harassment, even with limited evidence."

Blair sat back and released a heavy sigh. He rubbed at his forehead. "I just can't believe she would do this to me."

Spikeman studied him a moment. Then he said, "For what it's worth, I think you're taking this whole thing too personally."

Blair's head shot up. "Personally? How can I take it any way but personally? She's accused me of sexual harassment, when I'd never do anything like that, and wants me to pay her thousands of dollars for almost breaking my neck."

"Still," Spikeman said calmly, "she could probably collect a lot more money - a lot more easily - if she claimed that you'd seriously injured her. The fact that she's pursuing the sexual harassment angle from the accident - rather than a personal injury one - is actually a point in her favor."

Blair sighed tiredly, looking even more wrung out than when he'd first showed up at the PD with papers in hand.

"I just wish," Blair said with clenched fists, "that I could talk to her face-to-face. That I could just ask her, Why? Or, at least, explain to her that I didn't touch her breast on purpose."

Spikeman shook his head back and forth. "Don't even think about it. Get the idea of confronting her out of your mind. Not only is it unethical for parties in a suit to speak to each other without their attorneys present, but if you confront her, she can claim stalking and continued harassment and that she fears for her life," he glanced at Jim, "especially with your partner being a cop. That will only make you look all the more guilty."

The attorney sat back. "In any case, gentlemen, you don't have to decide your strategy right now. We have twenty days to answer, and we can always file for an extension, if necessary. Think about it, talk it over, and then let me know if you want me to approach her attorney with a settlement offer or if you want to take it to trial. If you decide on the latter, I'll need a five thousand dollar retainer fee."

Great. "We'll think it over," Jim said, holding out his hand. "Thank you."

Blair made a half-hearted wave as he headed for the door.

---

In the middle of the night, Jim's hand snaked out to Blair's sweats-clad, rigid body on the bed beside him. "Anything I can do?"

"No."  Blair's back was turned. "I just keep thinking that I wish I could go on Larry King or Good Morning America and explain to people how wrong it is that someone can sue someone else for harassment just because of the way their body parts ended up after an accidental fall. I want the world to see how wrong that is."

Jim sighed and pushed his mask up. "The world won't care. In the realm of lawsuits and going after other people's money, this is a microscopic event."

"How come you're so calm about it? You think there's nothing wrong with cleaning out our new savings account and giving everything to Janet, just because she had the nerve to pull this?"

"I do think there's something wrong with it," Jim said quietly. "But, to me, it just comes under the heading of Shit Happens. This is hardly the first time that someone has wanted to put me through shit that I didn't deserve."  When Blair was silent, he said, "What's more, I can put this situation into perspective."  His voice softened and he reached to Blair and rubbed his fingers along his stiff back. "I dealt with two new murders this week, Chief. One of them was a family man with three young children. I'd rather deal with involuntarily giving away my money any day, than having to tell those three kids that their dad is gone."  

Blair released a breath.

Jim tugged on Blair's shirt. "Come over here. Please."

Blair rolled over and curled up at Jim's side. "So, you think I'm overreacting?"

Jim put his arm around Blair and rubbed his shoulders. "I don't blame you at all for how you feel. But I also tend to think that the attorney was probably correct in that this isn't some kind of personal vendetta on Janet's part."  He snorted. "There didn't seem to beanything personal about her behavior. You know that. So...," Jim searched for a solution, "maybe if you looked at her as some sort of social retard who is getting through life the only way she knows how... maybe you could see this all as being more about her than about you."

"But I still can't reconcile that this means she should get fifteen or twenty thousand of our money. It's like a lose-lose situation."

"It is," Jim said. "I've been in a few of those myself. So have you. But we just have to get past this and go on.  Otherwise, we do lose - and more than just the money."

"So, you think we should tell our attorney to negotiate and take whatever compromise he reaches with her?"

Jim continued to rub Blair's arm. "I'm behind you, however you want to play this."

"That's not what I asked."

Jim swallowed. "From a purely selfish standpoint, I hope you settle as quickly as possible, for no other reason than I don't want to watch you put yourself through more weeks and months of anger and agony if it goes to trial. And knowing, after all of that, you might lose anyway. At least, this way, there's nothing in the press anywhere."  He hugged Blair closer. "But it's up to you. I don't want to talk you into anything that you aren't comfortable doing. Maybe you should sleep on it a few nights, huh?"

"As if I'm ever going to sleep again."

Jim tried to lighten the mood. "Well, at least you can turn your thoughts to more productive things, such as who you might get for a new secretary."

Blair raised his head, getting partially on his stomach so he could look at Jim directly. "There aren't going to be any more secretaries."

The anger and hurt was back, full force. Jim wished he could have taken back his last comment.

"I'm not going to risk going through this again," Blair said. "It's not worth it. If this is the result Janet was hoping for - making me afraid of hiring anybody else and denying another person a job - I hope she's proud of herself for getting what she wanted."

Back to square one, Jim thought sadly. He hugged Blair closer and kissed his forehead. "I'm sorry I brought it up. Sorry."  He encouraged Blair to lie back against him.

Blair was silent for a long time, and then slowly worked his leg in between Jim's. "I'm sure that sometimes I get too busy to tell you," he said softly, "or even show you, but I appreciate you every day, man."  He put his arm around Jim's chest and tightened his grip. "You're always here for me."

Jim nuzzled his cheek in Blair's hair, loving how unexpected the sentiment was. "I love you too, buddy. Now and forever."

They managed a few hours of sleep.

---

Blair didn't have another seminar until Thursday. It was in Cascade and was a standard one that he didn't have to prepare for. So, he spent Wednesday tearing up his office and finding everything that Janet had touched, looking it over to see if there was anything she'd messed up or intentionally sabotaged, on the off chance her sexual harassment claim was a personal vendetta. He changed the passwords on the computers and, per his discussion with Jim before he left for work, called a locksmith to change the locks.

He found nothing amiss in Janet's work. Still, all he felt was anger as he disinfected the furniture in his office and cleaned out her desk. His inner rage turned to mutters, which eventually became full sentences. I hate her, I hate her.

When he got to the personal organizer on his desk, which had been such a tremendous asset, it was all he could do not to throw it into the trash. Or, better yet, burn it. But he knew he'd be sorry for the loss of information it contained. So he didn't. Instead, he filed it away in an empty file drawer along the far wall, where he also placed Janet's personnel file, along with other files that appeared to be for her own organizational purposes and would be of little use to anyone else.

Still, as he continued to re-organize and disinfect, he fantasized about burning the organizer. Then he wouldn't be able to bill out those hours or expenses that needed reimbursement. And he would lose a lot of income over the next couple of months. He and Jim wouldn't be able to pay the mortgage or other bills.

Their lives would be destroyed. And it would all be Janet's fault. And he would tell everybody that.  And they would feel sorry for Jim and him (especially him) and they would wonder what kind of society let a woman destroy lives like that, just because he was stupidly clumsy and fell off a step ladder. And somehow she would find out and realize the damage that she had done. And she'd be sorry that she had caused such a mess. And she would be on Larry King and Good Morning America and tell people that laws shouldn't be set up to encourage people to abuse them. And she'd let everyone know how she had destroyed the lives of Jim Ellison and Blair Sandburg, just because she got a little greedy. Never mind that it was too late to help them now.

From where he knelt on the carpet, Blair collapsed against his desk with a sigh. He pushed his hair back. Jesus Christ, I need to get a grip.

---

When Jim finally got a break in the afternoon, he dialed Blair's office number.

"Blair Sandburg speaking," greeted the subdued voice after a couple of rings.

"Hey, how's it going?"

Brief pause, which was bad news. Then, "I'm just so mad, Jim. I'm just so damn mad."

"A few hours of sleep didn't help, huh?"

"I've gone through this whole cleansing ritual and I still feel all wound up inside and angry and - "

"You need to get away from there," Jim said. "You need to get out of your own head for a while. We're making some headway on a new murder case. Why don't you come in and help me type up some of this data we're trying to pull together? Then we can go to a nice dinner afterwards. Invite Simon, or Daryl and Sheila. My father. Sally. Whoever you want."

"Jim - "

"Chief, thinking about Janet isn't solving anything. Give yourself a chance to realize that there's more going on in the world around you than her fucked-up issues. She doesn't deserve this much attention from you."

"I know." Blair's voice was so full of defeat that Jim cringed.

"So, come down," Jim encouraged. "Get involved in this case. We're close to closing in on a suspect. Then we can get out of here and socialize with some friends."

He could hear the forced smile in Blair's voice. "Okay."

---

Blair was engrossed with a spreadsheet of codes for the deceased's safe when Simon emerged from his office and frowned. "We didn't call Blair in on this case," he said as he approached.

Blair looked up, feeling unwanted in a way he never had before.

"I know," Jim said. "He had some free time so he's helping out."

"Oh." Simon glanced at Blair. "Sorry, Sandburg."  Then an uneasy grin.. "Just not used to you working for free anymore."  He turned away.

Blair tried to concentrate on the spreadsheet again. When Simon had originally offered the consulting position, one of the advantages he'd mentioned was that Blair could hang around the PD and assist Jim, in an unpaid capacity, on cases he wasn't officially assigned to help with. Quickly, though, he'd gotten so busy with his seminars and the cases he was assigned to that he had ended up doing less and less unofficial assisting. He couldn't blame Simon for being surprised.

Still, it didn't feel good to suddenly be viewed as an intruder, like he had been in the early days of his association with Jim.

"Jim?" Blair whispered under his breath, still working with the spreadsheet.

"Hmm?"  Jim's nose was buried in the printouts from the office of the deceased.

"Does Simon know about...  you know?"

Jim shook his head. "Uh-uh. I haven't mentioned it to anybody."  He shifted in a way that Blair had learned to interpret as his holding something back.

"What?" Blair asked.

Jim grimaced and folded his hands on the desktop so it was easy to tilt his head close to Blair's. "When you first called me about it on the phone yesterday, I know some people heard me use the term 'sexual harassment' and they knew I was talking to you. I've heard a few whispers today. Nobody knows anything concrete and they certainly haven't asked. They don't even know if it concerns something at the PD or not."

Blair's shoulders sagged. Great. "Ah, man, Jim."  He slowly shook his head, even as he keyed in more data on the spreadsheet. "I'm feeling pretty low here. I don't do low very well."

Jim's hand landed on his shoulder and squeezed firmly. "I know. That's why I wanted to get you out of the house."

"Like coming here was an improvement."

"You're doing fine. A patrol car is picking up our perp and that spreadsheet you're working on is an important part of our interrogation."  

Blair looked over at him. "So, you're going to be a while doing the interrogation?"

"Possibly. But we might get our confession soon, since we have so much on him. Why don't you call Daryl and Sheila and tell them we'll take them out to a nice dinner when I get finished here? We can listen to Daryl bitch and moan about what it's like being a rookie patrol cop."

Blair managed a grin. He could imagine that Daryl was probably having a trying time, as most rookies did. "Okay."  He keyed in the final numbers and pushed Print. "All done here."

Jim stood and went over to the printer. Once he pulled the paper out, he left.

Blair rummaged through Jim's desk, trying to find his list of phone numbers so he could call Daryl and Sheila. Then he remembered - Duh! - that their phone number was the same number that the loft had always had.

He picked up the phone, the corner of his eye catching Joel walking in briskly and approaching him. "Blair, where's Jim?"

Blair put down the phone. "He went down to do an interrogation on another case. What's up?"

Joel started pulling papers out of the case file he held. "That whole thing with the clock was a bulls-eye, Blair. Look at this."  He presented pictures of clocks and a listing of names and addresses. "The manufacturer came up with two stores in Cascade that used to sell that particular clock. We had those stores look in their records, and one of them came back and - ta da," Joel presented another sheet, "they sold a half dozen units of that clock on one day to a Harold Shoreman.  The date of sale was a couple of weeks before the first murder."

Blair's heart pounded. "So, you think this Harold Shoreman is our killer?"

"Looks that way. Now, we're trying to locate him."

"Weird, though, that he would deliver the clocks first. Almost like... he was marking the spot where he was going to commit the murder at a later time?"

Joel shrugged. "We won't ever be sure of that until we actually find Shoreman or whoever else did the actual murders. But this was definitely the break this case has been waiting for." He straightened and grinned at Blair. "Good work, my man."

Blair was glad to get the compliment, but he felt compelled to point out, "I wasn't getting anywhere with it, even after probably racking up nearly a hundred hours of studying the file. It just hit me all at once, after I'd given myself one more day before admitting failure."

"That's the way police work happens sometimes."  Joel patted him on the shoulder. Then he glanced around at the various empty desks and lowered his voice, his expression changing to one of concern. "Hey, I've been hearing something about a sexual harassment charge concerning you. Is that rumor true?"
 
Blair released a sigh. "Ah, man, Joel. Thanks for asking me directly, but I really don't want to talk about it right now. I'll fill you in at a later date."  He watched Joel nod. "Just know that it doesn't have anything to do with the PD."  He grinned, despite himself. "Feel free to pass that particular piece of news around."  Then he sobered. "And none of it is true, anyway."  It was on the tip of his tongue to add "of course", but then he realized that there was no "of course" about it.

Blair suddenly had a flash of insight - a view of himself as others saw him. Early on, he'd played the game of bragging about female conquests on a regular basis. The PD itself had turned into quite a hunting ground. If he had the time or inclination, he sometimes tried a second or third time to get a rejecting female to say yes.

He realized that others who didn't know him well could consider him to be a likely candidate for sexually harassing women.

He also saw himself in the future, perhaps a few months from now, explaining to Joel or someone else, "We settled out of court, but I'm not guilty of any of it."

How could anyone believe him if he settled?

I have to fight this.

But what if he lost in court? Then it would be on record that he'd sexually harassed Janet.

"Blair, you okay?"

"Uh, yeah," Blair said, forcing a smile. "It's still a really touchy subject."  I've been betrayed by someone I trusted.

Out of the corner of his eye, Blair saw Rhonda take a seat at her desk. She would enjoy knowing that I've been accused of this, especially by that 'other' secretary I hired. 

Blair withheld a gasp. What if he had hired Rhonda's sister and the harassment complaint had come from her? The Major Crimes gang would probably hold a lynching, guilty or not.

Jim was right. It's playing with fire to hire friends or relatives.

Hell, he decided, it was playing with fire to hire anybody at all.

His days of having a secretary or any other employee were over forever. He'd managed by himself before. He would manage again.

---

The day had, in fact, been capped off in a gratifying way. Jim's perp confessed shortly after the interrogation started, and Daryl and Sheila were indeed enthusiastic about being treated to an expensive meal. A lot of the conversation revolved around Daryl's less-than-stellar exploits as a rookie cop, which prompted amusement, as well as sincere encouragement from Jim and Blair to hang in there through the tough first year.

Afterward, Blair felt better than he had in what seemed like a long time. He and Jim fell asleep quickly and slept through until morning.

---

While Blair was presenting his seminar in Cascade on Thursday, Jim went to lunch with Simon.

Once they were eating, Simon asked, "So what's this I hear about Blair and a sexual harassment charge?"

Jim glanced at the ring on his finger. He'd have to tell Blair about this conversation - report to the boss, so to speak - so Blair didn't feel left out or that things were being discussed behind his back.   Jim decided that he was going to call Blair "Boss" the next time he talked to him.

Jim held his oversized hamburger in both hands as he relayed the chronology of events to Simon.

"Damn, that's tough," Simon said. "Sexual harassment is one of those issues that society looks at as guilty until proven innocent. Like child abuse."

"Yeah," Jim said. "And you know Blair. He takes everything so much to heart. Now, it's like Janet has taken a hot poker and seared his heart right through."

Simon winced. "Ouch."

"Exactly. He trusted her and she's betrayed him, and now it's like he's decided mankind as a whole is untrustworthy and... he's pretty darned miserable."

"What are you going to do?" Simon asked.

"Whatever he wants. I don't think he's decided. But even if it goes to trial, and even if he were to win, I'm not sure Blair would feel any better. He'd still feel railroaded to the core."

"Then why go to trial?"

"I guess I'm hoping we don't. But I can't blame him for wanting to go through it just for the principle of the thing. Settling always makes the person look guilty."

Simon shrugged. "Who's going to know? It's not like this is going to make the papers."

"I know that and he does too. Still...."

Simon shook his head forlornly. "Shit happens, Jim."

"Yeah, that's pretty much my take on it. But Blair... he just takes it all so personally. He doesn't know how not to."  Jim put down the remaining half of his burger. "There's not a damned thing I can do to fix this for him. Nothing I can do to make it better. He just... hurts. And all I can do is watch."

"Makes you wonder what Janet's story is, doesn't it?"

"I don't really care anymore, Simon. She hurt Blair. That's all I know. I'd better not meet up with her in a dark alley."

Simon made an expression that indicated Jim should say no more.

"As far as I'm concerned," Jim did say, "her complaint isn't worth the paper it's printed on. She had good references, but she's clearly got some sort of personality disorder. She doesn't do conversation unless it's strictly work related. And Blair," Jim felt the stab of pain yet again, "he was uneasy about her at first. But then he started feeling really good about the work she was doing and feeling comfortable with her in the office. You know, that he was able to accept her for the way she was. Then she pulls this...."

Simon nodded sympathetically. "Hot poker through the heart."

"Yep."  Jim picked up his burger again and took a bite. After a moment, he said, "I think he's feeling that things are snowballing. There's whispers behind his back in the bullpen. Then there was the Rhonda thing a while back. Nobody says anything outright but I don't think he's feeling particularly welcome anymore."

"Ah, Jim, you know how this stuff goes. If it's not one thing, it's another. People in any work environment need things to talk about. Everything blows over eventually. It's just a matter of something else coming along and taking its place."

"Yeah, I suppose."  Jim took a sip of his soft drink. "Still, I sometimes think Blair wishes we'd just retire to a desert island and live off the land and leave all the money and the gossip and the resentment from other people behind."

Simon chuckled. "I guess there's something to be said for the simple life. Somehow, though, I doubt it's all it's cracked up to be."

"It's not," Jim said, thinking of his trying days in Peru.

"He'll bounce back from this," Simon said. "I'm sure of that."

---

It was close to five when Jim got a hold of Blair on his cell phone. "Are you done?" he asked.

"Yeah, I let everybody go a little while ago. Are you going to get home on time?"

"I think so. I'll pick something up. Thai?"

"Sounds good."

"Hey listen, Boss."

"Boss?"

"Yeah. Every time I look at this ring on my finger, I see an inscription that says, 'Chief is the Boss. '"

"Ha. Why do I get the feeling I'm not going to like this?"

Jim tried to sound placating. "I'm just reporting in, like I'm supposed to, that I had a conversation while you weren't around, so you don't think I'm making decisions behind your back."

"What conversation?"

"I had lunch with Simon and he asked about the harassment rumor. So I told him everything."

Blair didn't react, but simply asked, "What did he say?"

"What do you think he said? He was sympathetic. Any guy would be. Everybody knows it could have happened to them. Hell, it could happen to a woman employer who falls and her hand lands on her employee's cock. And she presses on it while trying to raise herself up."

"Yeah, I guess so." But Blair didn't sound convinced.

"Listen, Chief, I think there's something you need to consider before you make your final decision about what to do."

"Yeah? What?"

"Maybe you ought to think about how you'll feel if you go to trial with this thing and you win."

"What do you mean?"

"If it'll make you feel better about everything. Or if, after going through it, you'll still be just as upset that you had to go through it at all."

He listened to Blair swallow, and then say, "Yeah, I get your point."

"Just think about it, Darwin. In the meantime, I'll try not to keep you waiting with the food."

"Thanks, Jim."

---

Harold Shoreman was dead.

Blair sat in the conference room at Major Crimes two days later, still trying to digest the information Joel had found out earlier that day. Shoreman had been killed in a car accident shortly after the third murder. His only family was an elderly aunt, and she was cooperating with the PD's request to have the body exhumed, so DNA could be compared against fingernail scrapings taken from the crime scenes.

Blair couldn't figure out how to feel about it. Shoreman's death, assuming the DNA panned out, meant that the case was closed and there wouldn't be any trial or any further agonizing publicity for the families to suffer through.

But it also meant Shoreman could never be brought to justice - unless one considered being killed in an accident to be justice. At least his demise had stopped the killing spree.

From the photos provided by his aunt, he looked like such an Average Joe that Blair couldn't quite bring himself to feel hatred toward him, but more pity that a man could become such a horrible creature who murdered young innocents.

He felt ashamed of himself, on behalf of the families, for not being able to feel hatred.

 

END PART TWO  

PART THREE

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