SELF DISCOVERY 101

© December 2001 by Charlotte Frost

PART FOUR

“So, where do we stand on this case?” Simon demanded of the two men before him.

Both looked uncomfortable, but it was Jim who replied – somewhat reluctantly, Simon thought.  “Sir, we’ve got a critical piece of evidence, the red sweater, linking the retirement farm with the polo pony farm, but no one at either farm will ’fess up to having ever seen anyone wear the sweater.”

“What’s your theory?” Simon asked, chewing on a cigar.

Jim leafed through the file.  As usual, Simon noted, Blair’s eyes were solely on his partner.  “It seems that since such a tiny piece of the sweater was found at the crime scene, that the person wearing the sweater had to have come from the polo pony farm, since they lost the sweater there.”

Simon looked from one man to the other.  “Are you sure they lost it?” he asked incredulously. 

Jim shrugged, and Blair finally looked at Simon, the younger man explaining, “Where the sweater was found, out in the bushes and brambles behind the planks of a pasture, doesn’t seem to be the place where a farm hand would normally be.  So, we’re thinking that perhaps the killer murdered Alan Carter, and then maybe took back roads back to Grayson Farm.  Maybe they were sneaking around out in the brambles, and since maybe they were nervous or upset about the murder, maybe the sweater got caught, and they panicked and ran, not bothering to retrieve their sweater.  Besides, they wouldn’t have had any reason to think anyone would associate the sweater with Carter’s murder.  It was only because of Jim’s senses that we even found the fibers at the murder scene.”

Simon nodded thoughtfully.  He couldn’t help but notice that Blair’s voice held pride when he spoke of Jim’s senses.

“And the connection between Grayson Farm and the retirement farm is?”

Jim spoke this time.  “Polo ponies.  One of the retirees at Melinda’s farm is a horse named Legend’s Lair.  He was a decent racehorse, but he had to be retired due to injury.  He’s a gelding so couldn’t stand at stud.  He was being retrained, part time, as a polo pony by a Rainier student named Tommy Sanchez.”

“Sanchez is a member of Rainier’s polo team,” Blair put in.

Jim nodded, continuing, “We found out that Mr. Grayson never pays less than $10,000 for a new polo pony, even one who hasn’t performed in a match before.  So, we’re thinking one of the half dozen or so agents he has scouting ponies for him somehow found out about Legend’s Lair from Sanchez or somebody else on the farm.   We theorize that Sanchez or the somebody else intended to steal Legend’s Lair from the retirement farm and sell him to Mr. Grayson through the agent.  The agent and Sanchez would get the full price for the horse, $10,000 or $20,000 or whatever.  Grayson wouldn’t know he was acquiring a stolen horse because he would trust the agent, and nobody cares about papers for geldings, especially since polo ponies aren’t a breed; all different kind of horse breeds can be polo ponies.   What’s more, Sanchez and the agent wouldn’t need to worry too much about the cops sniffing around once Legend’s Lair was stolen because he wouldn’t have been all that valuable to the retirement farm, since they could have only given him to an adopter who would donate a couple thousand dollars or so, tops.  We figure that Alan Carter must have found out about the intent to steal Legend’s Lair, and that’s why he was killed.  Perhaps by Tommy Sanchez.  Perhaps by the agent.  Perhaps by someone hired to do the job.”

Jim stopped talking, and Simon looked to Blair.  The younger man responded to the concern on Simon’s face.  “Sir, the only connection between the two farms, besides the sweater, is Legend’s Lair, because none of the other retired horses are being retrained for polo.  But once Carter was murdered, the perps must have backed out of their plan, or waited for things to die down.  Sanchez is on a vacation in Europe without a return flight, though there’s no reason to believe he won’t return for the fall semester at Rainier.  That starts in a few weeks.  In the meantime, there’s nobody to continue Legend’s training in the sport of polo, so he’s not getting any more valuable while Sanchez is away.  Grayson isn’t likely to buy an unproven polo pony unless he’s far enough in his training to be ready for a match.”

Jim said, “We’re waiting for Sanchez to return so we can question him.  But if the killer wore the red sweater, it’s unlikely it was Sanchez, because nobody at Racer’s Range recalls seeing anyone wearing the red sweater.  And Sanchez was out there often enough to train Legend’s Lair that surely someone would have noticed if he wore a red sweater.”

“What about the agent angle?” Simon asked.

Jim and Blair glanced at each other.  The older man said, “We’ve made phone calls to investigate the agents that Grayson uses, and so far everything checks out and seems to be above board.”

“However,” Blair put in, “that doesn’t mean it couldn’t be an agent he doesn’t normally use who might have intended to contact him about buying Legend’s Lair.  Mr. Grayson trusts good agents and doesn’t need to see the horse himself before he makes a purchase.”

Simon released a heavy sigh.  The case was giving him a headache.  “All right, you two.  What’s your next move?”

Jim replied, “We’re stuck until Sanchez gets back and we can question him.  Or until somebody admits to knowing something about the red sweater.”

“How far apart are the two farms?” Simon asked.

“About twenty miles,” Jim replied.  “It can’t be mere coincidence that the polo pony angle and the red sweater are associated with both farms when they’re that far apart.”

Simon nodded his agreement.  Nevertheless, he had a pair of idle detectives on his hand.  “Blair, when is your cast coming off?”

“Nine more days, sir.”

“What’s the chance of you two making any headway on some old cases that you’ve had to shelve because of lack of time?”

The two detectives looked at each other.  Then Jim said, “We’ll have to review the files.”

“Okay.  Jim, if any of the other teams need backup out in the field, you’re it.  Blair, if they need backup in-house, you’re it.”  He watched them frown.  “Otherwise, you two can work some of your old case files that you think you can make some headway on.”  Sympathetically, he added, “You know I can’t make you the primes on any dangerous cases until Blair’s one hundred percent again.  So, don’t bother arguing.”  He made the last as threatening as he could.

Both men sighed, then glanced at each other.

“Believe me,” Blair muttered as he headed for the door, “nobody wants to get this cast off more than me.”

Simon watched as Jim followed Blair out the door, grinning like an idiot.

He was too relieved at their easy acceptance to question Jim’s reaction.

Blair hadn’t shut up since they had left the bullpen an hour before.  Having stopped for dinner, they now rode the elevator up to the loft.  Blair mimicked his fellow detectives, “‘Blair, this file needs copying.’  ‘Blair, run this through the computer and find out how many people there are with the name John Smith and give every one of them a call to see if the gun belongs to them.’  ‘Blair, wipe my ass.’”

Jim chuckled.  “Oh, come on, it’s just another six days.  Then your cast will be off and things will be back to normal.”

“Easy for you to say,” Blair grumbled.  “You got to spend all day hanging out with H and Rafe on the Blackman stakeout, just bullshitting and eating Fritos.”

Jim shrugged as they stepped off the elevator.  Trying to be placating, he said, “If I would have been the one with the cast, you would have been the one bullshitting with the guys on the stakeout.”

“Yeah, right,” Blair muttered doubtfully as they entered the loft.

After hanging up his jacket, Jim went to the answering machine and pushed “Play.”

“Mr. Ellison,” a friendly female voice said, “if you would like to take advantage of today’s lower interest rates and refinance your home, please give me a call at 555-7272.  My name is Rachel.”

“Fuck you, Rachel,” Blair said, moving to the refrigerator.

Jim shifted his feet as the next message started.

“My name is Rhonda and I’m calling for Blair Sandburg.  Mr. Sandburg, I’m calling about the balance on your Cascade Bank VISA card.  It’s been over sixty days since we’ve received a payment, and your account has been transferred to my office for cancellation and legal action.  Please avoid this by making immediate arrangements to pay your outstanding balance.  My number is 800-555-6324.”

Jim’s eyebrows soared as he looked at Blair, who was standing at the kitchen island, sipping his beer.  “Are their records correct?” Jim asked in alarm.

Blair shrugged.  “Probably.  I was hoping to put off paying my bills until the cast came off, but maybe I need to go ahead and take care of them.”  He grimaced.

Jim shut off the answering machine since there were no further messages.  “I’d say so,” he stated emphatically.  “That message sounded serious.  Putting off payments like that can screw up your credit for years.”

Blair sputtered and made a face.  “Yeah, right.  They’re never serious.  They’d leave me another ten messages before they’d ever get around to taking legal action.”

Jim decided to ignore the fact that Blair sounded like he was speaking from experience.  He moved past his partner and grabbed his own beer from the fridge.  “How come you haven’t been paying your bills?”

Blair held up his cast.  “What do you think, man?  It’s hard to write out checks when you can’t write at all.”

“What?” Jim prompted. “It’s suddenly beyond you to ask for help with something like writing out checks?”

“I still have to sign them,” Blair pointed out, but his voice was more resigned that argumentative.

Jim decided against trying to understand why this was so hard for Blair.  Instead, he offered, “Why don’t you bring all your bills out here to the table, and I’ll write out the checks from my own account?  And then we’ll write one check to me from your account for all the bills.  That way, you only have to sign your name once.”

Blair sighed, leaving the beer on the table and heading for his old room.  “Yeah, I guess I’d better,” he muttered.

Jim found his own checkbook, his small stack of current bills, and a calculator.  He placed them on the table and sat down.  Blair emerged a moment later with a huge stack of envelopes, many of which still looked sealed.

“You haven’t even opened those?” Jim asked in horror as Blair placed them on the table.

Blair shrugged, sitting down.  “I don’t need to open them to know they’re bills.  Besides, most of them are just duplicates.  Here, I’ll sort them real fast by what they’re for.”

It looked like it was going to take awhile, so Jim bit his tongue and tried to focus on paying his own bills.  When he was finished fifteen minutes later, Blair had the envelopes sorted into piles, and now he was opening the sealed ones and appeared to be sorting them by who they were from.

It was all Jim could do to not grab the envelopes from Blair, read what was inside and make some logical sense of what was now due.  Instead, he took long, slow sips of his beer.

“Okay,” Blair said cheerfully.  He had four papers in his hand, all with the same logo.  He handed Jim one.  “This is the latest one for my cell phone.  Pay that one.”  He created a new pile on the table with the other three.  “These are trash.”

Jim took the paper, saying, “I don’t know why you keep the cell phone when we use mine at work, and most of the people that call you call on the loft phone, such as the bill collector tonight.  What do you need a cell phone for?”

“You never know when it might come in handy,” Blair replied.  “Like, if I go out somewhere at night, I need it with me in case my car breaks down or something.  And sometimes we go our separate ways at work.”

“I’d agree,” Jim said with annoyance, “except you usually forget to take your cell phone with you.”

Blair shrugged.  “Well, whatever.”

Jim looked at the total due.  “So, I’m paying $138.25 on this one, right?”

Blair’s eyes widened.  “No!  Just pay the oldest portion.”

Jim furrowed his brow, not understanding why Blair didn’t want to catch it up to current.  He looked at the aging breakdown and saw amounts for “Current”, “30 days”, “60 days”, and “90 days”.  In disbelief, he asked, “You just want me to pay the $32.65 that’s 90 days old?  And not catch up the rest?”

“Yes,” Blair said, like the answer should be obvious.  “They just want you to pay something each month to keep them happy.  There’s no reason to pay the rest right now.”

“Except,” Jim pointed to the line where the current charges were detailed, “they’re charging you a finance fee each month.”

Blair shrugged.  “So?”

Jim looked at the younger man sharply, then reached the conclusion that Blair wasn’t being deliberately obtuse.  The horrible realization occurred to him that this was probably how Blair always paid his bills.  “Chief, you can’t be serious.  Finance charges are a complete waste of money.  You may as well take the five bucks and throw it in the street.”

Blair released a weary sigh.  “Jim, I thought you were just going to write out checks for me, all right?  I really wasn’t expecting this to turn into some kind of personal finance lecture.”

Painful as it was, Jim resolved to keep his mouth shut.  He opened his checkbook and wrote out a check to the cell phone company for the portion in the 90-day column.  After tearing the check from his book, he dutifully recorded the details in his register.  Firming his jaw to keep himself from saying anything further, he handed the check and the bill to Blair.

“Thanks, man,” Blair said.  He spent a few moments placing the bill stub and check in the envelope provided, licked the flap, and sealed it.  “I hope we have some stamps around here,” he said, setting it aside.

“We do,” Jim assured.  “What’s next?”

Blair’s eyes searched the piles, and he picked up another small handful.  “Here’s one of the credit cards.”  He studied the bills, then handed Jim one.  “This is the newest.  Pay the minimum due.” He tossed the rest into the “trash” pile.

Jim’s mouth fell open as he studied the statement.  There was only about sixty dollars in new charges – a purchase from an entertainment store and a purchase for gas.  But then there was a $25.00 late fee on top of nearly $50.00 in interest – that on a total balance of over two thousand dollars.  Jim’s eyes flicked to the statement on top of the “trash” pile. It, too, listed a late fee.  Flicking back to the paper in his hand, he was horrified to see an interest rate of 22.5%. 

“All right, Chief,” he said, feeling relieved now that he was taking control, “you can’t keep on like this.”  He looked in his own “trash” pile and retrieved an offer for a 6.9% interest rate for twelve months, using the attached checks, with no balance transfer fee.  “I’m going to use these 6.9% checks and pay your bills.  They’re for a credit card that I don’t use anymore, so we’ll get all your bills current and then you’ll just have to make one monthly payment to my credit card.  It’ll never be late, because I won’t let that happen, since I’ll be the one receiving the statement.  So,” he held out his hand, “give me all the rest of that so we can see what you’ve got.”  He glanced at Blair’s face and was surprised to see a wide-eyed look of disbelief.  “Blair?”

Blair shook his head – emphatically.  “Jim, you are not paying my bills, man!  I’ve been paying my own bills my entire life.  I’ve got no problems with paying my bills, thank you very much.”

Jim looked at him with equal disbelief.  Are we in the Sandburg Zone?  “Chief,” he said firmly, “this is crazy.  You’re unnecessarily throwing away a ridiculous amount of money in late charges and high interest rates.  You work far too hard for far too little pay – even with your upcoming raise – to be throwing money down the toilet like this.”

“Jim!” Blair protested on a high note.  “I am not throwing away money each month.  Those charges are all just on paper, man.  It’s not like it ever actually comes out of your pocket.  As long as you always pay the bare minimum, there’s no problem.”

Jim was appalled at the misplaced logic.  “What do you mean, it never comes out of your pocket?  It will have come out of your pocket when you finally reach the point of paying them off.”

“They’ll never be paid off,” Blair pointed out, irritation making his tone gruff.  “That’s how the modern world of finance works.  The powers that be don’t want people to pay off their bills.  They want to keep the revolving line of credit ongoing, so they can collect the interest and late fees.  That’s why there’s no consequences for paying late or never catching up.  It’s a paper game.”

“No consequences?” Jim repeated, his voice rising.  He pointed toward the answering machine.  “What do you call that phone call?”         

“It was just a phone call, man!  Harmless.  And for your information, that’s the first bill collector who has called me in a long, long time.  She won’t even bother calling back for a week, and by then she’ll have her minimum payment and I’ll be crossed of her list.”  He took a breath, as though trying to get his anger under control.  “What’s the big deal, man?”

Jim waved his hands over the paper.  “This is just ludicrous.  I don’t understand how someone who has struggled for so many years with so little money can be so sloppy about managing their finances.”

“Jim, for your information,” Blair said tightly, “nothing bad has ever, ever happened to me because of the way I pay my bills.  Can you say that?”

Jim firmed his jaw.  Blair knew damn well he couldn’t say that, because he’d mentioned to him before how his credit had become totally screwed up when he was in the army, and how difficult it was re-establishing his credit once he got out of Peru.  It was only in the past few years that he felt his finances were under control.  Still, he’d never been so irresponsible as to pay bills late just because he didn’t want to be bothered, or to use high interest credit cards as long as he had low interest credit cards.  

Blair tapped the statement on the table in front of Jim.  “Are you going to write a check for it or not?  Just the minimum due.”

Jim sighed.  More gently, he asked, “Blair, why won’t you let me put this stuff on the low interest credit card?  What’s the harm?”

Blair looked at him squarely.  “Jim, just because you’re the one in control in our bedroom does not mean I want you taking control of other aspects of my life.  I’m just not…,” his voice faltered, “ready to be co-mingling money.”

Jim slowly shook his head, wondering at Blair’s stubbornness and pride.  Forcing his voice to stay calm, he protested, “I’m not talking about co-mingling money.  I’m not talking about that at all. All I’m talking about is you making one payment a month for all this,” he waved a hand over the table, “and not having any late fees and saving yourself some 15% in interest each month.  Christ, Chief, by doing that you could save a few hundred extra dollars each month.”

“Not interested,” Blair said, shaking his head.

Jim sighed out loud.  “All right,” he muttered, but he wasn’t at all happy about it.  How can someone as bright as he is be so stupid about how they manage their money?  He opened his checkbook and wrote out a payment for the minimum amount due.  He sighed again, trying to fight off a brewing headache, when he handed the check and bill back to Blair. 

His depression at the whole situation kept Jim quiet as he continued to make out checks for the bills that Blair passed to him.  There were two other credit cards, including the one with the Cascade Bank, and, all told, Blair owed some four thousand dollars to credit card companies.  That was nothing compared to the student loans.  Jim stopped trying to keep a mental record when the total balance went over $20,000.  Forcing his voice to be very calm as he wrote the last check, he pointed out, “I thought you once told me that you put yourself through school with gambling winnings via your bookie cousin.”

“That was mainly as an undergrad,” Blair said.  “And once I got hooked up with you… well, you think I was going to be making illegal bets while living with a cop?”  He chuckled.  “Now I can’t because I am a cop.”

“What about at the horse track?  That’s legal, at least.”  Even as he asked, Jim knew that he didn’t want Blair to try that route.

“You’d have to have a pretty big bankroll to start with to make the kind of money I’d need to pay for, say, just the student loans.”  Blair chuckled again.  “Cheer up, Jim.  That’s the last one.”

While Blair prepared the last bill for mailing, Jim turned to his check register and punched into the calculator all the amounts he’d paid on Blair’s behalf.  He did it mechanically, while the back of his mind toyed with the idea of skipping some of the numbers.  In the end, his sense of thoroughness and discipline won out.  When he looked up, Blair was waiting.  Jim turned the calculator towards him.  “Two thousand, two hundred forty-six dollars and eighty-four cents.”  He didn’t know what Blair cleared in a month, but he doubted it was much more than that.  And this just covers the bare minimums. 

Blair handed Jim his checkbook.  “You write it out and I’ll sign it.” 

Jim wrote and then tore the check out, and handed it and the pen to Blair.  Blair took the pen and grabbed an envelope from the trash pile, and spent a moment practicing writing his signature with his left hand.  Then he signed the check and handed it to Jim.  “There you go.  But don’t deposit it until we get paid on Friday.”

“More?”

Sitting in the passenger seat of Henri’s car, Jim took another handful of chips from the economy-size Fritos bag.  From the back, Rafe, who had yielded the front seat in deference to Jim’s long legs, also reached forward to grab another handful.

As munching filled the car, Jim turned his head back to watch the rundown house in the distance, which was supposed to be where Blackman met up with his hoods to distribute the drugs he’d purchased.

Jim’s brain hadn’t been able to stay quiet since the bill-paying session last night.  He’d taken Blair to bed and kissed him gently and sweetly, and silently questioned if there was really any good reason to wait until the cast was off before entering him and making love to him.  For last night, more than ever, he’d felt a need to show Blair that he loved him and that he cared about him, and that was the motivation for all his concern about his financial situation.  But he’d ended up sticking to his own original promise, and instead held Blair to him while he fondled and played with him and brought him off a couple of times.  He’d only been able to let go of his worry and concern, and give his full concentration to the matter at hand, when he’d worked his lubricated fingers into Blair’s ass and played with his prostate while he sucked on him.  Blair always loved that – having his ass played with in any way, shape, or form – and Jim had reached the satisfying conclusion that Blair was anally fixated.  Since the man had accused Jim himself of being orally fixated, he thought they made a good match.  In any event, having gradually increased the stretching of Blair’s entrance was preparing him for the day when the cast would come off.  Five more days.  He hoped, with all this careful preparation, it wouldn’t be as rough for Blair as it had been for Carolyn.

“Man, Jim,” Henri said with a chuckle, “I don’t think staring at the house is going to make Blackman show up.”

Jim grimaced, then shifted his long legs against the floorboard while absently grabbing another handful of chips.  He was all too aware that he was much less talkative than he’d been the day before.  “You never know,” he replied off-handedly, hoping to deter them from starting a conversation about how quiet he was.  He could tolerate those kinds of observations from Blair, but not from anyone else.  It wasn’t any of their business what he was thinking about.

Not that he wouldn’t mind some distraction from all his thinking.  A part of him still wished he could shake some sense into Blair.  The way Blair “managed” his finances was an aberration of common sense.  He was in a hole of debt that he was never going to get out of without some outside help.  Blair was usually a reasonable man who wasn’t afraid to ask for help when he genuinely needed it.  But for some reason within the zone of Sandburgian logic, finances didn’t fall within his grasp of reason.

Jim shook his head, trying to figure out how Blair had become so irresponsible about his debt when he was otherwise so exceedingly responsible about clerical details.  Blair had talked last night like he’d always been that way about money.  Jim supposed that, if you went back to the way Blair was raised, the answers started there.  Naomi and her son had never lived in the same place for as long as two years.  It was hard for bill collectors to catch up to you when your address kept changing, to say nothing of probably not being able to afford a telephone most of the time.  Then, when Blair was old enough to have debts of his own, he was already in school, probably most of his undergrad expenses taken care of with his own gambling winnings and other financial aid.  But graduate school was a different story, and the expenses escalated all the more when Blair needed to take time out to play cop – unpaid, at that.  He received grants and scholarships, but still not enough to cover decent living expenses on top of the tuition.  Granted, Blair’s credit card debt had probably accumulated mainly because of his unreliable car and his laptop.  But it was hard to begrudge him the Volvo – it was his one major “toy” – and his laptop had been necessary for school and was handy for police work, especially since Jim didn’t have a computer of his own at the loft.  As for the rest, Jim supposed a big chunk of it could be explained by years of late fees and excessively high, accumulating interest rates.  Blair certainly didn’t spend much on clothes or – any more – going out on expensive dates.

With Blair’s intelligence, Jim wondered if simply sitting down – when he was willing to listen – and explaining to Blair about how money worked and that, ultimately, there would be consequences down the line, would be enough to set him on a positive course of getting out of debt.  But maybe Blair was too far entrenched in his own attitudes.  Last night, Jim had been appalled when Blair had thrown away a stack of bank statements without even opening them.  With amusement, Blair had said, “I don’t need to look at them to know my balance is almost always at zero.  It’s always been that way, man.”  Then, sincerely, “Isn’t that the way it is for most people?”  Well, okay, he had a point.  But Jim still couldn’t help but wonder if anyone had ever showed Blair how to balance his checkbook.  And how important it was to record things like bank fees and overdraft charges in his check register, so the register had some hope of showing a correct balance.

Jim sighed internally when thinking about the student loans.  In the early days of living with Blair, he had once seen a communication on the table from Rainier regarding tuition and financial aid.  He’d been amazed at how much it cost to attend college in the 1990s.  He’d asked Blair if he was worried about paying off the loans someday.  Blair had merely shrugged and mentioned that, hopefully, he’d end up with a job that paid off all his loans – a “perk” that wasn’t all that uncommon within the world of education, according to him.   So, now, Blair was out of school and working for the City of Cascade, which would never in a million years consider paying off student loans for its employees.  Sitting in Henri’s car, Jim had to consciously try to will his churning stomach to relax.  Denouncing his thesis had, amongst all the other undesirable consequences, set Blair on a path to financial ruin.

Jim’s shoulder was pushed from behind, and he was aware of laughter around him.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” Rafe laughed from the back.  “You’ve got lady troubles.”

“Hey, Jim,” Henri said, “at your age, you’ve got to be grateful for lady anything – including troubles!”  The car filled with laughter.

Jim grimaced again.  In the pre-Sandburg time, his co-workers (other than his partner, Jack) would never have teased him like this; they would have feared getting busted in the chops.  But, thanks to his association with Blair, he was now considered more approachable socially, and was fair game for all the one-of-the-guys humor.

Rafe nudged his shoulder again.  “Come on, man, you can tell us.  What’s the problem?”

“Yeah,” Henri piped in, “especially if it’s bedroom problems!”  They both chortled again.  “We’re experts at helping with bedroom problems.  So, come on, what gives?”

Jim glanced at Henri with irritation, wishing Rafe wasn’t behind him so the younger man couldn’t escape his glare.  “You guys are a barrel of laughs.  Ha-Ha.  How about some original humor, for a change?”

“Man,” Henri shook his head, “you are one tight-assed dude.”

“Yeah,” Rafe complained, and Jim couldn’t tell if the sarcasm was sincere or feigned.  “Sorry we’re not as perfect as Sandburg.”

“Yeah,” Henri was still shaking his head, “we’ve never been able to figure out what magic Hairboy has that gets to you, in all the right ways.  You’re no fun at all when he’s not around.”

“It’s not our fault he’s stuck behind a desk,” Rafe put in. 

“I know,” Jim said simply.

“Tell us,” Rafe persisted, “how we can get into your good graces, just like Blair.”

Jim made a decision and turned around, his glance going back and forth between the two.  “He got into my good graces by learning to find something else to do when I wasn’t feeling very talkative.”  He turned back to the house in the distance.

“Man,” Henri whined.

“Fine,” Rafe said.  “We’ll talk amongst ourselves.  Hey, H, what do you think of the Jags trading Todd Jones?”

Jim let their chatter fade into the background.  One hopeful idea had occurred to him this morning.  Maybe Blair would be agreeable to a loan from Jim's father.  Jim estimated that Blair would need $30,000 to $35,000 to pay off all his debts and to pay off the old balances on his recurring expenses.  Jim would never, ever ask his father for financial help for himself – there were too many wounds there.  But he didn’t mind the idea of asking on Blair’s behalf, and he was sure his father would want to help, especially since that amount of money would be peanuts to the senior Ellison.  Better yet, since Blair was such a proponent of Jim and his father building a stronger relationship and getting past the old hurts, maybe he would see the loan as a beneficial tie that would bond father and son more closely together.  

Jim shifted yet again.  There was one problem with this brilliant plan. Some two weeks ago, he and Blair had sat out on the balcony, and he had told Blair that he needed to find himself.  Finding himself meant Jim had to give him freedom.  And that meant not trying to run his life.

Once again, Jim had to restrain a sigh.  He wanted to believe that this situation was too serious to fall under the category of “giving him space to be himself”.  Yet, when he asked himself, “What’s the worst that can happen?” the only answer he came up with was bankruptcy.  And bankruptcy surely wouldn’t damage Blair’s credit more than it already was.   In addition, bankruptcy was now so common that it didn’t even carry a stigma of irresponsibility anymore.  If anything, it might be a welcome relief from all the obligations that were sucking up every cent that Blair earned, while making very little dent in what he owed overall.

Still, it bothered Jim’s own sense of pride to think of Blair legally declaring himself incapable of paying his debts.  A compromise might be to go to a consumer counseling agency and have them get all of Blair’s debts put onto one monthly payment, lower than what he now paid.  Yet, that wasn’t going to solve anything if Blair continued handling his finances the way he had in the past.  He was sure to gradually build up new debt all over again.

Jim rubbed at his eyes.  This was all a moot point.  He had to let Blair make his own decisions, and come to Jim for help only if he wanted help.  Otherwise, as difficult as it was, he was going to have to let Blair live his own life and make his own mistakes.  He had no right, as Blair had labeled it, to “co-mingle” funds.  Now that he thought about it – free of the initial shock and horror of Blair’s financial situation – Jim admitted to himself that Blair’s determination to not combine resources was a statement in itself.  And it hurt.

I wanted him to find himself and not worry about how it was going to affect me.  I guess I got what I asked for.

Blair was relieved to hear the voices of Rafe and Henri approaching the bullpen.  Good, he thought, looking up at the clock, almost time to go home.  Today hadn’t been as bad as yesterday with everyone considering him their pet gofer, but that was mainly because he’d been tied up for a long time with running down possible suspects on the computer for one of Megan’s cases.

“You’re welcome to have your partner back, Hairboy!” Henri said as he and Rafe entered, Jim following behind.

“Yeah,” Rafe said, “he’s one un-fun, tight-assed, tight-lipped no-time-for-anyone pouty middle-aged SOB.”

From her desk, Megan burst out with a very unladylike snort.

Blair stood in confusion.  “Pouty?” he asked, looking up at Jim, who was grimacing at Blair’s question.

“Yeah,” Henri told him, sitting down.  “You need to take him home, give him a spanking, and lay him down for his nap.”

“What?” Blair said, chuckling uneasily.  He sat back down as Jim sat down.  He whispered, “What the hell is that all about?”

Jim’s grimace deepened.  “It’s not about anything, Chief,” he replied with annoyance.  “They’re over-reacting.  Don’t worry about it.”

Thankfully, Henri and Rafe were turning their attention to the work on their desks.  “So, did you get Blackman?” Blair continued in a whisper.

“No, he didn’t show.”

“So, what happened?”

“Nothing,” Jim said, blinking his eyes innocently.  “It was a boring stakeout.  The guys got a little restless.”

Blair considered that.  Without needing to know the specifics, he said, “And you didn’t want to play along.”

Jim shrugged.  Then, he asked, “How was your day?”

“Not too bad,” Blair replied, glad that whatever had gone on, Jim was determined to let it roll off.  “Just let me know when you want to leave, because I’m more than ready.”

“Now sounds like a good idea.”

Blair used his mouse to shut down Windows, then switched off the computer. He stood up and took the jacket that Jim handed to him.  They went down to the garage in silence.  When they got in the pickup, Blair realized that his curiosity wasn’t going to leave him alone.  As casually as he could, he asked, “So, what was that about today?  You know I’ll probably hear about it anyway.”

Jim started the motor.  “It’s nothing, seriously.  You know that some days I just don’t feel very talkative.  Besides, Rafe and Brown aren’t exactly the most interesting people to have a conversation with.”

“Oh.”  As they pulled out of the garage, Blair rolled Jim’s reply around in his head.   Since Jim rarely “didn’t feel very talkative” these days when they were together, he supposed that meant that Jim considered him a fairly interesting person to have a conversation with.

He grinned.

Blair closed his eyes and turned his head away as plaster dust rose up from his cast.  He had thought he would be able to watch, but then he’d decided that wasn’t a good idea.  The little rotating saw in the doctor’s hand looked a little too threatening as it sliced through the cast, the doctor pulling it up just before it would threaten Blair’s defenseless arm.  The saw started and stopped numerous times before the doctor finally laid it aside.

Now Blair watched.  The doctor carefully broke the cast open, revealing an ace bandage underneath.  Blair was amazed at how small and fragile his arm looked, at how light it felt.  Once all remnants of the cast and bandage had been pulled away, Blair flexed his fingers and was delighted that they worked, though they felt light and weak.  Carefully, he flexed his elbow.  Same result – working, but weak.

“Looking good,” the doctor said.  “I’ll have the nurse clean you up, and then she’ll send you home with a sheet of instructions.   The more you exercise the arm, the faster it’ll get back to normal strength.  It’s best to start with a rubber ball, and squeeze it with your hand as often as you can.  After that, you can move up to a hand weight.”

“Thanks, Doctor.”  Blair continued to study his arm as he flexed and moved it, wondering how long it would take him to get used to the feel of its lighter weight.  Then a nurse came and scrubbed down his arm, and he sat there trying not to think about tonight.  He’d already given himself a series of erections during the long vigil in the waiting room.  They’d gone away only when he’d turned his attention to what Brown and Rafe had told him a couple of days ago.

“We all had a good time the first day Jim was with us,” Henri had told him when the three of them were alone in the break room.  “Then the second day, it’s like he just… shut down. Didn’t want to talk to us.   Just kept looking out the window and shifting his feet and making little sighing noises.  It’s like he didn’t want to give us the time of day.  Like it was our fault that we just had to sit there all day.  Man, Blair, how do you stand it when he starts PMSing like that?  I mean, you have to live with the guy.”

“First of all,” Blair had instructed, “don’t take it personally when he shuts down.”

“Yeah, right,” Rafe scoffed.

Blair continued as though Rafe hadn’t spoken, “The shutting down is just Jim Ellison being Jim Ellison.  And secondly, don’t attack him for doing what comes naturally to him.  Just let him be.”

Henri protested, “That’s like indulging him for being a pouty little kid.”

Blair shrugged, “Fine then.  Rag on him and get on his bad side.”  He deliberately chose not to point out that it was perfectly fine when it was himself doing the ragging.

He also hadn’t pointed out that he thought he knew why Jim was so bugged that second day.  That was after their little bill-paying session.  Blair was sorry that Jim seemed so disturbed by it, but he didn’t know what to do about it. Just because I’m not as anally efficient as he is about paying my debts – like debt-paying is something a person should want to do well.

In any case, nothing was going to disrupt tonight.  Blair whistled as he exited the hospital.  The cast comes off my arm, and Jim’s cock goes up my ass.  He nodded to himself.  Good trade.

Blair’s body was one big receptor of sensuality.  He was bathed in sweat as he lay on his back, legs every which way in a disorderly sprawl.  Sensations continued to vibrate out from his lower regions, making him pant with excitement and the sheer decadence of being the recipient of perfection.

His slit eyes could see the gorgeous sight of Jim’s nice big hand wrapped around his erect cock.  Jim had to have once catalogued the actions of vaginal muscles during intercourse, however subconsciously, because the motion of the muscles in his hand felt just like being loved by a woman.  Only, Blair had the added benefit of seeing the head of his cock peeking out from the top of Jim’s grip, as the big hand loved him so expertly.  It was beyond nirvana.

To say nothing of the three fingers inside his ass that kept twisting around, moving in and out and stroking his prostate.  Blair groaned and whimpered and moaned, not the least bit shy about trying to communicate how perfect this all was.  He knew better than to reach for the peak.  Jim would bring him there; bring him to the place that would end all of this, but be even more blissful.

Jim’s expression was so intent as he worked him, watching both his own busy hands, then glancing periodically at the sprawl that was Blair.

Jim’s hand moved faster.  Inside his body, Blair’s testicles felt like they were being fondled from behind.  He gasped as he felt the sensations begin to coalesce within his male organs, preparing his sperm for transport.  He heard himself groan repeatedly as Jim’s loving grip encouraged him.

The peak was suddenly there.  Blair screamed, arching his back, feeling his seed spurt from him as Jim milked him… slower now.  The grip was easy and loving as it encouraged the fluid to escape his shaft.  The digits inside his body pressed steadily, gently massaging one small area.

Blair exhaled.  It didn’t help much, and he wondered if he were too exhausted to breathe.  His body was mush.  His eyes were just barely open.  The sweat on his flesh began to cool.

He lay like that, in the land of sated contentment, as he drifted in and out of peripheral awareness.  Finally, with effort, he gasped, “Write on my tombstone that I died happy.”  Then he let himself blend into the mattress, no longer aware of where his body ended and the bed began.

Eventually, the fog in his brain lifted.  He didn’t open his eyes as he took stock of his surroundings.  His cock was dead and incapable of further activity for the remainder of his life.  That was just fine.  His rectum felt numb and hollow.  His skin was cool but not cold.  The most wonderful hand was rubbing, slowly, up and down his chest.  He let his eyes drift open, and they came into focus on a loving gaze that followed the motion of the hand.

Blair’s throat tightened.  He didn’t know why. 

What he did know was that he’d been so incredibly narrow-minded in his previous musings over the years about sex and sentinels.  For so long, he’d thought the sexual aspect would be unique only to the sentinel himself.  He’d never considered how advantageous enhanced senses would be for the one who shared the sentinel’s bed.  Except Jim has said that he always purposely dialed down.  Even now, with me, he keeps the sense of touch in his cock dialed down.  But he lets his other senses run free, and his sense of touch run free in other areas of his body.  So… does that mean I’m the only person on the planet who knows what it’s like to be made love to by a sentinel?     

That thought was worthy of a tight throat of emotion.

Jim was looking at him with tender, inquisitive eyes, his hands continuing to slowly rub.  Blair wanted to say things to him, though he didn’t know specifically what.  Besides, they never talked during sex.  Sometimes afterwards, when they cuddled, but not until then.  It’s not that Jim had ever told him he couldn’t talk; but since Jim himself didn’t, Blair followed his lead.

He was coming back to himself now, his body feeling somewhat normal, even as he lay blissfully content against the mattress with no desire to move.  Jim was still smiling at him, and he took both of Blair’s cheeks in hand and bent over him.  Blair’s lips were ready, parted, and he made a noise of agreement when Jim’s lips settled momentarily upon his own.  Then Jim’s tongue was inside him, swabbing at his mouth.  Sorry, lover, but I think I’m a little dehydrated here.

As Jim withdrew, he let his lips press against Blair’s once again, for just a moment.  Then he straightened.

Blair was waking up.  Or, at least, his mind was.  He looked at Jim’s erection, jutting between muscled thighs.  Jim had the most perfectly shaped genitalia that Blair could ever imagine.  His penis was well proportioned between thickness and length, and was amazingly straight at full hardness.  His testis hung well and the ovals were distinct.  His thatch of pubic hair had clean lines of demarcation between hair and flesh. 

Blair slowly raised his eyes from the taut shaft to Jim’s face.  He licked his lips, trying to show that he wanted that in his mouth more than anything, wanted to feel it touch the back of his throat before it went up his ass.  They had already broken one routine tonight.  Jim had come once, jerking himself off onto Blair’s bobbing erection, and then sucking Blair while consuming the ejaculate.  It had been incredibly sexy to watch.  Blair supposed that first orgasm was why Jim seemed so calm now, though he was on the verge of a consummation that, surely, he was looking forward to as eagerly as Blair was.

Jim shifted on the bed, his gaze leaving Blair’s.  His hands reached to either side of Blair, and pulled at him to turn him over.  Blair complied, feeling his whole body quiver.  Oh, God.  He wants it like this.   Lifting now, at his waist.  He got up on all fours, feeling so deliciously vulnerable and exposed.

Jim shifted some more, then took one of Blair’s wrists in each hand and stretched them out in front of his body.  Gently, he pushed between Blair’s shoulder blades.

Oh, man.  Blair’s heart quickened.  He obeyed the hand, lowering his upper body to the mattress while stretching his arms even farther out in front of him.  He moved backwards just a bit, so he would have more room to stretch as far as his arms could go.  What do I look like to him? he wondered, wishing they were filming this. Completely submissive?  Open and vulnerable?  Yielding and obedient?

The insides of both thighs were grabbed.  For a moment, they were lifted… spread… and then when his knees were again allowed to take his weight, Blair realized his legs were farther apart than ever before, but not quite to the point of discomfort.

He can see everything now, he realized, his heart starting to pound with excitement, even though his penis remained shriveled with exhaustion.  That’s your fuck hole, Jim.  All lubricated and stretched for you.  Please let me be your fuck hole.  Use me.  Use me all up and make yourself so blissfully, fucking happy.  Mount me, and put yourself inside me, and forget about Veronica and Lila and all those other selfish bloodsucking she-devils who had no idea what they could have had with you.          

The bedside drawer opened.  Blair’s face was turned into the mattress, his forehead pressed against it, hair fanned out around his head, and he purposely didn’t look. 

Sounds of the packet tearing.  Oh, God.  Condoms.  It’s never occurred to me….  He can’t dial up touch in his cock during intercourse, because he’d feel the condom first.  He’d have to filter it out to get to the flesh beyond, and filtering isn’t fair when one is trying to fuck their brains out.

Fuck your brains out, sweetheart.  But make it last forever. 

Sound of latex being drawn over taut flesh.  Jim’s breath coming in heavy pants now.  Shifting on the bed.

Blair felt the hair being pushed up and away from his neck.  Oh, God.  He’s almost ready.  Fuck me, you big, gorgeous super man.  Take what’s yours.

He felt something probe at his anus, then realized it was merely a finger.  It pushed in easily, then undulated inside him.  Now wetness… on his left butt cheek.  Then teeth.  Biting teeth.  Not quite enough to hurt.

Blair wriggled, gasping with delight and trying so very hard not to move.  He quivered when his right buttock received the same treatment.  Do I look edible to you?  Fuckable and edible and delicious? Like I’m all ready to be fucked by you?  I need you to want to fuck me.  Please want me, Jim.  Please want to enjoy it.  Let me be the keeper of your most favorite pleasures.

More shifting of the mattress.  Strong, thick thighs planted themselves directly behind Blair’s, pressing against his weaker flesh.  Firm, latex-covered spear poking at his cleavage.  A hand settled on Blair’s left buttock, as though to steady him.

Oh, man.  He wondered if the pain would be a little or a lot.  If Jim would shove it in, or ease it in.

Taut, gooey latex up against his crack, nestled against his depression.   

Jim’s other hand patted the middle of Blair’s back.

Yeah, I know, you’re a sweetheart and a big mushball.  Let’s do this, Jim.

His opening was filled up.  And then stretched.  It kept stretching until something big and full and hard pushed in.  It felt powerful and unyielding and filling.  It kept pushing, and Blair gasped out loud when he realized it was going farther than Jim’s fingers had ever gone.  And he was still being stretched and now it hurt.

“Ow, ow,” he gasped, determined to stay still, but knowing Jim would want the information about the pain, especially since he was dialed down in his cock.

The phallic commander stopped.

Blair turned his head, his cheek now against the mattress, trying to take in more air.

The strong cylinder pulled back.

No.

But then, after just a moment, it pushed back in… and pushed some more.  Blair, out of exhaustion, felt himself relax in a way that informed him he’d been tense, even though he hadn’t meant to be.  That slight relaxation allowed Jim to push in farther still.   “Ow,” he protested weakly, for there was a small additional pain.

More pulling back… just a little, and then it pressed in – farther still – and he felt Jim’s flanks against his butt.

Oh, God.  In his mind’s eye, he tried to see them from the side.  Himself stretched out like a sacrificial, willing slave; and Jim kneeling behind him, his cock fully inserted.  Within his mind, Blair saw himself with flesh that was transparent.  And he saw Jim’s cock lodged within his rectum.  Commanding flesh taking up the space within him.

Hands left his back and buttock.  Jim’s broad chest brushed against his back, and then Jim’s hands found Blair’s hands and leaned his weight against them, pinning them to the mattress.

Oh God, Oh God, Oh God, Blair chanted as a flush broke out along his body.  Yes, hold me down.  Keep me nice and still while you fuck me.  Want me.  Want me, Jim.  Keep me.

Jim’s face fell against his neck.  Hot breath along Blair’s bare flesh.  Lips nibbled… so gently.

Blair gasped, his eyes filling.

“Baaaby,” Jim breathed out against his neck and ear, voice tender and loving.

Blair trembled.  Yes, yes.  I’m your baby.  Fuck your baby.  Want him, always.

“Baby Blair,” Jim said, as though in wonder.  And then his hips started to move.

The weight on Blair’s hands increased as Jim braced himself against them, his hips pulling back, and then slapping against Blair’s ass, the weight of his body held just above Blair’s.

Oh God, Oh God, Oh God, fuck me good but don’t ever stop.  I’ll die if you stop.  In the transparent body in his mind’s eye, he never wanted to see them parted, never wanted himself left empty.

Jim groaned with lust as the steady, slapping motion continued.  Blair’s world narrowed to the movement in his ass.  His abused anal walls were starting to hurt, and he knew this had to stop soon.  But don’t dismount.  Stay with me and fuck me some more.  Keep fucking me and using me and wanting me.

Desperate lunging motion now.  Though most of Jim’s weight was born by hands and hips, his torso was lunging against Blair’s back with each forward thrust.  Blair grit his teeth.  Cover me and smother me.  Make me small and tiny so I’m just a convenient attachment for the pleasure of your cock.  A pleasure you want to enjoy over and over again, all the time.  Every moment of every day.

Jim started to cry out, lunging even harder.

Oh, man, Jim!  Do it!  Scream to the ceiling!  Let the whole world know how good you feel.

Jim stilled, crying out from deep within his chest, sounding like some primitive animal.

Fuck you, Alex Barnes.  The primitive sentinel takes his pleasure from my ass.  You’ve got nothing that he wants.

Jim was gasping now… huge, heaving breaths against the back of Blair’s head.  He finally shifted his hands from Blair’s, and slowly started to raise himself up.  “Easy now,” he warned breathlessly.  Blair waited while the steadying hand returned to his ass.  And then he was aware of thin latex and flesh moving back, until it popped out with a wet sound.

Ouch.  His ass was seriously sore.

A gentle hand pressed against his rump.

Blair obeyed and stretched out his legs behind him, sighing gratefully as his hips lowered to the mattress.  He drew his arms back toward his body, and that felt good, too.  He lay there, very still, his eyes closed as he listened to Jim disposing of the latex.  Jim was still recovering his breath.  Blair cracked his eyes open and watched Jim apply a baby wipe to his perfect, but shrinking phallus.

Once the wipe was disposed of, Jim softly said, “Stay right where you are a minute, Chief.”

Don’t think I was going anywhere.

Sounds of the bedside drawer opening, the mattress shifting.

Something moist ran along his ass crack, pausing to scrub at his anus.  Blair realized it was one of the wipes. 

“Antibiotic cream,” Jim announced, his voice quiet in the dimly lit room.

Blair waited.  His nerves hadn’t yet recovered their sensitivity, so he hardly felt a thing until he realized Jim’s finger was working within him, spreading the ointment inside.  More wipes, and then Jim was moving around, opening and closing the bedside drawer.  Eventually, the lamp went off.

Blair didn’t feel like moving, but he was content to let Jim shift him until they were under the covers.  He anticipated Jim’s arms coming around him for their evening, post-pleasure cuddle, wondering why it seemed even more important tonight than ever before.  He let himself be limp as Jim spooned around him, drawing him close to Jim’s warm, strong body, arms draping protectively around him.  Blair brought his own arms up – the right one feeling strange – and let them rest against Jim’s.

Please want me, he begged as he drifted.  Enjoy me and want me and keep me forever.

When Jim’s eyes fluttered open, he was aware that his body felt content in a way that it hadn’t in quite a long time.  That made him very happy.  He barely turned his head, not sure if he wanted to wake up just yet, and let his eyes crack open.

Blair was beside him, almost sitting up against the headboard, staring off to one side.

Puzzlement and sadness swept through Jim. 

No, he wasn’t going to do this.  He wasn’t going to get insecure and question his ability to please his lover.  He wasn’t going to question if he was good for Blair.  He’d felt Blair’s excitement last night.  Whatever was going on in Blair’s head, it wasn’t about last night.

So, he tried lightness and neutrality.  “Hey,” he whispered in a “Good morning” tone.

Blair turned to look at him.  He smiled, but it didn’t make his expression look any happier.

Jim said, “That brain of yours sounds like it’s going in circles at a hundred miles an hour.”

“Sounds?” Blair asked, chuckling. 

Keeping his voice light and casual, Jim ventured, “Were you disappointed?”

Blair’s eyes widened. “If you’ve got to question your lovemaking skills, man, then I haven’t been doing a very good job of praising you.”  He smiled lovingly and it softened his face.  “Jim, you’re out of this world.  From sheer skill alone, you’re beyond what anyone has a right to expect from sex with another human being.  So, don’t you dare get a complex, man.”  After the firm words, he looked away again.

Jim reached out and slipped his hand in between Blair and the pillow he was resting against.  He massaged along the small of Blair’s back.  “But?” he prompted.

Blair was still looking away.  “I guess,” a snort, “that I somehow thought I’d feel different this morning.”

“Different?”

“Yeah.”  A harsh shrug.  “I don’t really even know what I mean by that.”  Abruptly, he turned, shifting a little, but not so much that Jim couldn’t keep doing the back rub.  “Did you like it?”

Jim closed his eyes, the memory of tight, lubed, massaging walls gripping his penis.  “Yes, Chief, I liked it.”  He opened his eyes.  “I liked it very much.”

Hopefully, “Then we’re going to do it a lot?”

Jim smiled tenderly.  “Yes, we’re going to do it a lot.”

Blair shifted some more, and Jim felt a protectiveness well up as the younger man straddled him, their mutual nakedness seeming innocent in the morning light.  He massaged Blair’s thighs with a slow, easy motion.

“Good, “ Blair said, grinning.  His hands rested on Jim’s chest.

Jim remembered, during the conversation they’d had on the balcony, how Blair had brought up the question of fucking, seemingly out of the blue.  Jim couldn’t remember what they’d been talking about just then, but he did remember that Blair was saying he felt he was missing something inside himself.  “You know, Chief,” he said gently, loving how those blue eyes watched him, the inquisitive face framed by hair that needed to be combed, “as much as I’d love to think that my cock can cure whatever ails, I don’t think that how often we fuck, or how powerfully we fuck, or what position we’re in, or how draining the orgasm… I don’t think any of that is going to fill the void that you feel you have.”  He paused, then, “I think you’re probably the only one who can fill that emptiness.”

He knew, from Blair’s thoughtful expression, that the younger man knew he was right.  Jim drew his hands up to Blair’s waist and let them rest there.  Though it was Blair’s problem to solve, he wanted to do anything humanly possible to help.  “Chief, this… lack that you feel…  Do you have any idea when you first started feeling that way?”

Blair looked away, the mental wheels so obviously in motion.  After a long moment, he looked back with an apologetic expression.  “The press conference.”

Jim blinked.  They had talked through all their feelings about the press conference ad nauseum well over a year ago.  How could there still be more ghosts?

Blair tilted his head to one side.  “Do I seem changed to you?”

“Changed?” Jim repeated.  “How?”

“Just… changed.  Since the press conference.”

Jim shrugged.  Of course there were changes in Blair.  He wasn’t sure why this needed to be spelled out, but he put his mind to the task, just in case it helped.  His hands started a gentle massage along Blair’s hips.  “Well… you’re definitely more mature in a way that can’t be explained just by age.  You’re less hyper.  You’re more used to my quirks and don’t badger me as much.  You take orders from Simon better, without protesting so much.”  He thought a long moment, before admitting, “You don’t seem to laugh or smile quite as much.”  He himself smiled, but it felt almost like a grimace.  “I guess, in a nutshell, I’d say you’ve lost a lot of your innocence.  And that’s sort of sad, but I see it as a natural, necessary part of growing up.  As we live our lives, our hopeful idealism tends to get replaced with harsh realities.”

Blair seemed to keep listening, even after Jim was done talking.  Then he frowned and looked directly at Jim.  “I think that, at the press conference, something happened to me.  Something that got lost in everything else that was going on, and I didn’t notice it until,” he indicated the bed, “all this started happening more recently.”  He shook his head.  “I don’t think it has anything to do with the thesis, or even anything to do with you.  It’s something… within me….”  He trailed off in a whisper, expression far away.  Then he looked back at Jim.   He swallowed and explained, “It’s like something… got lost.  Or died.  Or just… left behind.”  Beneath his fingertips, Jim felt Blair’s circulation accelerate.  “I-I want it back.  I think I need it back.”  His expression looked pained and anxious.  “But I don’t know how to get it back, especially since I don’t know what it is, exactly.”

Blair was getting agitated, and Jim went for the practical.  Still rubbing along Blair’s hips and thighs, he said, “Maybe you need to forgive yourself for the press conference.  After all, that was a decision you made all on your own, and you lost so much because of it.” 

But Blair was shaking his head.  “No.  I don’t need to forgive myself, because I made the right choice.  We’ve been over this before, Jim.  It felt right when I made it.  From the moment I made it, I never questioned whether it was the correct thing to do.  There’s nothing to forgive.”  But he was looking away again.  Calculating.

Jim was out of his element here.  All he could offer was himself.  “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Blair looked at him.  His lips parted and then he swallowed thickly, his eyes filling with moisture.  “Just let me… hang onto you sometimes.”

Jim blinked and tried to shift upwards.  Even as he held his arms outward, he was puzzled that Blair suddenly seemed to need this.

Blair’s weight fell against his chest and Jim gathered him up and squeezed him tight.  Both of Blair’s arms came around him, the right gripping weakly, the left gripping tightly.

Holding him, and him holding on.  Two different things, he realized.  Blair was holding onto him now like he had that first night on the sofa.  What’s the need that he’s trying to fulfill?

Even as Blair’s hands gripped, his body relaxed against Jim’s chest and shoulder.  Jim brought a hand up and rested it against the back of Blair’s head. He glanced at the clock.  They needed to get up.  But he couldn’t bring himself to be the one to make them separate. 

After a minute, it was Blair who eased his hold.  He sat back and looked at Jim, a bashful smile at his mouth.  “You know how little kids, when they get into an argument or something, will say, ‘My Dad can beat up your Dad?’”

Jim grinned.  He could even remember himself saying that, many, many years ago.  “Mm-hmm.”

“I used to wonder, when I heard other kids say that, what that would be like.  I mean, to have somebody big and strong who made you feel protected.  Of course,” he quickly amended, “I felt safe with Naomi.  But it wasn’t like I could fantasize about her beating up somebody else’s Dad on my behalf.”  He grinned.  Then frowned, bowing his head.  “When you came along….  Sometimes, after a scary moment, like if we barely escaped a bomb going off or something, I’d really wish it would be okay for me to hang onto you.  Just for a moment.”

“It would have been,” Jim assured quickly, even though the back of his mind questioned if it were true.

Blair shook his head.  “No.  You wouldn’t have wanted me to.  Especially if other people were around.”  A brief chuckle.  “I wouldn’t have wanted to, if other people were around – especially other cops.”

Jim’s mind automatically rifled back to a few occasions when Blair, full of terror, had run into him unexpectedly, grabbing at him and trying to cling to him.  Jim hadn’t minded the clinging – and feeling needed like that – but, in those moments, it had been more important to get Blair settled down so Jim could evaluate the situation and decide what to do next.

And, truth be told, the man he was then wasn’t equipped to deal with all that naked emotion.

Okay, so Blair was right.  He gently grasped Blair’s chin, waiting until those eyes met his.  “You can hang onto me whenever you need to.  You know that now, right?”

Blair nodded while his eyes shifted to the clock.  “Yeah.  We need to get up.”  He darted from the bed and grabbed his robe.  “At least, now, Simon can start assigning us new cases again.”

“Ellison,” Jim answered his desk phone. 

The hesitant voice said, “My family said you’re looking for me.”

“Depends on who you are.”  He glanced at Blair, who stopped what he was doing.

“Tommy Sanchez.”

“Yes, Mr. Sanchez,” Jim said, seeing that Blair recognized the name, “we would like to ask you a few questions concerning the murder of Alan Carter.”

“I’ve got nothing to do with that, man.”

“Then maybe you can help us.  Where can meet and talk?”

A heavy sigh.  “I’m a student at Rainier.  I can be in front of Jackson Hall at eleven.  Do you know where that is?”

“Yes.”  Jim didn’t know, but Blair would.

“I’ll be wearing a powder blue windbreaker.”

“My partner and I will be there.”

Blair was already on his feet as Jim hung up.  They grabbed their jackets and headed for the door.

Tommy Sanchez was just an inch shorter than Jim, with short dark hair, dark eyes, and a Hispanic complexion.  He sat against the concrete ledge that surrounded a flower garden.  Jim stood with Blair before Sanchez and listened to his protestations of innocence.

“That day that Alan Carter was killed, I was out surfing with friends, and they can attest to that.”

He was probably telling the truth.  In addition to witnesses they could question, the coroner estimated that Alan had been killed at night.  Since Sanchez didn’t refer to the night Carter had been killed, that meant he probably wasn’t involved.  At least not directly.

Jim took a photo from his pocket.  “Do you recognize this sweater?”

Tommy studied it and shrugged.  “Should I?  It just looks like a regular sweater.  That’s like asking if I’ve seen anybody wear a raincoat in the past few months.”

“Try to think about it,” Jim suggested with forced patience.  “The sweater is a bright red.  Synthetic wool.”

Tommy kept shaking head.

Jim wondered whether to continue to push about the sweater when Blair asked in a conversational manner, “Are you going to continue Legend’s Lair’s polo training?  Melinda talks like he’s got a lot of talent and it’s a shame his training got interrupted while you were out of the country.”

Sanchez smiled.  “He’s a nice horse.  Got the moves, ya know?”

Blair nodded eagerly.  “Ye-eah.”  He glanced toward the building behind them.  “I used to be a grad student here.  I’ve never paid much attention to the polo team, but if I knew Legend’s Lair was part of it, I’d sure come out and watch, because I used to root for him when he was racing.”

Tommy’s smile disappeared.  “Legend wouldn’t be on Rainier’s team.”

When he didn’t elaborate, Blair prompted, “Why not?  Wouldn’t a university be an obvious choice to place a talented horse who was looking for a good home?  Surely Rainier could come up with an adoption donation.”

Jim made sure his expression stayed impassive as he inwardly perked up.  Of course.  The university ought to be one of the first places a retirement farm would look to place a horse who had talent in one of the few horse sports Rainier participated in.  Surely, the Rainier polo team didn’t have much in the way of funds to outright purchase horses with talent.  He waited for Tommy’s answer.

Sanchez said, “Legend’s a better horse than that.  Melinda would be able to get more for him from a professional polo team.”

Jim exchanged a startled glance with Blair.  Thankfully, his young partner remained calm and exuded the right amount of puzzlement when he said,  “Oh, I guess we misunderstood.  We thought Racer’s Range adopted horses out for whatever the adopters could afford to pay.  We didn’t think they were searching for the highest contribution, but just made sure that the horse went to a good home.”

“So,” Jim also tried to sound not overly interested, “do you know if there is a particular adopter that Melinda has in mind when Legend’s polo training is complete?”

Tommy shrugged.  “I think she has Grayson Farm in mind, though I don’t know if she’s talked to anybody there.  It’s a big polo outfit.  And they pay good prices for ponies.”  He looked at Blair.  “I’d say finding a good home comes first.  But,” he smiled knowingly, “Melinda’s not above taking whatever she can get.  Running that farm is expensive, and the donations to keep it going are hard to come by.”

Jim felt his excitement fading.  Melinda's wanting to get the highest price for the horse didn’t necessarily mean she was doing anything shady.  And Tommy was right.  It was probably very difficult to keep the farm running off of nothing more than kind-hearted donations and adoption fees.  It was just that Melinda hadn’t mentioned anything in their conversations and faxes about hoping to get a good price for Legend’s Lair.  She’d only mentioned that Sanchez was training Legend before he left for Europe, and that the training was going well.  She certainly hadn’t mentioned anything about Grayson Farm.

They were all quiet a moment, and Jim was about to put out his hand to shake with Sanchez and thank him.  But Blair held up his finger and said to Sanchez, “One more question, Tommy.  Why would you want to donate so much of your time to training Legend’s Lair, when there wasn’t anything in it for you?  I mean, you wouldn’t even be able to have him on Rainier’s polo team.”

Tommy shrugged.  “A couple of reasons, I guess.  I believe in what Melinda’s doing with the farm, and I wanted to help out.  Plus, I’ve never been able to start out a horse who had never done polo before.  So, it was a good experience for me.”

“Was?” Blair asked.  “You aren’t going to continue now that you’re back in Cascade?”

“School has to come first and classes start next week.  I’m carrying a pretty heavy load this semester, and I don’t know if I’ll be able to fit in much time to go out to the farm.  I haven’t even gotten around to calling Melinda since getting back.”  He hesitated, then, “It’s too bad, because Legend is talented, but I can’t make him a priority.  Maybe she can find someone else who’s willing to donate their time.”  He looked at his watch. “I told somebody I was going to meet them five minutes ago.”  He stood.

“Thanks, Tommy,” Jim said, as they both took turns shaking his hand.  “You’ve been very helpful.”  As he and Blair walked back toward the pickup, Jim said, “Why don’t we pay Melinda a surprise visit.”

“That’s just what I was thinking,” Blair grinned at him.

It turned out to be a waste of time.  Melinda was gone for the remainder of the week because she was conducting seminars throughout the Pacific Northwest on the moral responsibility of taking better care of retired racehorses, and trying to generate donations in the process.  In the meantime, Simon smiled grandly as he handed Jim and Blair a handful of new cases to investigate.

Two days later, at the loft, they were unwrapping sub sandwiches which they had picked up on the way home.  Once Jim sat down and started eating, he realized that Blair had been awfully quiet since leaving the station.  He looked up at his partner, who was standing at the island and squirting an extra helping of mustard on his sandwich.  “Is it something I said?”

Blair put the mustard aside, glancing at him while recovering his sandwich.  “About what?”

Jim bit into his own sandwich as Blair sat down.  “About whatever the reason you’re being so quiet is.”

Blair grinned.  “Oh.  Sorry.  Just a lot on my mind.”  He took a huge bite.

His own mouth still full, Jim cautioned, “Make sure you chew that up before you swallow it.”

Blair rolled his eyes.

Jim swallowed.  “You still thinking about the Harrison case?”

Blair shook his head.  After swallowing and sipping his iced tea, he said, “Not even warm.”

“Then what?” 

Blair gazed at him.  “I was thinking about your senses.”

Oh.  They had perused a couple of crime scenes the past two days, including for the Harrison case, but there hadn’t been anything unusual that had happened with his senses at any of them.  “What about them?”

Blair put his sandwich down and turned his full attention to Jim.

Uh-oh.  He’s in his Full and Complete Probing mode.

But Blair’s voice, while curious, was also gentle and compassionate.  “When you were a kid and that tragedy happened with your mentor, Bud, that’s when you started suppressing your sentinel abilities, right?”

Where is this coming from?  Nevertheless, Jim obediently replied, “I guess.”  He thought back, then shrugged.  “It wasn’t a conscious decision on my part.  It’s not like the suppressing of my senses happened overnight.  I think it was more that every time I caught myself, for example, hearing something that other people didn’t hear, I’d make a decision not to acknowledge it, and pretend I didn’t hear it.  Eventually, my senses were suppressed down to a more normal level.”

Blair nodded, his sandwich forgotten.  “Do you think, at that age, you understood that it was your senses that made you different from everybody else?  Or did you just think there was something different about you, but you really didn’t understand what it was?”

Jim picked up a tomato slice that had fallen from his sandwich and put it into his mouth.  “I think I understood that it was my senses.  Hearing, sight, smell, taste.”  He knew he was forgetting one.

“What about touch?”

That was the one.  “Yeah.  That one was trickier, but I had a few experiences that proved to me that I felt things, tactile-wise, that other people didn’t.”

Blair gazed at the tabletop for a long moment.  Then he said, “Okay.  Then say around thirteen, fourteen, you go through puberty.”  He looked at Jim.

Jim nodded.  “About that age.”  He was eating slower, because he had no idea where Blair was going with this, and that worried him.  On the other hand, it felt good to see Blair with some problem in mind that he wanted to solve.

“So, you start getting erections and having wet dreams, and you realize that your hand knows how to make your cock feel really good.”

Blair looked so darned serious that Jim didn’t have the heart to make smart-ass statements.  He answered obediently.  “Yep.”

“So, when you first started touching yourself, and it felt so fantastically good, did you associate that with your senses?  Did you think it made you more of a freak, because you could make your cock feel good?”

Jim felt uncomfortable, and he knew it was silly because it was just the two of them.  “That’s a tough one.  It was so long ago.”

“Okay, okay,” Blair held up a hand.  “What about the idea of masturbation in general?  Did you know that other boys did that?  I mean, I don’t suppose your dad ever had that father-son talk with you.”

Jim shook his head.  He couldn’t imagine his father ever talking about sex.  “No, he didn’t.  But I heard other boys talking.  I knew boys masturbated.”

“But did you think it felt as good to them as it did to you?”  Blair shifted and looked at him squarely.  “What I’m getting at is, did you maybe hesitate to masturbate, because you felt it made you a freak?  That it was something you shouldn’t be doing, because it concerned your freakish senses, and that you should try to stop?”

Jim shrugged.  “I hesitated for a lot of reasons.  But that didn’t stop me from doing it.”

“But it’s not like,” Blair shrugged apologetically, “you thought you were going to go blind, or that hair would grow on your palms.  Right?  Any shame you felt wasn’t because you thought jerking off was wrong; but because you thought it was your heightened sense of touch, that made it feel extra specially good, that made it wrong?”

Jim tried to remember back to his adolescent self, lying back on his bed and stroking himself… and telling himself he’d just allow it this one last time, and he’d never do it again.

Apparently, he was taking too long to answer, because Blair leaned toward him.  “Look, Jim.  When I was a teenager, I could jerk off four times a day, if I was alone.  That’s not an exaggeration.”

“No kidding,” Jim said, amused at Blair.

“And I don’t think that’s all that unusual for any normal teenager,” Blair defended.  “But I’m getting the feeling that you didn’t do it anywhere near that often, even allowing for that fact that you may not have been alone as much as I was.”

“Definitely not,” Jim conceded.

Blair drew an outline in the air with his hands.  “This is the big picture.”  He put his hands down.  “I’m thinking that you’ve been sexually repressed your entire life.”

Jim wasn’t even sure he knew what that meant, but he had a sudden urge to puff out his chest and belch and fart and mate… not necessarily in that order.  He wished Blair would talk about something else.

Blair placed a hand on his arm.  “Jim, it all fits.  The way you can go for over a year without having sex, and not have it make you crazy.  The way you refuse to have sex if it’s only sex.  The way you insist that there be some emotional connection.  I mean, even with a willing partner, you aren’t the kind of guy who’s going to take a tumble in the hay for reasons of a healthy release.  And, when you’re in bed, you’re obsessed with making sure you please your partner, and you don’t seem to think it’s necessary for you to have any pleasure at all.  Added to all that, you dial down the sense of touch in your cock, now that your senses are online.  I mean, Jim, what does this sound like to you?  You’re a man who is absolutely terrified of enjoying himself with his cock.  And it all goes back to your upbringing and all the guilt crap your father laid on you about your senses.  If your cock feels good, then it must mean you’re some sort of freak.”

Jim sat still, staring at the remnants of his sandwich.  How could he know if Blair was correct, since he had nothing in his own experience to compare it to?

Compassionately, Blair said, “And you know what sucks the most in all of this?  The irony of ironies?”  He squeezed Jim’s arm.  “You’re a sentinel.  When it comes to the five senses, you’re genetically coded to experience life in a richer way than anybody else.  And, yet, I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if you’re so dialed down that you physically feel less than the average person when having intercourse.  You feel enough to get a healthy erection and experience a satisfying orgasm, sure.  But you have no clue how much more pleasurable and satisfying your cock could make you feel, if you let it.”

Jim was proud of himself for having a distinct lack of outrage at this intrusion into the functioning of his body.  He’s latched onto this because it bothers him that I haven’t made him give me a blow job.  Blair would probably find it another shocking trait to condemn, but Jim wasn’t the connoisseur of blow jobs that most men purported to be.  It wasn’t that it didn’t feel good, but he knew women didn’t like doing that.  And he particularly didn’t like it being done to him if the other person was on their knees before him. There was something about the idea of someone humbling themselves to him that was unappealing.  Yet, Blair stretched out before me, ass up, completely submissive, isvery appealing.  No doubt, fucking his mouth will be appealing, too.  It’s just been kind of fun dragging out the anticipation, knowing he wants it so bad.  And what’s wrong with showing a little patience in the bedroom?     

“It’s no wonder,” Blair went on, “that you’ve been saying for years that you never asked to be a sentinel.  You never wanted it.  Of course – because you’ve only seen the down side.  The responsibility.  Feeling like a freak.  Having to hide who you truly are from the world at large.  Having to deal with the physical discomfort when you have a reaction to a new type of food or whatever.  But maybe being a sentinel would be a lot easier to accept if you allowed yourself to have the sentinel’s basic right – to experience life via his senses.  And that includes letting your cock feel whatever your heightened sense of touch can allow it to feel.”

Jim bit into his sandwich and chewed.  After sipping his water, he allowed, “You might have a point.  But I think you’re missing the larger picture.”

“What’s that?”

“Because I’m a sentinel, I can enjoy the sexual experience in far more ways than any other man.  Tasting you is very, very special to me.  Smelling you.  Hearing you cry out with pleasure means so much more to me now than the noises of any bedmate ever did in the past.  Watching you pant and gasp.  But, most of all, being able to touch your flesh is such a special pleasure.  Most men have to wonder how good a job they’re doing in bed.  I know how good I’m doing.  The response of your nerves tells me everything.  You can’t fake it.”

Blair considered that.  Then he said, as though to himself, “And I’m the only person you’ve experienced that with?”

“Yes,” Jim said, not intending the answer to come out as gently as it did.  He suddenly felt very tender toward Blair.  Protective.

Blair gulped.  He became interested in picking at the somewhat dry pieces of his sandwich.

It makes him nervous that I love him, Jim realized, though not for the first time.  He’s afraid he can’t return it.  Which is so incredibly idiotic because he shows me love every day.  He was showing it to me long before I even wanted to admit that it was there, that his emotions could affect my emotions.  But he’s got some demons he has to hunt down and purge.  And the best I can do is stand back and let him go it alone.  Let him find what’s inside himself… whatever it is that he insists he’s ‘missing’.

They finished their meal in silence.

“SANDBURG!”

Blair gulped as he glanced up from his desk.  Simon looked grim and serious, and Blair couldn’t imagine why their superior would call for him alone, instead of waiting until Jim got back.  Hesitantly, he got up and went to Simon’s office, the captain closing the door behind them.

“All right, Blair, what’s going on with Jim?”

Blair wondered if he’d had a zone-out of his own and missed a few sentences.  “Huh?  Jim just went down to look at Harrison’s belongings again.  He wanted to get a closer look at the ring he wore.  And then we’re heading out to Racer’s Range to talk with Melinda about the Alan Carter murder.”

Simon shook his head with disgust.  “No, no.  I’m not talking about that.  I’m talking about in his personal life.”

Oh.  But still…  “W-What about it?”  

Simon sat on the edge of his desk.  “You mean you haven’t noticed?” he asked with disappointment.

Blair shrugged, totally lost.  “Noticed what?”

Simon’s voice was suddenly a conspiratorial whisper.  “Jim. Looks. Happy.”

He does?  “He does?”

Now a friendly chuckle as Simon shook his head.  “Heh.  Heh.  Even Jim can’t hide the joys of an amorous heart.”

“Amorous?”

“Come on, Sandburg.  There’s no way you couldn’t know.”  Simon grinned delightedly.  “Jim’s got him a girl, hasn’t he?”

Blair contorted his body into elaborate shrug.  “Uh… not that I’m aware of, Simon.”

The dark face lined with creases.  “What?  There’s no way you couldn’t know, if you live with him.  Come on, Blair, you don’t need to keep Jim’s secrets from me.”

Ha.  Wait until you find out about Jim’s and my secret.  “Simon, I don’t know anything about any girl that Jim’s seeing.”  Should I be pretending that I know about a girl?  “But I really think you should be asking Jim and not me.” 

“He’d just deny it,” Simon said thoughtfully.  “If he hasn’t let anything slip by now, he must be wanting to keep it a secret.  I just can’t imagine why.”  A sigh.  “Whoever it is, I hope it lasts.”  He looked directly at Blair.  “It’s been nice seeing him so… mellow like this.  Mellow and happy and in love.”

Why haven’t I noticed?  Well, maybe the mellow part.  But happy and in love?  Maybe I’ve missed it because I’ve been so wrapped up in my own feelings… or lack of feelings?

“Yeah… well,” Blair made a beeline for the door, “I need to get back to work.”

On the drive to Racer’s Range, they spent most of the time talking about their various cases, including the Carter murder.  Over the years, Jim had learned how to recognize when Blair was participating in a conversation but not paying a hundred percent attention.  He was seeing that now in Blair… little underlying hints that his partner’s mind was elsewhere.  He wanted to ask, but refrained from doing so.  He was starting to get accustomed to Blair being distracted and suffering long, thoughtful silences.  What’s going on in that head of his?  What I wouldn't give to make him comfortable with all this… with us... and mostly with himself.  If only I could wave a magic wand and give him whatever he needs, so that he can be happy again.

“Jim.”

Jim glanced over at him.  “Hm?”  So, he’s going to tell me now?

“I’m thinking that maybe it’s not necessary to use condoms anymore.”

Jim blinked.  Twice.  Not necessary.  Condoms.  So… he’s talking about us instead of one of the cases?  They rarely talked about their private lives while at work.  “You mean when we…?”

“Yeah.”  Blair was looking out the windshield.  “After all, what are we trying to prevent?  I’ve always gotten tested regularly, out of habit.  The last results came in two weeks ago.  I’m still clean, like always.”

Jim wasn’t sure what to say.  He couldn’t remember having sex without condoms.  In the army, it had been his chosen method of birth control.  Then along came the AIDS scare, and condoms were mandatory for a single man.  When he was married, Carolyn had seemed relieved he was willing to use condoms to prevent pregnancy, because she’d experienced uncomfortable side effects with other methods.

Blair was looking over at him now.  “And I know you haven’t… for a long time before me.”

The statement was spoken with the hint of a question in Blair’s tone.  Jim nodded.

Blair seemed relieved.  “So, there’s really no reason to have protection.”  A long pause.  “Unless… you know…,”  He trailed off uncomfortably, as though waiting for Jim to rescue him.

“I won’t be sleeping with anybody else,” Jim told him.  Afterwards, he realized how matter-of-fact he sounded.  As though it was a given that this was permanent with him and Blair.  Like a commitment.  Or a marriage.  If so, shouldn’t he feel nervous and emotional about it?  And if Blair himself was suggesting they dispense with protection, did that mean Blair had no intention of seeing anyone else either?

It’s not that he thought Blair wanted to keep seeing girls (it’s impossible for them to make him feel as good as I do, anyway, for starters), but Blair had seemed so… unsure… about the emotional side of what was going on between them, that Jim hadn’t been expecting the roundabout commitment. 

“Right,” Jim said.  “I guess there isn’t a reason anymore.”  He waited a few more moments before glancing at Blair again.  His partner was looking out the side window, but Jim could see an upturned mouth corner, indicating some semblance of a smile.

Melinda seemed on edge when they arrived at Racer’s Range.  Blair thought that could be excused by the fact that she’d been out of town for a week and was now trying to catch up with a backlog of work at the farm.  Or maybe it meant she didn’t want to answer any more questions.

While she moved about her office at the end of the barn, Jim dived right in with, “Why don’t you tell us what your intentions are with Legend’s Lair.”

She paused in her filing.  “You think the horse has something to do with Carter’s death?”

“Just answer the question,” Blair said gently since Jim, as usual, was playing the aggressive role.

“As I told you in my fax, he’s being trained as a polo pony, because he has an aptitude for it.  But his training has been on hold while Tommy Sanchez is out of the country.”

“And after his training is complete?” Jim prompted.

She shrugged and moved back to her desk, sitting down.  “Hopefully, we can get him adopted out with a polo pony team.”  She gestured to the chairs in front of the desk.  “Please, sit.”

“Thank you,” Blair said, sitting down.

Jim remained on his feet.  “Correct me if I’m wrong, but our impression from our first visit here is that the goal of the farm is to adopt horses out to good homes.”

“That’s right.”

“And you’ll take whatever the adopter can afford to pay as a contribution to the farm.”

“That’s correct.”

“Well,” Jim said in exasperation, “it’s our understanding that Tommy Sanchez himself would love to have Legend on the Rainier polo pony team.  What’s more, he could continue his training without having to find the time to drive out here.  So, if Rainier were to, say, offer a five hundred dollar contribution for Legend, would you let them adopt him?  After all, the sooner you get him adopted out, the less he costs the farm, right?”

She gazed at Jim a long time, as though trying to take in all he’d said.  “You sound like you’ve talked to Tommy.”

“Yes,” Blair said. “He’s back from Europe for the fall semester at Rainier. He’d love to keep training Legend, but he doesn’t know if he can take the time to get away, with his class schedule. But it’s obvious that he loves the horse, and Legend would have a good home with the Rainier polo team.  So, why not let Rainier adopt him?”

“Who says I wouldn’t?” Melinda countered defensively.  “Rainier has never contacted me regarding adopting Legend.”

“But wouldn’t it be a logical home?” Blair said hopefully.  “Isn’t a good home the first and foremost consideration?  Maybe you could contact them.  You usually have to find adopters, rather than vice versa.  Surely, not a lot of people know about this farm and that there are ex-racehorses looking for homes.  Besides, the longer you keep Legend here, the more he costs the farm, right?”

Melinda’s gaze switched back and forth between the two of them.  Then she sat back in her chair.  “Look.  Finding a good home is the first consideration for the horses that can be adopted out.  But that doesn’t mean we won’t consider all the best candidates for a good home if we have more than one home to choose from.”

“Who else is interested in Legend?” Jim asked.

“No one,” Melinda replied.  “No one knows about his polo talent except Tommy and the people who work here.”

“What about Grayson Farms?” Jim asked pointedly.

Melinda paused on her way to reaching for a pen.  Then she settled back.  “I’ve never had any contact with Grayson Farms about Legend’s Lair or anything else.  However, once Legend’s training was more advanced, I intended to contact them to see if they might be interested in adopting him.”

“For a huge ‘donation’,” Jim added pointedly.

Firmly, she said, “It wouldn’t change the fact that it would be a good home for him.  They treat their ponies like royalty there.”

“It’s no wonder,” Jim said blandly, “since Mr. Grayson himself has told us that he pays anywhere from ten to forty thousand for an untried horse with potential.”

She replied, “I didn’t know that.  I was hoping for seven or eight thousand, if we could work something out.  It would keep this farm in hay for a few months.”  She looked from one to the other.  “You aren’t holding it against me, are you, for wanting to collect enough in donations to keep the farm running?”

Jim said, “This is the problem we’re having, Melinda.”  He finally sat down.  “You originally gave us the impression that two thousand dollars was about the most that anyone could be expected to donate when they adopt a horse from the farm.  Now, you’re right, there’s nothing wrong with you trying to collect as much donation money as possible to keep all your retirees in oats.  But, it’s just a little difficult to overlook the fact that you didn’t mention anything in your fax about hoping to get seven or eight thousand dollars for Legend’s Lair when his training was complete, especially when the purpose of the fax was to tell us what you intended for each horse.  You’ve got to admit, from our end, that looks just a little bit suspicious.”

“Even so, I don’t understand why it would have anything to do with Carter’s murder.”

Impatiently, Blair said, “Melinda, all the evidence points to Legend’s Lair having something to do with Carter’s murder.  There is absolutely no indication that anyone would have wanted to hurt Carter for personal reasons.  We found a thread of a red sweater here at the murder site.  At   Grayson Farm, we found the sweater itself.  So, Carter’s murder is somehow attached to Grayson Farm.  Since Grayson Farm is a polo pony outfit, and Legend’s Lair is the only horse at your farm who is training for polo… well, what other connection could there be?”

She shook her head, her face wrinkled in consternation.  “But what could Legend’s Lair have to do with it?  If Grayson Farm was willing to adopt him, why would that result in Carter’s murder?  And why would anyone murder for a horse worth seven or eight thousand?”

Jim got up and sat on the edge of her desk.  Leaning toward her, he said. “Maybe somebody realized that Grayson Farm is willing to pay a lot of money for a good polo pony, even an untried one.  Maybe someone was thinking they could sell Legend’s Lair for, say, $20,000 to Grayson Farm.  They’d give Racer’s Range, say, $7500 of it – a decent ‘contribution’ – and pocket the rest for themselves.  Grayson Farm wouldn’t know the difference and they’d be happy they got a good, new pony.  Racer’s Range would be happy to get the $7500.  And the person who arranged the deal would walk away with, say, $12,500 free and clear.”  He smiled grimly.  “So, everybody would be happy.  Except the happy little plan got blown out of the water when Alan Carter found out about it.  And somebody figured that a measly $12,500 was enough to kill him over.”

She was silent for a long time, as though working the logistics through.  Then she said, “But Legend’s Lair is still here and the hypothetical transaction for $20,000 has never taken place.  So, what good did it do to kill Alan Carter?  Even if what you speculate is true and Carter found out about it, surely there wouldn’t have been enough evidence to land somebody in jail, if Carter had told the police.  So, gentlemen,” she looked from one to the other, “even ifyour theory is true, that’s still no reason to kill Alan Carter.”

Blair looked at Jim.  She had a point.  It felt like being back to square one.

“You know,” Jim said, “you never did answer my question.”

“What question?” Her eyes darted from Jim to Blair, then back to Jim.

“About why your fax never mentioned your hope to adopt Legend out to Grayson Farm for seven or eight thousand.”

She shrugged.  “It seemed premature.  I had no way of knowing if Grayson Farm would be the least bit interested, to say nothing of willing to pay that much.  I didn’t see much point in calling them until Legend was further along in his training.  Now,” she sighed tiredly, “his training is on hold, since none of the volunteers here know anything about polo ponies.  Legend’s potential value was based upon Tommy Sanchez being able to complete his training.  Based upon what you’ve just told me, his training might get put on hold indefinitely.  It’s unlikely I’d be able to find another polo trainer willing to donate his time and drive out here on a regular basis.”

“Then why not call Rainier?” Blair insisted.  “They would surely pay a token contribution, then they could adopt him immediately, so you would no longer be paying for his upkeep.  And then Sanchez could continue Legend’s training right there at the college stables.  It’s not like you’re losing anything, since it sounds like you’re not going to be able to adopt him out for a high priced contribution, after all.  What’s more, it could be good publicity for the farm.”

She sighed.  “I might do that.  I just hadn’t really thought it through yet; I’ve been so busy.”

Jim stood.  “We won’t take up any more of your time,” he said abruptly.  “Come on, Chief.”

Blair followed, then paused when Jim turned in the doorway and said to Melinda, “Be sure and give us a call if you happen to think of anything else that you neglected to mention in your fax.”

They exited.

“What did you think?” Blair asked when they were back in the truck.

“From the way her heart was beating, she knows more than she let on.  But I don’t know what, exactly.  Hopefully, we rattled her cage a bit.”

A flurry of paper landed on top of the file Jim was studying.  “Hey!” he protested as he looked up.

“Sorry, man.  That’s your mail.”  Blair grabbed a couple of the pieces and tossed them to his own desk.  “Except that’s mine.”  He stepped back toward the doorway.  “Want anything from the break room?”

“Uh, yeah, a Snickers and a coffee.”

Blair disappeared.

Jim pushed the mail aside, noting a flyer about the upcoming Cascade PD Labor Day bar-b-cue, and another about volunteering for the Big Brothers/Big Sisters program.  There were a few sealed envelopes, one of which he recognized as being from Human Resources, and he opened it to find that it was a somber notification that a former detective with Major Crimes had passed away in Chicago.  Since he’d bothered to open it, he kept going and picked up another envelope that was sealed-side up.  He opened it and found himself looking at a group of three papers stapled together.  The top one was a brief form letter that began, Dear Detective Sandburg.  “Detective Sandburg” had been hand-written in the space provided.  “Per departmental policy, we are informing you that the attached court order was recently received by our office, which directs us to garnish your wages, beginning with your next paycheck.  Please understand that we are required by law to follow this court order, and the Cascade Police Department has no authority to dispute any of the court’s directions.  If you feel this court order is in error or otherwise wish to dispute it, you must do so via the legal system.   Only a further court order can override the attached court order.”  It was signed by the Director of Human Resources, Cascade PD.

Jim felt sweat break out on his forehead.  So.  The “consequences” had begun.  Blair could no longer innocently protest that all his delinquent debt had no direct effect on his finances.  Now, because of this garnishment, he would clear substantially less than before on his paycheck, thereby making it all the harder for him to even pay the most minimal portions of his financial responsibilities.

God.  Jim rubbed at his forehead.  His hearing automatically sought out his partner.  Blair was talking with Megan in the break room about having signed up for tennis lessons at the health club.  Jim turned the cover letter and looked at the court order.  It was for some $8,000 owed on a student loan, one of which obviously hadn’t been guaranteed by the government.  It would take over a year of garnished wages for Blair to pay it off.

He folded the papers back up and put them in the envelope, then flipped it over to look at the front.  “Blair Sandburg.  Major Crimes” was the address.  Obviously, Blair hadn’t realized the envelope was his when he’d sloppily separated their mail.  Unless, Jim thought hopefully, he wanted me to find out about it, so I could help.  But, no, he realized, there was no way Blair could have known what was in the envelope.  Correspondence from the payroll department was common for all the employees of the city. 

Still, Jim couldn’t pretend he hadn’t seen it.  Nor did he want to.  But he wasn’t sure this was the best time to talk about it – if Blair was willing to talk about the subject at all.  Surely, he can’t blow this off like he does everything else concerning his finances.  And there’s sure to be more garnishments to follow, considering how behind he’s gotten on everything.  He heard Blair finishing his conversation with Megan and leaving the break room.   Jim slipped the envelope inside his jacket.  They got paid every other Friday, and the next payday was still a week off.  He had until then to decide what to do.

“Hold your legs against your body,” Jim directed.

Lying on his side, Blair locked his arms beneath his knees and brought his legs tight against his body, holding them there.

“You can release them if you get uncomfortable,” Jim assured.  He knew Blair would hold out as long as possible.  It was clear to him that Blair liked being held down while being fucked.  Jim didn’t understand why, but he didn’t think turn-ons in the bedroom should require explanations.  He’d been doing Blair the same way as the first time, nearly a week ago.  Tonight, however, was for some new twists.  Blair was curled in a tight ball, his opening exposed.

Lying behind him, Jim grabbed the lube and stroked a thin coat along the head of his naked cock.  He wondered how different the sensation was going to be.  He’d never minded condoms but, logically, there should be at least a little more sensation this way.  Plus, he was hoping that they were enough past concerns about pain that he could work on getting Blair to physically enjoy being fucked.  He’d brought Blair to one orgasm earlier tonight.  Then he’d fondled and played with him, getting him hard, before directing him to lie on his side.  Maybe, if Jim did his part well, Blair would be able to come while Jim was inside him.

Jim had also come earlier, but his cock was again thick and rigid, and he couldn’t help but think that knowing he was going to get to do it au naturel was creating the extra excitement.  He wanted to last for Blair, because Blair seemed to like being slow-fucked, which was Jim’s favorite way, too. 

He felt between Blair’s rear cheeks for the lubed entrance, making sure he knew where it was.  Then he took his cock in hand and placed it there.  He spooned around Blair, his face rest resting against the pale neck.  He kissed Blair, then whispered, “Deep breath, baby.”  He waited as Blair obeyed, then buried his nose in Blair’s hair, breathing in the scents of his scalp.  He pushed with his hips, marveling at the way the tight entrance suddenly gave way, gripping his flesh as he pushed through it.

Jim groaned against Blair’s head, felt and heard the familiar deep pants of his love as he accepted Jim’s length.  Now that it no longer needed guidance into Blair’s body, Jim released his phallus and wrapped his arm around Blair, including his arms.  He listened to Blair’s heart beat with excitement.  Jim pushed his other arm beneath his love, and held tightly to him from the bottom.  He squeezed all the harder and thrust home.

“Yes,” Blair hissed.

It did feel different.  The same tightness as with a condom, but the feel of Blair’s inner flesh against his own invading part… that was different.  That was sweet.  Jim thrust slowly, savoring each millimeter of friction against his flesh.  His own heart beat with love as he listened to Blair’s answering groan.  Blair was so folded in on himself that Jim wasn’t sure how he could be comfortable; yet, there was no question of the younger man’s pleasure.

For a few minutes, Jim continued like that, thrusting slowly, powerfully, and keeping his arms tight around Blair’s arms and body.  Then he snaked his hand down into the tangle of their limbs and found Blair’s cock.  He gripped it and pulled.

Blair shuddered and made an inarticulate noise, his sphincter muscle flexing around Jim.  Jim kissed Blair’s scalp, nuzzled into his neck, then bit gently into the back of his shoulder, holding on with his teeth.  He waited while another appreciative shudder went through Blair.  Then he thrust again and began to stroke steadily with his hand.

Blair writhed within Jim’s embrace.

“I’ll do it,” Jim assured after his teeth released Blair’s shoulder. He wanted Blair to be still so he could keep holding him tight against himself.  His hand continued to stroke, steadily and confidently, his penis doing the same job within Blair, providing steady friction to his prostate.  Jim let his sense of touch dial up in his hand, and he felt the blood surging within the shaft he held captive.  Blair was gasping louder, sweating, breathy articulations of  “yes!yes!yes!” escaping at intervals.

Jim heard Blair’s climatic cry just before he felt the seminal fluid rush up the barrel of the shaft he held.  He buried his face in the thick, curly hair, breathing in the musk and sweat.  He gasped when his cock registered anal muscles spasming deliciously around it.  Jim forced himself to relax, refusing to rise to the bait.  He went still and listened to Blair’s own gasps.

Jim waited until the other man’s breath evened out.  Then he thrust instinctively – to keep his place – and bent to plant a series of kisses along Blair’s salty face and neck.  He rose up a little on his elbow as he did so, finding himself looking at a lazy, satisfied grin.

“The best,” Blair said with closed eyes, in a barely audible whisper.

Jim rubbed the seminal fluid from his hand along Blair’s torso.  It wasn’t much, which he found amusing since Blair was sometimes frustrated with the small amount.  On the contrary, Jim considered the minimal fluid as an indication of the excellent job he was doing at keeping Blair sated.

“Want to change positions?” Jim asked lovingly.  Blair’s arms had released his legs, but he was still tucked in on himself.

Large eyes opened, looking back at Jim.  Dryly, Blair whispered, “Want you to stay in me all night.”

“I want to,” Jim replied, his heart thundering with compassion.  He just didn’t know if he could.  His frustrated cock was beginning to rebel by throbbing relentlessly.  “But do you want to try to shift?  Stretch out?”

The dark strands shook once on the pillow.

“Okay.”  Jim wasn’t quite sure of what to make of this… Blair wanting to remain so curled within his grasp.  Though there was still seminal residue on his hand, Jim reached up and brushed Blair’s hair away from his face.  Blair was almost lying back against him, his body heavy and sated, and it was easier for the younger man to look up at him. 

“I love you,” Jim said.  It hit him, right then – looking down at Blair and feeling him so relaxed and trusting – in a way that it never had before.  He bent awkwardly and planted kisses along Blair’s shoulder.  Then he said, “I love you so very much.”  Kiss, kiss.  “Love you.  Love you.”  He kissed Blair’s neck.

When he straightened, Jim found the large, bright eyes gazing up at him.  He responded to the demands of his cock and thrust slowly, driving deep to soothe it, and watched as Blair’s eyelids drooped and his lips parted.  Still feels good to him, even though his cock is drained.  The organ was small and shriveled against Blair’s thigh.  Jim’s eyes had closed as he thrust, and when he opened them, Blair’s own orbs were still gazing at him, as though they were trying very hard to tell him something.

Jim waited, gazing back, and running his fingertips along Blair’s face.  When they brushed against Blair’s lips, a pink tongue darted out and licked.  Those were the fingers with the semen, and Jim bent and turned them as necessary, to accommodate their cleaning.  And then, just as Jim was about to pull them away, Blair suddenly sucked one into his mouth, working his tongue and lips around it, as though it was a miniature penis.

Jim’s cock throbbed.  He thrust again, soothing it, and pulled hard to remove his finger from Blair’s mouth.  He grinned at the mischievous eyes.  “Don’t worry,” he teased.  “You’ll get your chance.”  He almost felt bad for stringing Blair along this long – since his partner so obviously wanted to blow him – but then he reminded himself that if Blair wanted it that badly, all he had to do was claim his authority in the bedroom, just by saying so.  No, for whatever reason, Blair wanted things to remain like this, wanted to remain Jim’s sensual toy.

Jim thrust automatically, realizing he could hold out no longer.  He gently pushed at Blair so the other man was more up on his side, and then spooned back close to him and started thrusting in earnest.  He listened to the wet noise of the lubricant being seared back and forth, felt his cock throb as it responded to the snug massage it received with each thrust.  Jim groaned more loudly – knowing Blair would approve of the verbal release – and gripped Blair tightly as the sensation built in his cock.  At the last second before release, it occurred to him that it might be safe to dial up and find out what a more sensitized touch could do for him.  But the mental blocks were well in place, and he cried out as orgasm hit him with the same intensity that had been familiar throughout his adult life.

This time, however, there was the special knowledge that his seed was spilling into Blair’s body.  Jim groaned deeply within his chest

His upper body collapsed back against the bed, his heart pounding and chest heaving with the most wonderful sensation of release.  Eventually, his penis slipped out.  He patted Blair on the arm – though that hardly seemed thanks enough – and reached for the wipes.  He cleaned himself, then felt tenderness consume him as he pushed on Blair’s back, encouraging him to stretch out and lie flat on his stomach.  Blair was very quiet – but very relaxed – as Jim wiped him clean and applied the medicinal ointment.

When Jim had everything put away and turned out the light, they continued their post-coital routine and snuggled up close to each other.  In the darkness, Blair asked, “Did it feel better, doing it uncovered?”

“Better,” Jim agreed.  “Not significantly better, but… better.”  He kissed Blair’s nose.  “I’m glad you mentioned it.”

“Whatever keeps my sentinel happy,” Blair said, a smile in his voice.  Then, more seriously, “It was better for me, too.  Maybe in a dumb way, but I like knowing that,” he voice drifted sleepily, “right now, a part of you is still inside of me.”

Jim supposed it was silly.  But he hugged Blair and admitted, “I like knowing that, too.”  He listened to Blair drifting, and decided he wasn’t selfless enough to go without his goodnight kiss.  He nudged Blair.  “I need your mouth.”  He got up on an elbow.

Large eyes opened and looked up at him in the darkness.  Then, with amusement, “I can do a lot more interesting things with my mouth than satisfy your taste buds.”

“You tease,” Jim chuckled.

“I think we should set a date,” Blair went on, “like we did for the fucking.  I really liked looking forward to that.  You tell me when I’m going to get to suck your cock.”  He quickly amended, “Not that I’m saying I’d be any good at it.  But we have to start somewhere.  If you get to taste my mouth every night, why shouldn’t I get to taste your cock?  I don’t need super senses to know that it would taste good to me.  It would be a power trip, man.”

Jim tried to trace those moving lips with his fingertip.  He had to stop this conversation, or he’d give in.  He already knew that he’d let this drag out too long, because he couldn’t help but think that Blair was going to end up disappointed when it really happened.  Just like the fucking hadn’t been like Blair had expected, hadn’t left him feeling “different”, as he had hoped.  He wondered what disappointments sucking his cock would bring

Jim removed his finger and lowered his mouth over Blair’s.  He let their lips get reacquainted for a moment.  Then his tongue emerged and took up residence in Blair’s mouth, finding pools of saliva that registered their sweet flavor with Jim’s taste buds.  Jim groaned appreciatively, then transferred the fluid back into his own mouth, to enjoy it a while longer.  He swabbed Blair’s mouth a few more times, and then settled back so they could both catch their breath.  He knew his kissing Blair in this manner puzzled the other man, but he didn’t know how to explain how good it tasted to him. Just like he couldn’t explain the flavor of the perfect flesh on the underside of Blair’s penis.

When they settled back onto the mattress, Blair was already in the deep breathing of sleep.  Jim squeezed his arm, needing to assure himself with one more touch, and then followed him into slumber.

Jim braced himself as he stood on the porch of the house he’d been raised in.  He’d seen his father perhaps a half dozen times since solving Bud’s murder, and each time he was shocked at how old his father looked.  What’s more, he always felt a twinge of guilt that he never called ahead, unless it was a pre-arranged dinner appointment.  Yet, he couldn’t ever bring himself to notify his father of his decision to stop by, simply because he felt it might look to his father as though he were making too much of seeing him.  He preferred to preserve the illusion that seeing his father didn’t twist his guts around with a lifelong mixture of feelings.

He rang the doorbell.  He had to wait a long time before hearing shuffled footsteps approaching the foyer.  Sally must not be around. 

Finally, the door opened.  His father stood there, and Jim was proud of himself for not being shocked this time at the signs of aging.

“Jimmy,” his father greeted in surprise.

Jim managed the semblance of a smile.  “Dad.”  He hated being called Jimmy, but after all these years, he could hardly tell his father not to.

His father stepped back and Jim entered the foyer, relieved that the older man wasn’t expecting a hug.  They’d embraced in the heat of the moment when his father had been attacked by the younger Foster; but once the immediate danger had passed, they’d gone back to being wary of each other, even if speaking more frequently.  “Dad, I need to talk to you about something.”

“All right.”  His father held out a hand toward the front parlor.  “How about something to drink.”

Jim couldn’t tell how his father felt about the fact that Jim needed to talk to him.  That bothered him.  “No, I’m fine.  I’m not planning on staying long.”  What else is new?

They were in the sitting room.  “Have a seat at least,” the older man said.

Jim chose a chair next to the sofa, knowing the couch was where is father would sit.

“Dad.”  Jim sat hunched in the chair with his hands between his knees.  He was sure he’d feel comfortable about this, but now, in the moment, it was a little nerve-wracking.  He finally straightened and looked at his father.  “I need your help with something.”

“Certainly.”  The blues eyes looked him up and down, as though wondering what his son could possibly want from him.

“Actually,” Jim took back, and now it was easier, “it’s not me who needs the help.  It’s my partner, Blair.”  Blair had been over for a couple of dinners at the family home.

The gray head snapped up, then the faded eyes narrowed with concern.  “What can I do for him?”

“He’s – he’s….”  Jim decided to go straight to the point.  “He’s in financial trouble, Dad.  He’s way over his head.  He was a graduate student, you know, and a good chunk of his education was being funded by student loans.  Then he lost all chance at a decent job when he gave his press conference.” He watched the other man nod, grateful that his father understood what a sacrifice that had been on Blair’s part.  “So, now he’s trying to live on a cop’s salary, but he’s so far over his head that there’s no way he can dig himself out.”  Jim swallowed.  “He doesn’t know I’m here.  I offered to help him at least make some smart decisions, such as moving some of his credit card debt from high interest rates to low ones, but… he doesn’t want help from me.” Jim released a sigh, “He didn’t grow up knowing about money.  He – he tends to want to sweep money matters under the rug and pretend there isn’t a problem.”  Jim felt restless and stood, pacing away.  “Now he’s got a garnishment on his wages.  It’s just… a big mess.”  Jim turned around, seeing that his father looked relieved, as though he were glad that this was merely about money.  Something he could handle.  Could help with.

“So, he needs a loan?” William Ellison asked.

Jim vigorously nodded his head, grateful that his father was meeting him half way.  “Yes.  I-I’m hoping he could accept it, if it came from you, because he’d know it wouldn’t be a hardship for you.”

“How much does he need?”

Jim collapsed back into the chair.  “From what I’ve seen, I think about $35,000.  He doesn’t have his finances organized at all, so it’s possible there could be some stuff out there that I’m not aware of.”

The older man shrugged.  “That wouldn’t be any kind of problem.  I could have a cashier’s check within a day.  And if he needs more – “

“Dad, I don’t know how much he can afford to pay back monthly.  It’s hard to know until things get straightened out.  It might be easiest if you start off with a low payment, and then have them get higher over time.”

A thin smile spread across the older man’s face.  It made Jim feel he was a child again, and he was about to get talked down to.  He promised himself that he would take the condescending tone and not get angry or defensive. 

His father said, “Hell, Jimmy.  I’m sixty-seven years old.  I may very well not be here whenever he gets around to paying it all back.  It’s not like I’m going to miss that amount of money, one way or the other.”

Jim felt relieved, but also confused.  He waited for his father to continue.

William Ellison waved a hand dismissively.  “I’d just as soon give him the money.  And not have to bother having some $200-per-hour lawyer write up a formal note.”

Jim realized his mouth was hanging open.  A wave of disbelief washed through him.  But it all made so much sense.  So much happy sense.  Yes.  Give him the money.  The man who did the job that you didn’t do, Dad.  The man who convinced me that I had a gift, instead of some embarrassing, freakish illness that should be hidden away.  Yes, Blair deserves to have a fresh start, and not have to worry about paying for his past.  He gave me my life when we first met.  He gave me my life back when he denounced his thesis.  What’s a measly thirty-five grand measured against that?   “A-are you sure, Dad?  A loan would be fine.”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

Jim released a heavy breath.  “I don’t know if he’ll accept it.  I don’t even know if he would accept a loan.  But I’ll try to get him to take the money.  I’ll have to find the right time to bring it up.”

His father didn’t react to this.  Surely, he well understood a man having pride about his finances.  Though, in Blair’s case, Jim didn’t think it was pride that was at issue.  Instead, Blair’s reluctance to deal with his situation in a positive way was from sheer ignorance, and also a reluctance to complicate their personal relationship, by co-mingling funds.  But my father’s money won’t be co-mingling. Especially if it’s money Blair can have free and clear.

“I should have a cashier’s check ready sometime tomorrow.  I’ll give you a call.  Blair… Sandburg is his name?”

Jim nodded, standing.  “Yes, Sandburg.  B-u-r-g.  Thanks, Dad.”

“$35,000 you say?”

“Yes, that’s the amount I estimate.”

“Hm.”  He looked up at his son.  “Why don’t I make it $40,000, just to make sure he’s covered?  If he needs more, let me know.”

“I will.  Thanks.  I need to get going.”  Jim hurried out to the foyer, not wanting his father to see how joyful this made him feel.

“Sure thing, son.  I’ll be in touch tomorrow.”

The next afternoon, Blair was working alone on their cases because Jim, as the three-time Detective of the Year, had been requested to join Simon and the mayor for an ass-kissing meeting involving police personnel from other departments around the state.  The intent was to share information and successful techniques.  Of course, Jim’s presence was ridiculous, since his most valuable “technique” was something that had to remain secret.

Blair’s phone rang, and he picked it up.  “Blair Sandburg.”

“Detective Sandburg?” a happy male voice said.

“Yes, speaking.”

“Did you pull some strings or something?”

Blair furrowed his brow, knowing he should be able to place the slightly Hispanic accent.  “Who is this?”

“Oh, I’m sorry.  This is Tommy Sanchez, the polo pony student.”

“Oh, yes, Tommy.  How are you?”

“You haven’t heard?” Tommy was obviously puzzled as to why Blair didn’t know why he was calling.

“Uh… no.  Heard about what?”

“The University is going to adopt Legend’s Lair.”  Tommy’s voice increased with excitement.  “He’s going to be on Rainier’s polo team, and I’m going to be the one who gets to train and ride him.”

“That’s great!”  Blair was truly happy for man and horse.  “How did that come about?”

“I guess Melinda up and called the University and asked if they would be willing to adopt the horse for a token donation.”

Blair tried to keep the suspicion out of his voice.  “Wonderful.  So, how much will Racer’s Range be getting for him?”

“Five hundred dollars is what I heard.”  Tommy seemed puzzled.  “I guess those larger outfits, like Grayson Farm, weren’t interested.”

Blair decided there was no harm in being honest.  “I don’t think Melinda ever contacted them, Tommy.  She knew they wouldn’t be interested in a horse that still needed quite a bit more training.”

“I guess I feel sort of bad then,” Tommy said, “because I was the one training him, and I just didn’t have the time.  Maybe if I could have continued his training, they could have adopted him out to one of those big outfits and gotten a lot more for him.”

Now Blair felt guilty for bringing it up. Sincerely, he said, “Naw, Tommy, I think this is for the best.  If you love the horse that much, you deserve to have him.  Especially if it helps make the Rainier polo team a winning team.”

Sanchez chuckled now.  “Yeah, I’d like to think so.  Thanks.”

The conversation sounded like it was at end, as was Legend’s adoption status.  Yet, Alan Carter’s murder was still unsolved, and Blair hated to lose any possible connection.  “So, Tommy, when would be a good time for me to come out and visit you and Legend at Rainier?  As much as my partner and I have been out to the retirement farm, we never actually met Legend in person.  I’d love to watch you put him through a few moves.  I won some money on him when he was racing, and I feel sentimental about him.”

“Sure,” Tommy said with enthusiasm, “that would be fine.  I don’t know when would be a good day though.  Melinda is still trying to arrange a van ride to deliver him, and then Legend will need a few days to settle in before I start back getting serious with his polo training.”

“Okay, that sounds good.  But just let me know, will you?  I’m serious.  I’d like to watch him practice for his new career sometime.”

“Okay, Detective.  I’ve got your number.”

“Thanks, Tommy.  Bye.”  Blair hung up.  He felt good that Tommy and Legend would soon be together.  But he wished that fact would somehow tie into Alan Carter’s murder.  Melinda was looking less suspicious now, in terms of having any involvement.  But maybe her sole motivation for having Rainier adopt Legend was to turn those earlier suspicions away from herself.

Since the meeting Jim and Simon were attending had included a meal, Blair made himself dinner when he got home.  On the way, he’d stopped at a sporting goods store to buy a tennis racket, since his lessons would begin in a couple of weeks.  He’d been shocked, and more than a little embarrassed, to find that all three of his credit cards were refused by the store’s card system.  He supposed if he opened some of the stack of mail in his room that he would find correspondence from the credit card companies informing him of such.  In any case, he’d had to leave the store without a tennis racket, feeling a little ashamed at having put the store clerk through her own embarrassment of running each of his cards through their system.  He’d have to wait two days until payday to get some cash to pay for the racket.  For that matter, he wondered if, when the health club bills started arriving, he’d be able to pay them.

He wondered if he should have let Jim help him that night they paid his bills.

Determined to lift his melancholy mood, Blair put a Twin Peaks tape in the VCR and sat on the sofa to watch.  Jim had tried watching the show with him, but found it too bizarre to get interested in. Since Jim wasn’t following what was happening, he wouldn’t mind missing the installment that Blair was now viewing alone. 

The episode was almost over when Jim walked in, wearing the suit coat and tie that Simon had insisted upon.  He removed the coat immediately.

“Hey,” Blair greeted, “was it fun?”

“Yeah, right,” Jim scoffed, moving into the kitchen.  “I think it was more an excuse for the bigwigs to leave their offices than any serious attempt to accomplish anything.”  After removing his tie, he grabbed a beer.

“Did you get enough to eat?” Blair was trading looks between the TV and Jim.

“Yeah, plenty of that.”

Blair focused on the remaining moments of the episode.  His concentration was interrupted when Jim solemnly said, “We need to talk, Chief.”

Blair looked up, puzzled and concerned, and clicked off the VCR and TV.  “What about?”

Jim was leaning on the kitchen counter.  He sighed deeply and looked away, increasing Blair’s concern.  Then he said, “There’s something I’ve been keeping from you the past few days.”

Uh-oh.  Blair couldn’t imagine what.  “What?”

Jim shifted from one foot to the other.  “A few days ago – actually, last Friday to be exact – you dumped a bunch of mail on my desk.  What you didn’t realize was that there was an envelope in there that was addressed to you.  So, I opened it without realizing it was for you.”  Jim straightened and reached into his coat pocket.  He pulled some papers from the envelope and stepped toward Blair, holding them out.  “It’s from the Payroll Department.”

Blair accepted the three sheets stapled together.  He quickly scanned the cover letter, but didn’t understand what he was reading.  He flipped to the next two pages, which looked like official court documents.  “What is this?”  He glanced at the letter again.  “It says a garnishment.  What does that mean exactly?”  He looked up at Jim for guidance.  After what happened at the sporting goods store, and now this – to say nothing of Jim standing there, looking grim – he felt as if the walls were closing in.

Gently, Jim said, “It means that the court, on behalf of one of your creditors – I guess for a student loan – has ordered the City of Cascade to withhold twenty-five percent of your net pay each paycheck to pay off the eight thousand dollar debt

Twenty-five percent?  Blair tried to compute that, and couldn’t.  Eight thousand dollars?  He knew his face looked as stricken as he felt.

Apologetically, Jim said, “I didn’t have the heart to show it to you, at least not until I could try to figure out some way to help.”  He seemed to brighten a bit as he reached into his jacket pocket and took out another envelope.  “Here.”

More puzzled, and full of foreboding, Blair opened the envelope.  There was one piece of paper inside, which he removed.  It looked like a check, payable to Blair Sandburg, in the amount of forty thousand dollars.  The amount was punched in with some sort of formal encryption.  “What’s this?”

“It’s from my father,” Jim said, sitting down at the other end of the sofa.

“Your father?”  Does everyone except me know about my financial problems?

“Hear me out,” Jim said, as though he thought Blair was going to protest.  “I-I went to my father, because I knew you wouldn’t want to accept help from me.  But I knew my father would really want to help, and I was hoping you would let him.  I went there to ask him for a loan, Chief.  For you.  He would never miss the money and, as I suspected, he really seemed to like the idea of helping you.”  Jim looked at the floor for a long moment, then finally glanced up, emotion in his eyes and voice.  “Chief.  He knows what you did for me.  The sacrifice you made that led to this,” Jim nodded toward the papers in Blair’s hand, “disaster.  And he-he knows that you’re the one who-who taught me that I have a gift.”

A gift.  Blair’s mind stepped back in time to his first formal meeting with William Ellison.  A dinner engagement at the Ellison home.  Though anxious to be a fly on the wall, Blair had insisted that Jim should go alone, so that father and son could talk and try to get to know each other, without the interference of an outsider.  Jim had agreed on principle, but pointed out that, considering how long they had been estranged, there were sure to be some awkward silences.  Therefore, he asked (pleaded) for Blair to come along, because at least his partner would be good at filling in the awkward moments.  Obviously, the elder Ellison was thinking the same thing, because he hadn’t seemed to mind when Jim said to have Sally set the table for three.  As soon as they sat down at the table, Jim had started in on extolling Blair’s virtues.  Most poignantly – almost emotionally – Jim had said, “Blair is the one who taught me that I have a gift, Dad.  That I could use it for good – and that I shouldn’t try to get rid of it or be ashamed of it.”  Blair had felt put on a pedestal then, and he braced himself for William’s jealousy and disapproval.  Instead, the older man had seemed genuinely grateful that someone else – no matter how bizarre that someone in his eyes – had done for Jim what he himself could not. 

Now, looking at the check in his hand, William Ellison’s gratitude seemed all the more sincere.

“I went there, Chief,” Jim went on, “to ask him for a loan for you.  He readily agreed.  But – without me saying anything – he-he ended up deciding he just wanted to give you the money.  He wants you to be able to have a fresh start.  He’s grateful to you.  And it’s the least he can do.  It’s easy for him, you know, to give that amount of money.”

Blair sat staring at the check, trying to understand all that Jim was saying.

“I-I don’t want to push you on this,” Jim said.  “But I don’t know what other options there are.  And, this way, everybody wins.  You get your bills paid and can start over – be even better off financially than when you gave the press conference.  I win because I can stop worrying about your finances.  And my dad wins because he can feel good about the fact that he helped somebody he cares about.”

Blair looked up.  “Did you tell him about us?”

“No.  God, no,” Jim said, as though the thought had never occurred to him. “I-I guess I didn’t see that as having anything to do with it.”

Blair saw the money drifting away from him.  His voice sounding distant to his own ears, he asked, “What about when he finds out?”

Jim seemed puzzled for a moment.  Then he said, “Even if he hates the fact that we’re sleeping together, he would never,” he pointed to the check, “try to get that money back.  It would be too petty on his part.  I’m telling you, Chief, forty grand is nothing to him.”

Blair snorted at the irony.  “You would think that if he wants to go around giving away forty thousand, he’d just give it to his own son.” 

“I could never take it from him,” Jim said.  “I’d have too many hang-ups about it.  But, even if he did, I’d just turn around and give it to you, so you could get out of this mess that you’re in.”

“That’s what this is called?” Blair asked, not knowing what else to say. “A mess?”

Silence.  When Jim finally answered, his voice was gentle.  “It’s a chance for a fresh start.  If that amount can’t pay off everything, he’ll gladly give more.  And then, the salary you work so hard at making will finally be yours again.  Money you can decide what to do with.  From a financial standpoint, at least, you can take control of your life.”

Blair snorted again, shaking his head at the irony.  Staring at the check, he gruffly said, “The last thing I feel right now is in control.  I don’t do anything – but breathe – and this money just falls into my lap.  Problem solved.”  He glanced at Jim.  “Not that I realized it was all that big of a problem in the first place.”

Carefully, Jim said, “You would have when I showed you those papers.”  He indicated the stapled set of papers in Blair’s lap. 

Blair felt as though a cloud was coming to rest over his head, casting shadows over his life.  Time to face the music for real.  “Yeah,” he muttered.  He kept staring at the check.  “I stopped by today to get a tennis racket and all three of my credit cards were refused.”  He barely glanced up, realizing he didn’t want to see Jim’s expression.  “Guess that makes me irresponsible, huh?”

“I think you’re naive, not irresponsible, when it comes to money.  And, Chief,” Jim’s voice filled with compassion, “you never had a chance to deal with your debt when you destroyed your academic life.  You were in over your head from that moment on, and the consequences are just now coming to fruition.  It’s amazing you got by as long as you did, though I wish I could have known, and my father could have helped stop this back then.”

Blair continued to stare at the check, not knowing what to say.

“Chief,” Jim said hesitantly, “I-I don’t want you to accept that, if it’s going to make you angry with me, because you feel I’m trying to control your finances.  I just thought that since I knew of a solution – a pretty painless solution, all the way around – then I should present it.  And my father made it even more painless still, because he cares what happens to you.”

“Okay,” Blair said, he voice low and dry.  He didn’t want to listen anymore to Jim trying to defend his actions.  Actions of love.  “So…,” he still couldn’t look up, “I just deposit this into my account?”

Jim’s voice was refreshingly matter-of-fact.  “It’s a cashier’s check.  You don’t have to wait for it to clear the bank.  As soon as you deposit the money, you can access it and start paying your bills.  The first thing I would do is contact the place that filed the court order, and overnight a check to them so they’ll cancel the garnishment.  It’ll be impossible to stop it from coming out of your check this Friday, but that would be the only time.”

This was too complicated.  Once again, an easy solution was almost literally at hand.  Throat constricting, Blair mumbled, “Do you want to take care of all that for me?  I know you want to and that you’re good at it. Well, better than I am.”

He could hear Jim’s indrawn breath of surprise…and relief.  “Y-yeah.  Yeah.  I’d like to take care of that for you.”

Time to be practical.  Blair glanced up again, seeing the compassion on Jim’s face, and a discomfort that matched his own.  “Maybe… maybe we should open a new account when we deposit this, huh?  Maybe make you a signor?  And then I can just give you all my bills and you can take care of them?  You’ll be smarter about it than I am.”  He shrugged, looking back at the check.  “You can just… open my mail for a while, if it looks like a bill.  You can take care of the whole thing, and just let me know when everything is handled.”

Jim said nothing for a moment.  Then, abruptly, he pleaded, “Tell me what you’re feeling.”

Blair gulped.  What am I feeling?  How do I know what the hell I’m feeling?  Especially since I don’t feel anything at all.  But if their positions were reversed, he’d be badgering Jim about searching within himself to find the truth.  Blair could do no less.

Belatedly, he realized his breath had quickened.  He placed the check on the coffee table and stared at the hard surface.  “I’m feeling that I have no control over anything anymore.  That I haven’t for a long time.  That I’m a ping-pong ball being volleyed back and forth to the tune of other people’s wishes.  I’m a mouse in a maze, and every time I bump into a wall, I fall backwards and turn around to crawl in another direction.  Eventually, I end up at the cheese by default.”  He looked up at Jim, jaw tight to still its quivering.  “My whole life is one big default, Jim.  Before, my life revolved around classes.  Taking classes, teaching classes, studying for classes, occasionally going on expeditions.  There was always a new class, something new to learn.  And, more importantly, I was building towards something.  I-I mattered in the scheme of my life.  The sentinel thing was the most incredible icing on a wonderful cake.”  It took a lot of effort for him to clear his throat of the lump that was in it.  “Now, ever since the press conference, everything I do is by default.  I have a regular job because it was handed to me.  I – ” he waved his hand at the check, “get to take care of all my debt, because a payment was given to me.  I even,” he laughed sharply without humor, “I even have a steady relationship, because it just fell into my lap.”  He looked up at Jim’s impassive face.  “I never wanted a steady relationship, Jim.  It was never in the grand plan I’d laid out for my life.  And now,” he shook his head at the biggest irony of all, “I’m in this healthy, stable, possibly permanent relationship, all because your senses happened to up and decide one day that I’m a feast.”  Another incredulous laugh.  “I don’t even have to work at the relationship.  All I have to do is breathe.”  The humor left abruptly.  “And you love me.”  He wondered if Jim would detect the question in his voice.  “Just… because.”

Blair put his face in his hands and rubbed at his forehead.  “God, I sound like a candidate for Prozac.”  He wondered how hurt Jim was by what he’d said, but was too cowardly to look.  He moved his hands to speak more clearly, even as he kept his head bowed.  “The kicker is, I wouldn’t change any of it.  I just feel out of control, because it feels like I never had a say in anything that’s happened since the press conference.”  He snorted at yet another irony, straightening, wanting very much for everything to be all right again.  “Kind of weird for somebody who believes in fate and karma, huh?”

When he risked a glance at Jim, he saw his roommate – his partner, his love, his benefactor – with a mild expression that didn’t quite look like hurt, nor quite look like everything was fine.  Then the thin lips moved to make a grimace.

Blair decided to stay on the path of honesty.  He focused his gaze on the coffee table.  “I need to hang onto you right now.”

It amazed him, how immediate the response was.  Soft noise of sofa cushions reacting.  Then Jim was beside him, a strong hand on Blair’s upper arm, one leg curled on the sofa.  Blair turned on his own cushion, and circled his arms around Jim, his cheek landing nicely on his shoulder.  He closed his eyes and gripped Jim’s dress shirt with his hands.  Jim still smelled of cologne.

Strong, loving arms came around his back, and Blair was amazed at how easily his world was righted… even if it would only be for as long as he held on.  Nobody else knows… realizes… what a big, strong sentimental mushball he is.  All it took was breaking down his defenses, a little at a time, and constantly forgiving him, accepting him, loving him… and in the wake of the rubble, there was left this most perfect of men.

One of Jim’s hands came up to the back of Blair’s head and rested there.  “Mmm,” Blair approved.  He still held his arms firm, amazed all over again at how comforting it felt to hang onto one so powerful.  That a flesh-and-blood human being could feel so strong.

But physical strength meant nothing in light of the emotional realm.  Blair swallowed to clear his throat.  Then, easing his hold just a bit, he asked, “How much did I hurt you just now?  Be brutal.”

A finger appeared under Blair’s chin and pointed it upward.  Jim chuckled softly.  “Brutal?”

Blair nodded.  “I was.”

Jim considered that, muscles in his face twitching as emotions fleeted across them.  Then, solemnly, “Do you think my feelings for you are invalidated because my senses find pleasure in you?”

Blair blinked, and then forced himself to meet that gaze, as he searched within himself for the most honest answer.  “You feelings are a Jim thing.  Your senses are a Jim thing.  You can’t really separate them, can you?”

“You’re rationalizing.  Answer the question.  Tell me what you truly think.”

Oh, God.  Blair swallowed again.  “I think that it’s possible that you might wake up some day, and your senses have decided they aren’t so interested anymore.  That they’re ready for something new.”  He tried to turn his chin away – to avoid Jim’s calculating gaze – but the finger held firm.  “It won’t be your fault, Jim.  You won’t be able to help it.”

“And if I didn’t have heightened senses?” Jim asked, as though challenging Blair’s logic.  “If I was ordinary, and I find you attractive today; isn’t it possible that I could wake up tomorrow and decide I don’t find you attractive?”

Another blink.  And another.  He couldn’t seem to hold Jim’s gaze.  “Yeah, I suppose that’s always a possibility.  That’s why relationships are so tough.  If one person changes, it’s nobody’s fault, but the other person is sorta left hanging.”

Jim relaxed then, the finger now stroking along Blair’s jaw.  “That’s a risk everybody takes, Chief.  It’s not one-sided.  You could wake up tomorrow and decide that you want to spend your time with some pretty young thing, rather than with me.  I’ve got more risk than you have.  I need you.  Literally.  So I use my sentinel abilities to keep you.  I make it the best for you, more than anyone can possibly imagine, so you’ll never go running elsewhere, looking for something better.  Your pleasure is my insurance that you’ll stay.”

Jim’s expression hadn’t changed, even though the words seemed almost harsh.    

Blair stared up at the mouth that had spoken those words.  Pleasure.  Insurance.  Jim fucking him for the sake of survival.

“But,” Jim continued, his voice softening, “none of that has anything to do with how I feel about you.”

Oh.  So… there’s a difference?  Blair desperately hoped so.

“I want you to be mine,” Jim said.  “I want to take care of you.” 

Words from long ago, Blair realized.  They hadn’t changed. 

“I don’t need my sentinel abilities to love you.”

No.  Blair supposed not.  Human beings had been falling in love for eons without being sentinels.  He swallowed, looking up at Jim’s eyes.  “When did you fall in love with me?”  His words sounded small to his own ears as he leaned back against the sofa.

Jim smiled thoughtfully.  Then he said, “I think it was a gradual thing.  I can even remember thinking to myself, in the early years, that I was in love with you.  But not,” he quickly amended, “in an erotic way.  I didn’t feel I wanted to take you to bed.  Like I’ve told you before, I don’t think I would have, even if you had offered.  But I came to feel, not too long after meeting you, that the world was all the more special because you were in it.  My world, most especially.”

It may have been the most wonderful thing anyone had ever said to him.  Blair said, “I didn’t know.”

Jim shrugged, looking faintly amused.  “You weren’t supposed to. I couldn’t let you in on something as private as that.  Imagine how it could have gone to your head.”  He grinned, and Blair grinned back.

Jim sobered.  “It wasn’t until that night at the warehouse, that my senses caught up to where my heart was.”  Jim tilted his head, as though a truth was just now dawning.  “It probably never would have occurred to me otherwise.  But when I had you in my arms – could physically feel you – some part of me realized that my senses weren’t going to discern gender or age or… the other ways we relate to each other.  I’ve often thought of you as a kid brother, but my senses weren’t going to be stopped by moral incest.  And, I guess, on some level, they realized that you were willing.”

“You seemed to know that,” Blair agreed, “even before I knew it.”

Still thoughtful, Jim said, “They wouldn’t have locked onto anybody else, the way they did you.  Because my senses are a part of me, they wouldn’t have responded that strongly to anybody else.  Because I know, psychologically, that you’re the only person I can bed and use my senses.  Even when I responded to that woman, Laura, a few years back, because of pheromones, I kept everything dialed down in bed.”  His voice softened.  “As I always have.  Until you.”

Blair felt fuzzy all over.  He reminded, “But you still stay dialed down in your cock, even with me.”  His voice softened.  “You don’t have to, Jim.  I won’t let anything happen to you.  You’ll be protected when you let yourself dial up and yield to the sensation.  It’s your right.  Your privilege as a sentinel.”

Jim’s face closed. 

Man, is he sexually repressed, Blair thought.

Jim said, “I think we changed the subject.”

Of course.  Now we’ll change it back.  It’s imperative when trying to talk about Jim’s cock.  Blair looked at the check on the table.  “I need to thank your father.  What do you think would be appropriate?”  How strange that I don’t feel like I’ve just been handed forty thousand dollars.  But I guess since it’s going to be spent right away, I’ll never actually have it.

Jim thought, then shrugged.  “Send him a card.  But don’t bother getting all emotional.  It’ll be lost on him.  He’ll just be glad you accepted the money, since I told him I wasn’t sure if you would.”

Blair wondered what that conversation had been like.  Then he asked, “How do you know that’s the right amount?”

“I didn’t.  I estimated, from seeing your bills that night, that it would take thirty to thirty-five thousand to get you out of debt.  He’s the one who wanted to bump it up to forty.”

Man.  What a guy.  Hopefully, “Maybe there will be some left over.  And we can take a vacation or something.”

Jim shrugged.  “Maybe.  It might be a while before we can be sure that nothing else is going to sneak up on you.”

Blair didn’t want to move, but he wanted to be done with all this money stuff.  He shifted and started to rise, then grabbed the garnishment.  “Do I need to do anything with this?”

Jim reached for it.  “No, it’s just for your information.  But I need it to contact the company that filed the court order.”

An unpleasant thought struck Blair just then.  “Does Simon know about the garnishment?”

Jim shook his head.  “He shouldn’t.  Payroll departments are usually required to keep everything confidential, except for those who Need to Know.  There’s no reason for them to tell Simon about this.  It’s your private business.”

That made him feel better.  Blair headed to his room.  “I’ll get you all my mail.”  When he emerged, Jim was unbuttoning the collar and cuffs of his dress shirt, still sitting on the sofa. 

Blair felt his throat constrict as he tossed the collection of envelopes onto the coffee table.  “Jim, I-I really appreciate this, man.”

Jim leaned forward to the table, looking up Blair.  “So, you aren’t the least bit mad that I took the solution into my own hands?”

Blair shook his head, sorry that Jim felt the need to ask.  But he felt himself frowning heavily, as he admitted, “I feel… embarrassed.  Ashamed.  I’m 31-years-old and should be able to handle this stuff.  And even though I know youwant to take care of all this, I can’t help but feel that I’m dumping my problem into your lap.”  He looked away, muttering, “Seems like I’m always doing that.”

Jim picked through the mail, shrugging.  “I dumped my sentinel problems into yours,” he said, glancing up at Blair.

Blair shook his head.  “No.  I came to you.  That was back when I was in control of my own actions. Made my own decisions.”

“Well,” Jim started to open the mail, “I think we’ve both done our share of leaning on each other, over time.”

Blair nodded, but he didn’t feel any better.

“As far as,” Jim glanced up at him again, “taking charge of your own life again, I think the only way to do that is to take charge.”

Blair nodded again.  Jim was right.  But he had no idea how to go about doing that.

PART FIVE

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