Gazing out into the wet night, the tall man gave a heavy sigh as he leaned his forehead against the cool glass of the window. The cold, dreary rain, so typical of Cascade in the early spring, complimented his mood perfectly. Mind carefully blank, the man continued staring out the window until a small sound drew his attention back into the refined bedroom. Giving a muffled snort, the figure in the bed turned over, pulling the bed clothes over his head. Running a hand over his short, dark hair, the man gave a deep sigh and, efficiently and silently, pulled on his clothes. He left the dark room without a backward glance, pausing only for a moment to pick up the stack of money lying on the dresser.

* * *

The lavishly appointed ballroom glittered and sparkled; the bright lights from the many crystal chandeliers reflected off the myriad of precious gems so conspicuously on display. Giving an occasional nod in response to the incessant chatter coming from the gray-haired, jewel-bedecked woman beside him, James Ellison concentrated on keeping his boredom from showing. Even if he had wanted to follow what his companion was saying, individual conversation was almost impossible due to the babble of several hundred people all talking at once. In fact, Ellison thought uncharitably, burying his nose in his glass of champagne, the room sounded more like a crowded barnyard than an expensive soiree peopled with Cascade’s elite. The din aggravated the headache which was his constant companion these days and he grimaced as he attempted to ignore the piercing throb behind both eyes. His stomach clenched against a sudden wave of nausea. Abruptly, his nose was assaulted by a thousand different smells at once; thick, cloying perfume and cologne mixed uneasily with the rank smell of heavy perspiration and the stale odor of the wilted flowers lining the walls.

Excusing himself suddenly, he paid no heed to the startled look on his companion’s face and began shouldering his way through the crowd toward the Men’s Room at the far end of the large room. He pushed the swinging door open and, seeing there were several other men present, slipped into one of the doored stalls. Slumping wearily against the far wall, he leaned his head back against cool porcelain tiles and closed his eyes. ‘I can’t take this anymore!’ he mentally yelled, even while wryly acknowledging the complete impossibility of any change in his circumstances. He was trapped too well and he knew it; too much time had passed to alter anything. Besides, his was not the only life involved. Telling himself for the umpteenth time to quit crying over spilt milk and learn to live with the consequences of his actions as his father and the Army had taught him, he opened the stall door and walked over the line of sinks against one wall.

The brief respite from the noisy, overcrowded room had not helped his headache and his stomach was still giving an occasional roll. Turning on the cold tap, he wet a paper towel and ran it over his face. Looking into the wide, bulb-lined mirror above the sinks, he studied himself for a moment. To Jim Ellison, there was nothing special about this face: Two pale blue eyes courtesy of his mother’s side of the family; a nose and mouth crowned by short brown hair. True, he knew his body was in good shape—he worked out regularly to keep it that way—but that was just a personal kink. Even after all the photo shoots and magazine covers of the last five years, Jim was still unable to fathom what all the fuss was about for, while having his fair share of pride, he was remarkably short on personal vanity. He saw only washed-out blue in his eyes, not the crystal-clear blue of a warm summer sky; the nose and mouth he dismissed so readily complimented the strong face well, the nose classic and well formed, the mouth long and sensuous above a stubborn chin. As for his hair, well; Jim had seen the writing on that wall; give him a few more years and his receding hairline wouldn’t be receding anymore. The well-tailored clothes he favored only drew the eye to the tall, muscled body. Working as a male model for the five years since his discharge from the Army—the last three years as the top male model for the western U.S.—Ellison kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. Considering he had been much older when he started than the usual run of male models—a well-matured 30, practically a geriatric in the modeling world—he had always felt the good times wouldn’t last and, subsequently, had painstakingly invested his money until he was now very well off, indeed.

‘But, that’s not all you’ve been doing, is it, Jimmy boy?’ spoke up the voice in his mind. With well-practiced ease, he hastily slammed the door on that thought. Now was not the time nor the place for that worn argument. Glancing at his diamond-studded watch, Jim gave himself permission to leave at midnight, another hour. At least with his head and stomach still in active rebellion, he hadn’t noticed any hunger pangs. The last substantial meal he’d sat down to was yesterday; that half of the expensive steak dinner had made it down his throat and stayed down was a miracle in itself, for lately everything he ate tasted either metallic and harsh, or he swore the chef upended his entire spice cupboard into the food. Forbidding himself to rub at his already sore and burning eyes, Jim went back out into the main room. With any kind of luck, Mrs. Needham would have found another victim by this time. He stopped and gave the room a once-over, grinning to himself when he spotted the overly jeweled dowager bending the ear of some poor man she had backed into a corner. His burgeoning sense of relief, however, died a hasty death when he heard a familiar thin baritone call his name. Face carefully neutral, Ellison pivoted to face the man who had come up behind him.

The elegant figure before him sported a tuxedo that must have cost upwards of a thousand dollars. Short and stocky, with nondescript light brown eyes behind thick glasses and faded blond hair, only his clothes caused Robert Mayhew to stand out in a crowd...and he preferred it that way. The multi-millionaire businessman liked to boast that he had crept up on many a rival that way, for when his competitors looked at him, they saw ‘Norbert the Nerd’ instead of one of the most brilliant business minds in the country. The thin, small mouth lifted in the trademark Mayhew smile. "Jim! I didn’t expect to see you here tonight. Thought you hated these sort of shindigs."

A practiced smile plastered on his chiseled lips, Ellison resisted the urge to pull his hand away from the cool, sweaty one he was shaking. "Family, you know how it is," he answered smoothly. "Aunt Enid’s escort couldn’t make it at the last minute, so guess who got stuck with the duty."

Mayhew’s companionable laugh sounded suspiciously like a titter. "Of course, she would never consider staying home, would she! I swear, Jim; that great-aunt of yours will be a party animal until the day she dies." The smile switched off suddenly as he asked soberly, "How is your mother doing these days? I keep meaning to go by and see her, but..."

"She’s about the same," Ellison replied blandly. Forcibly relaxing his jaw muscle, he went on, "Was just wondering about you the other day; curious if you’ve raided any more boardrooms lately."

Mayhew shook his head. "Not for the last few weeks. I’ve been...involved...in other things recently." The faint smirk in the brown eyes caused Ellison’s headache to ratchet up a few more degrees. That look did not bode well for someone, and Jim prayed it wasn’t going to be him. ‘He promised’, Ellison thought despairingly; ‘he promised there would be no more ‘special favors’ asked for a very long time.’ Hindered by the knowledge of where he was, Jim could only stand there with a polite smile on his face as the other man continued, "By the way, I have someone here I would like you to meet." Reaching out an arm, he pulled someone out from behind him. "Jim, I’d like to introduce Blair Sandburg, an Anthropology teaching fellow at Rainier. His father and I go back almost as many years as your dad and me. Blair, this is James Ellison, my most prized discovery."

Jim heard the introductions only distantly, most of his attention given over to the young man thrust so abruptly under his nose. ‘My god, he’s...he’s...’ Jim’s mind snagged on an appropriate word. Belatedly recalling his manners, Ellison recovered enough to shake the hand held out to him.

Of only medium height, Blair Sandburg looked as though he had just stepped out of a Botticelli canvas. Long, chestnut curls which brushed his shoulders framed an exquisitely beautiful, yet undeniably masculine, face. Wide, intelligent, smoky blue eyes studied Ellison frankly; full lips which seemed to beg to be kissed, nestled beneath a small nose with a pert little uptilt at the end of it. The sensual lips opened and Ellison thanked god that the voice was just as he’d imagined it, deep and husky. "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Ellison."

"The pleasure is all mine," declared Jim, finally letting go of the other man’s hand. Struggling to maintain polite conversation, when all he really wanted to do was to throw Sandburg on the floor and see if his ass was as appealing as the rest of him, he asked, "What particular branch of anthropology are you interested in?"

"Cultural," replied Sandburg. "I’ve already submitted my thesis; just waiting to hear back from my committee now."

"Yeah," put in Mayhew. "By the end of the spring, Blair will be Dr. Sandburg. A rare enough treat, don’t you think?"

Not really understanding, Ellison filed away the information for later. About to dive back into the conversational waters, he was beat to the punch by Mayhew.

"Damn, there’s Michael Peters...I’ve been trying to catch up with him for weeks." The older man started off, then glanced back over his shoulder, a faintly malicious gleam in his eyes. "I’m sure the two of you will get along famously. You both have so much in common." With that, he was gone.

"In common...you and I?" Sandburg sounded as puzzled as Ellison felt. The grad student went on, "What in the world could he have meant? I mean, there’s..." Blair stumbled to a halt just as Ellison felt the answer jolt into him. Seeing Ellison’s pale, set face, Sandburg flushed brightly, then went white, clamping his lips together.

Fighting the growing sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, Ellison took in the averted face, the shamed, haunted look in the downcast eyes. Trusting his instincts, he said abruptly, "Let’s talk. Outside." Without looking back, he headed for the patio. Somehow he knew, without checking, that Sandburg was right behind him. Emerging into the cool, crisp night air, he continued across the wide patio and down the stone steps, following a meandering, pebbled path. Finally stopping when the noise of the party was barely a murmur, he indicated a concrete bench nearly hidden by a flowering apple tree. Both men seated themselves, carefully not looking at each other as they pretended to study the night-draped garden.

"You, too, huh?" It was not really a question, and Jim didn’t feel the need to blunt its impact.

"Yeah." The answer was flat and devoid of life. Silence hung heavy about the two men for several minutes, then Sandburg burst out, "I hate it; I hate it! Look, I’m not judging you or anything, but I absolutely, fucking well hate doing this!" He jumped to his feet as though he could no longer remain still and began pacing frenetically back and forth.

"But you still do it."

The comment had been curiously non-judgmental. Coming to a halt in front of the seated man, Sandburg ran a hand through his curls, admitting, "Yeah, yeah I do. But I don’t want to, really. It’s just that..." Voice trailing off, he started pacing again. "It’s complicated."

Ellison studied the younger man through narrowed eyes. "He’s forcing you, isn’t he? Mayhew, I mean. Somehow or other, he’s forcing you to be a whore."

Flinching from the raw description, it was some time before the sense of Ellison’s words sunk in. When they did, Sandburg came to a sudden halt and whirled, exclaiming, "How did you know...?" A beat, then Blair said positively, "He’s forcing you, too, isn’t he?"

Pacing once more, though not as rapidly, Sandburg muttered, "I wondered why someone like yourself would feel the need to do this. I mean, I didn’t think it could be for money, ‘cause every time I’ve turned around the last few years, your face has been staring at me from magazines, posters, advertisements on buses... You’re obviously doing very well at your profession. The legitimate one, I mean," he added hastily.

Unsure whether he should be offended or not, Ellison watched bemusedly as the younger man continued his pacing and muttering.

"Look, I really am sorry," Sandburg came to a sudden halt in front of the other man. "I didn’t mean to get so personal. It just...blew me away, I guess. The thought of you..." Hearing what he was saying, Sandburg blushed again. "I mean, you couldn’t be doing it for companionship—you’re gorgeous, you don’t need any help in that category." While he was idly enjoying the red flush on the expressive face, Jim decided it was time to put the younger man out of his misery. "Thanks, I think," he said dryly. Patting the bench beside him once more, he waited until Sandburg had seated himself before saying, "Don’t be too hard on yourself," he consoled the terminally embarrassed grad student. "If it makes you feel any better, I have to admit to being totally flabbergasted at the thought of you being one of my ‘co-workers’." There was a slight sarcastic emphasis on the last word. "Even though we had just met, you didn’t seem like the type to be doing it. Not of your own, free will."

Sandburg offered a rueful smile. "Thanks."

There was a surprisingly easy silence between them for several minutes, then Ellison stirred, glancing at his watch as he stood. "Well, I’d better be getting back in there. I’ve probably been missed."

Blair regained his feet and reluctantly turned back toward the party. "Yeah. Your aunt’s probably looking for you."

"Yeah, well..."

Blair looked at his companion in surprise as the assured voice faltered.

"You see, Enid Needham isn’t..." Taking a deep breath, Jim forced out, "It’s so easy to be overheard in there, y’know, because of the crowd. You never know who’s listening in. It’s just so much easier to say Mrs. Needham is my aunt, than to say she’s my..."

"Hey, man, I understand completely." Blair did, too. "You wouldn’t believe how many ‘cousins’ I’ve got."

Jim gave a short laugh, then fell silent again as they slowly walked back toward the main building. As the noise of the party grew intrusive once more, Ellison asked hesitantly, "Are you...here...with anyone?"

"Nah." Sandburg shook his head, the curls flying about his face. "I’m just here to show off the ‘goods’, as Mayhew put it." There was a note of resigned bitterness in the husky voice. Coming to a halt at the bottom of the patio stairs, he glanced up at the taller man and asked, "Are you feeling all right? Forgive me for saying so, but you seem awfully pale."

"It’s only a headache," Jim reassured, wondering at how quickly the younger man had picked up on his indisposition. "I’ve had it off and on for a couple of weeks. I’ve been pretty...stressed...here lately." Climbing the stairs and crossing the patio quickly, he turned before re-entering the glass doors. Looking back at Sandburg still standing at the bottom of the stairs, he said in a rush, "Look, if you’re not doing anything tomorrow, maybe we can get together for lunch or something." The resulting beam on the grad student’s face made Jim feel like the sun had just come up.

"I’d like that," Sandburg agreed eagerly. "Noonish...my place?" At Ellison’s nod, he added, "I live over by the university, 4511 Wickham Drive, apartment #7. It’s not much, but it’s home."

"Got it," answered Jim, a smile of his own breaking through. Turning, he quickly re-entered the overcrowded ballroom. Resolutely, he shoved his throbbing headache to the back of his mind and pasted on a smile as he went in search of his elderly client. Finding Enid Needham, he gave in to an impulse and leaned over to kiss the aged, rouged cheek. Grinning at the resulting giggle, he decided he could do it; he could get through tonight and then, tomorrow... Well, that was another matter entirely. Oh, yeah, he thought, spirits surprisingly on the rise, tomorrow will be good.

* * *

If Ellison had entertained any doubts about his upcoming lunch date, he was quickly disabused of the notion. He barely had time to drop his hand from knocking before the plain wooden door was pulled open, revealing a broadly smiling Sandburg. Responding to the obvious delight in the younger man, he answered with a wide smile.

"Hey, there, Jim!" Pulling the door wide open, Sandburg stood to one side, enthusiastically gesturing Ellison in. "Come on in, man, and get comfortable."

"Thanks," murmured the model. Stopping in the small entryway, he pulled off his woolen jacket. As his host reached for it, Jim cautioned, "Careful, it’s soaked. It’s really coming down out there."

"So what else is new?" His head in the closet as he hung up the jacket, Blair’s voice was slightly muffled. He re-emerged, grin still in place. "I was only eight when my folks moved here, but I soon learned that Cascade had only two seasons—rain and more rain."

"Isn’t that the truth."

"Come on in and sit down." Sandburg waved into a small, but cozy living room. "Would you like a beer or something? Lunch should be ready in a few minutes. I hope Italian is okay. I mean, I was gonna go all out with Chinese, then whoa, I noticed this morning that I’m all out of everything I’d need for the stir-fry..."

"Do you ever remember to breathe?" asked Jim, amused by the other man’s rambling conversation.

"Sorry." Sandburg gave a half-shrug, a slight blush in place. "I’m not usually quite this bad, but I’m a bit nervous here."

"Don’t be." Sinking down into a somewhat battered Queen Anne chair, Ellison said, "I’d love a beer and Italian is just fine."

Giving another grin, Sandburg disappeared. Settling back against the chair, Jim sniffed in appreciation. Something sure smelled good; his stomach eagerly agreed with that assessment and gave a low growl. Resolutely ignoring the fact that everything he’d eaten in the last three days had made him sick, Jim concentrated on having a good time. For once his omnipresent headache was taking a breather and he was determined that nothing was going to spoil this day for either him or Sandburg. He looked up as the other man re-entered the room, taking the small, brown bottle held out to him. Concealing his trepidation, he took a small mouthful; his eyes widened as the cold, mellow liquid slid smoothly down his throat. "This is good," he admitted, not quite able to hide his surprise. He took another, larger drink.

"Glad you like it." Sandburg’s grin was still firmly in place. "It’s a microbrew from one of the local breweries. I don’t much like the other stuff; too much processing and far too many chemicals added. Way bad for you, man." He took a drink of his own beer.

Distracted by the sight of the pale throat as Sandburg swallowed, Jim struggled to make an appropriate remark. "Know what you mean," he answered vaguely. Tearing his eyes away from the tempting sight, he gave a shrug of his own. "I used to like a beer now and then, but I can’t stand them anymore. Every brand I try tastes bitter and metallic. I don’t know how anybody can drink that stuff."

A small beeping sound cut into the conversation. "That’s the oven timer," declared Sandburg. "The garlic bread is ready. C’mon, let’s eat." He turned to lead the way out of the room. "I’m afraid we’re gonna have to eat in the kitchen," he apologized. "No room anyplace else for a table." Grabbing a towel off the counter top, Blair opened the oven and pulled out a steaming, fragrant pan.

Seating himself at the small wooden table, already set with plates, silver and glasses, Jim offered, "Doesn’t look as though there’s all that much room in here, either." His smiling gaze took in the tiny, crowded kitchen.

About to apologize further, Blair caught the smile as he placed the pan full of hot bread on the table. "Yeah, well, you gotta remember these are student digs." Reaching into the refrigerator, he pulled out a green salad and placed it on the table. "Most college kids don’t need a big kitchen," he explained as he returned to the stove to lift the pasta and delicious smelling sauce. "They don’t cook, y’know, just order out. I was surprised to find the room this big; the other places I looked at, the kitchens were about half this size."

"You don’t order out much then?" asked Jim, accepting the bowl of pasta handed to him.

"Oh, some—doesn’t everyone?" replied Blair, ladling the sauce onto his pasta. "I just like to cook, too. I’ve been in some really great corners of the world due to school, and I’ve eaten some stuff you have to see to believe. Some of it might seem weird to western tastes, but I tell you, compared to most American foods, theirs are way healthier." He paused for moment and looked over at Ellison with a chagrined look. "I’m babbling again, aren’t I?"

Ellison shook his head, swallowing his mouthful. "No. Sounds interesting; tell me more." He grinned at the doubtful look he received and urged, "I mean it. Where all have you been?"

The rest of the meal passed in a pleasant blur as Sandburg wove tale after tale of aboriginal tribes, their customs, and eating habits, all punctuated with wide hand gestures. Thoroughly enjoying himself, Jim just ate, interspersing a word or question now and again when Blair stopped to take a breath. Some time later, he noticed the young student had fallen silent and Jim came out of his haze to see Sandburg smiling gently at him.

"What?" he asked, a little defensively. Laying down his spoon, he flushed slightly as he realized he’d just finished his second portion of zbaligone. "Sorry," he muttered, unable to meet the bright blue eyes.

"Nothing to be sorry about." Reaching over, Blair laid a hand on Ellison’s tense fist where it rested on the table. "Do you have any idea what a compliment this is? Of course," he continued, eyes dancing mischievously, "it just could be you were hungry, too." He gave a small sigh of relief as he felt the larger hand under his relax, winking at the rueful look in the other man’s cool blue eyes.

Seeing that Blair really wasn’t upset, Ellison gave a half-grin. "It was fantastic. But, you’re right; I was hungry, too. Must’ve picked up a bug or something ‘cause everything I’ve tried to eat tasted lousy; too spicy or something, even bland foods. I haven’t been able to eat for the last few days. But I feel great now."

"Maybe it’s the flu or something," suggested Blair, getting to his feet to clear off the table. "You said you had a headache." Abruptly, he reached up, laying the back of his hand on a startled Ellison’s forehead. "You don’t have a fever, though."

Not liking the small frown pulling at the mobile brows, Ellison hastened to reassure the other man. "I feel just fine now, Blair. Really." As the smaller man continued to regard him indecisively, Jim added, "And the headache is just from stress, you know how it is. You get one humdinger of a migraine and everything starts sounding too loud, even stuff you know you really can’t hear."

Putting the dishes in the sink, Jim had turned back to collect some more when he realized that Blair hadn’t moved. Looking over, he was startled to see the younger man had paled and was gazing at him, wide-eyed. "Hey, there, Chief." Not realizing he’d called the younger man by a favored nickname, he went up to the student, laying a calming hand on a suddenly tense forearm. "Blair, what is it?" he asked urgently. "Are you all right?"

Shaking himself out of his stupor, Blair took a deep breath, asking hesitantly, "Jim...when you have these headaches, along with everything being too noisy, do things seem too bright and close, like you can see for miles?" Subconsciously, he held his breath.

Ellison jerked his hand back as if he’d just been burned, his face closing off. Turning away, he became aware yet again of the itching, burning sensation crawling along his skin; his clothes felt too tight. His headache had also come back with a vengeance, the soothing sound of the kitchen clock now echoing in his head. Swallowing convulsively, he was determined not to lose it as the formerly enticing smells suddenly became noxious and overwhelming. Distantly, he became aware that Blair was talking to him, slowly and soothingly, his voice low and calm. Desperate, Ellison concentrated on the husky voice and found, to his everlasting astonishment, that the overpowering smells and sounds gradually faded back to being tolerable. Shocked to find himself sitting on the couch in the living room, he opened his eyes to find Sandburg crouched before him, the deep blue eyes watching him worriedly.

Meeting the dazed eyes, Blair released a shaky breath. "Jesus, Jim; don’t do that! You must’ve taken twenty years off my life." Not moving his hand from where it was pressed against Ellison’s pale cheek, he asked, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." His voice coming out raspy, Ellison swallowed and tried again. "Yeah, I think so." Bringing his own hand up to hold the smaller hand against his cheek, he demanded shakily, "What the hell just happened, Blair? You know; somehow or another, you know what’s been happening. Tell me."

Looking up into the resolute blue eyes, Sandburg sighed inwardly. This was going to be hell to explain. Yet, he was also conscious of a rising internal excitement. After all these years, to finally find someone...the living embodiment of his dreams... Hell, where had Ellison been when Sandburg had been begging his department chair for the chance to do his dissertation on the one subject that completely absorbed him? But, no—Dr. Langely had decided the topic was too esoteric, and without a living specimen to back up his claims, the anthropologist had told the grad student to find another subject, one he could prove to a skeptical committee. Finally giving in, Blair had gone on to deliver his paper on the dynamics of closed societies, all the while feeling as though he had just betrayed a part of his soul. Recalled to the present by Ellison’s hand tightening on his, Blair answered honestly, "I’m not sure, exactly, but I think it was a zone-out."

"A what!?" Totally confused by this, Ellison glared at the younger man.

"A zone-out," repeated Blair stubbornly. Pulling his hand out from under the larger one, he got to his feet, grimacing a little at stiff muscles. "Look," he said, running a hand through wild curls, "your headache’s come back again, hasn’t it? Everything—noise, sight, smell, taste—it all suddenly got to be too much, didn’t it?" Staring at the man on the couch intently, he saw the surprised look Ellison couldn’t hide.

"Yeah," admitted Ellison hoarsely. Glancing down for a moment, he went on doggedly, "My sense of touch went off the scale, too. For awhile there, it felt as though I had fire ants crawling all over me." He glanced back up quickly at the strange grunt Sandburg produced. "Blair?" he asked in confusion, seeing the stunned look on the other man’s face.

"All five..." murmured Sandburg, a growing excitement visible in his eyes. "Oh, my god; after all this time... All five at once." He ran suddenly shaky hands over his face. Returning to the couch, he went down on his knees in front of the bewildered model. "Jim, what I’m going to tell you is going to sound insane; I know it. You’re going to think I’m crazy, but you’ve got to believe me, man, and hear me out or things are just gonna get incredibly worse for you."

"Just tell me what it is, damn it!" growled Ellison, fighting back the urge to grab the younger man and shake him until he explained it all.

"I will, Jim. I promise." Coming to a sudden decision, he leaped to his feet again. "But not here, man. It’s too close and crowded for you, isn’t it. The rain’s stopped for now. Let’s walk."

Wondering when he had followed Alice down the rabbit hole, Ellison got meekly to his feet, and catching his jacket as it was thrown at him, followed the younger man out of the apartment.

* * *

An hour later, Jim no longer felt as if he were in Wonderland. No, now he knew he’d taken a detour into The Twilight Zone. Sitting in a gazebo at the park, waiting out another rain shower, he could only stare dazedly at the man pacing in front of him and struggle to take it all in. Throwback to pre-civilized man...genetic enhancement of the senses...? What had Blair called him—a watchman or something? No, a Sentinel, that was it.

Becoming aware of the silence, Blair glanced over at the pale man sitting so still and his heart went out to him. "Ah, Jim, I’m sorry." Coming over to the other man, he laid both hands of the broad shoulders. "I know it sounds wild, but I swear to god everything I’ve told you is true."

Taking in a deep breath, Ellison mentally squared his shoulders and looking up, snared Blair’s eyes in an intense stare. "Are you sure, Sandburg? You’re not just jacking me around here?"

"I’m sure." Blair met the piercing gaze levelly. "You are not ill or going crazy. You are a Sentinel, Jim. It’s genetic and it’s real. Why it’s suddenly showing up now, I don’t have any idea, but you were born with this. It’s as natural to you as breathing."

"Natural, hell!" Jumping to his feet, Ellison started pacing. "What good are these enhancements if all they do is make me sick and cause me to become a zombie!"

"That’s because, right now, you don’t control them...they control you." Blair’s gaze never wavered. "I can help you with that; teach you how to use them, control them. There might always be a chance of a zone-out if you get overwhelmed but, in time, you can lessen the frequency of it happening."

Ellison stopped pacing and stared back at him. "What will you get out of all of this?"

Ignoring the poorly-concealed suspicion in the deep voice, Sandburg said, "Justification for a lifetime of research, satisfaction..." He walked up to the other man and, looking him in the eye, added honestly, "...and the chance to be with you, get to know you better."

For some moments, the tableau held, then Ellison nodded, looking away. "All right." He sounded as though he were still trying to convince himself. Taking a deep breath, he looked back and repeated, "All right." A small smile lit the somber eyes. "You never needed an excuse, y’know; not for the last part." Feeling immeasurably reassured by Sandburg’s muttered, "Thank god," and broad smile, he glanced around, saying, "Looks like the rain’s stopping again. Let’s get someplace warm and dry while we can."

"No problem, man," replied Sandburg. "Where to...your place or mine?"

Comparing the comfortable shabbiness of the student’s small apartment with his own spacious, austere loft, Ellison had no trouble reaching a quick decision. "Yours," he announced, setting off in a jog. "You’ve got food in," he tossed over his shoulder. A beaming smile spread across his face at the bright laughter that statement invoked.

* * *

By the time darkness had set in that night, Ellison was admitting to a feeling of complete exhaustion, even though no strenuous physical activity had taken place. Once he had been assured of Ellison’s co-operation, Sandburg had begun to drill the older man unmercifully in the control of his senses. For all that he felt mentally wrung out, Jim had to admit to himself that, bizarre as the imagery was, the concept of visualizing ‘dials’ in his mind to help control his senses, was a rousing success. For the first time in too long, everything seemed to be in balance and he was quick to attribute the success to the curly-haired whirlwind who had taken charge of his life that day. Now sitting placidly beside the larger man watching the Jags game on TV, Sandburg had, in turns, coaxed, scolded, and nagged his reluctant pupil. Feeling a degree of contentment he had thought beyond his ability to reach, Ellison reached out a long arm. Draping it around Sandburg’s shoulders, he pulled the smaller man tightly to his side.

Smiling, Blair looked up and, breath leaving in a rush, fell into the tenderness spilling from the clear blue eyes. Feeling very much as though he were caught in a cobra’s gaze, he licked suddenly dry lips; a small moan caught in his throat as the intent eyes followed that little gesture. "Jim," he breathed, begging, pleading, for what, he didn’t know.

"Shh, little one," soothed Ellison, leaning closer until they were sharing each other’s heated breaths. Both hands came up, tangling in chestnut curls. "If you don’t want to, all you have to do is say ‘no’."

"If you stop," sighed Blair, sliding a hand around that strong neck and pulling the other man closer, "I just may have to kill you."

Jim chuckled softly, then with infinite gentleness, claimed the full lips for his own. Groaning, Blair opened his mouth, deepening the kiss. Tongues twisted and danced, tasting and savoring heated warmth. Pulling away only when he had to breathe or pass out, Blair felt the world reeling around him. All the breath he’d managed to gasp in fled at the sight of Ellison’s swollen mouth, the heat radiating from the bigger man’s darkened eyes. Drawn irresistibly by the sight, he swayed forward. Catching him, Jim sealed their mouths in another, more demanding kiss. While sex had become tragically commonplace and routine the last few years, never had he felt anything like the fire that was now storming through his blood. Knowing only that he had to have Blair, had to swallow him whole, he drew the younger man impossible closer, hands clenched tightly on the jeans-covered butt. His heart a thundering roar in his own ears, it was quite some time before the obtrusive ringing noise registered. When it did, he pulled back with a groan, muttering, "Your phone’s ringing." His mouth slid down to nip and lick the soft skin of Blair’s neck.

"Fuck the phone," moaned Blair, both hands busy under Ellison’s shirt. "There’s an answering machine."

At that moment, the machine clicked on, its pre-recorded message echoing in the quiet room and completely ignored by both men. As the caller spoke, however, the two men on the couch went rigid, bodies freezing in place.

"Blair? Come on, Blair, pick up the phone." Mayhew’s weak baritone was unmistakable. "I know you’re there, young man, so pick up the phone. You wouldn’t have dared gone out; not without telling me." A moment of silence, then the older man’s voice came again, an edge to it this time. "Blair, damn it, pick up the phone!"

Movements stiff and uncoordinated, Sandburg untangled himself from Ellison. Refusing to meet the other man’s eyes, he snatched at the phone. "Yeah, yeah, I’m here." His voice was scratchy and hoarse. He kept his back to Ellison.

Without being consciously aware he was doing it, the newly-fledged Sentinel dialed up his hearing so he could hear what Mayhew was saying.

"It’s about damn time," grumbled Mayhew. "Look, get yourself pretty and over to the Cascade Renaissance Hotel, room 717. A business associate of mine is in from Saudi Arabia and I promised him a good time."

"Oh, please..." His voice failing him, Sandburg had to swallow hard before he could continue. "Look, t-there’s gotta be somebody else you can send, okay? I-I don’t feel so good tonight."

"What’s this—cold feet?" When Mayhew spoke again, his tone was cold and even. "You heard me, Blair. Now get a move on your lovely ass."

"Please, just send someone else." If pressed, Sandburg couldn’t have said who he was begging for, himself or Ellison.

"Sure, kid, I can send someone else." Tensing at the indulgent tone, Sandburg went white as Mayhew continued, "You just stay there and rest. When I see your mother tomorrow, I’ll tell her it was only a 24 hour bug. Wouldn’t want to worry her, now would we?"

"No! No, I’ll go; I-I’ll go." Swallowing hard again, Blair pleaded, "Just...don’t tell her, okay?"

"Whatever you say, kid." Triumph clear in his voice, Mayhew said smugly, "Oh, and I know that Jim Ellison is over there. Do me a favor, will you, and tell him to meet me at Giorgio’s at one tomorrow. An old friend of his is back in town and dying to see him."

Suddenly reminded of the other man, Sandburg whirled just in time to catch a glimpse of Ellison’s set face. "Jim, no!" he cried, as the bigger man practically leaped from the couch. Uncaring that he had slammed the phone down on Mayhew, he caught up with Ellison at the door. "Jim, please!" He put his hand on the broad back. "Don’t...don’t leave like this," he cried. "You know I can’t help this!" An irrational anger grew as Ellison maintained a stony silence and refused to look at him. "For god’s sake, can’t we at least talk about it!?"

"There’s nothing to talk about," returned Ellison in a level voice. "Now, you’d better hurry; you know the johns hate to be kept waiting." Brushing Sandburg aside, he opened the door.

"Jim, please." Blair tried one last time. "Call me tomorrow, okay?"

"I’ll be busy tomorrow, or have you forgotten already?" With that parting shot, Ellison strode away quickly. His thoughts might be in a turmoil but, unfortunately, his hearing was still working loud and clear. Taking the steps two at a time to the ground floor, he clearly heard Sandburg’s broken voice, "Damn you, James Ellison..damn you to hell!"

Striding out into the cold night rain, Jim thought, ‘Too late, Blair. I’ve already been there for the last three years.’

* * *

Nerves stretched taut, Jim hesitated, lowering his hand before he could knock on the wooden door. It had been almost 72 hours exactly since he’d been here last and he and Sandburg had not parted on the best of terms. Damning himself yet again for his hasty temper and thoughtless actions, Jim hovered indecisively outside Sandburg’s apartment. Rehearsing a careful speech, Jim was considerably startled when the door suddenly swept open.

"Someone’s gonna report you for loitering in the hall," announced Sandburg quietly. "You’d better come in." For all that he stood aside, there was no welcoming look on his face.

Biting his lip, Ellison did as he was told. "I thought I was the sentinel, not you. How did you know I was out there?"

Sandburg shrugged. "I was closing the drapes just now; saw you pull up." He made no move to go into the living room.

Ellison could not contain himself any longer. Hating the closed, wary look on the beautiful face, he said in a rush, "Blair, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t mad at you, not really. It’s just..." Frustration getting the best of him, it was a minute before he could go on. "I was mad at everything that night: you, me, but most of all, Mayhew, that he could take something that was so beautiful between the two of us and turn it dirty and sordid with strangers. I hadn’t gotten five blocks before I wanted to turn right around, come back here and beg your forgiveness. But, I knew you wouldn’t be here..." His voice trailed off. "Please, Chief, I’m sorry."

Sandburg continued to regard him gravely for several minutes, then murmured, "That’s the second time you’ve called me that."

"What?" Thrown by the apparent non sequitur, it was a moment before Ellison realized what the other man was talking about. "Oh," he mumbled, flushing slightly, "sorry about that. It’s an old nickname. A good friend of my dad’s used to call me that; he took me to games and did stuff with me that my dad was too busy to do."

Sandburg shook his head. "Don’t apologize; I like it."

Something seemed to melt in the smaller man then and, suddenly, Ellison found himself with a warm armful of anthropologist. Locking both arms around Sandburg, he pulled the grad student closer, burying his face in silky curls. "I’m sorry," he repeated.

"So am I," said Blair, face hidden in the other man’s neck. "I know you heard me the other night. I didn’t mean it."

"Shh, baby, it’s all right," comforted Ellison, reveling in the feel of the lithe body pressed against his.

"I wanted to call you, to explain, but I didn’t have your number and Information said it was unlisted."

"You wouldn’t have reached me anyway. I was out of town on a two-day shoot, just got back this afternoon." Ellison gave a small laugh as he tightened his arms around Blair. "Spent two of the most miserable days of my life up in the mountains, posing outside in this pissy weather, all so the client could get ‘an authentic outdoor look’ for his damn jeans. Don’t know which was worse, those damn uncomfortable jeans or all the young bucks standing around giving me dirty looks ‘cause the old man got the job, not them."

Giving a small chuckle, Blair pulled back. Running a hand down Ellison’s arm, he linked fingers with the older man as he drew him into the living room. There, he pushed him down onto the couch and, without asking permission, crawled into the other man’s lap. For his part, Ellison didn’t look too upset at the arrangement, immediately starting to nuzzle the smooth, tempting neck in front of him.

"Oh, I know why you got the shoot," breathed Sandburg, his body already afire. "All it takes is one look at you in jeans. My god, there oughta be a law." Delicious shivers ran through him as Ellison laughed against his neck.

"If you say so," Jim muttered, his mind not really on their conversation. He had a different goal altogether in mind, and now all he needed was to get Sandburg to stop chattering. Being a former military man, he decided to stage a pre-emptive attack on one tempting, rose-brown nipple. The resultant gasp had him grinning and he re-doubled his efforts.

The silence might not have been absolute, but at least there was no more talking for a good, long while.

Much later, after a reviving shower, Ellison trailed behind his lover into the kitchen. "God, I’m so hungry I could eat a horse," he observed, peering into the fridge. "What have you got to eat in here?" Yawning as he finished setting up the coffeemaker, Sandburg said, "I’ll make us up some stir-fry, okay?"

"It’s my turn to cook this time," decided Jim, pushing the smaller man onto a kitchen chair. "You haven’t lived until you had a genuine, Ellison stir-fry."

"Am I going to survive this?" asked Blair, chuckling at the dirty look he received. Watching the other man bustle happily about his tiny kitchen, Sandburg was aware of warm glow in his middle. "Hey, Jim," he queried idly, "what did you do before you became a model? I mean, I’ve only seen your stuff around for the last four years or so."

"Five years, actually," Jim replied absently, chopping celery with abandon. "I was in the Army before that, went in right after college. Was a captain in the Rangers before I resigned."

"Whoa." This was something Sandburg had clearly not anticipated. "Not that I’m not delighted you quit and all, but isn’t being in the Rangers kind of a special thing?"

The energetic vegetable mutilation stopped for a moment. Before Blair could form a hasty apology, the wide shoulders just shrugged as Ellison poured oil into a pan. "My team, we used to do covert ops," he explained obliquely, tone carefully neutral. "One day, we were about to take off under sealed orders, when suddenly the copter is surrounded by all these MP’s and a general is telling me my orders are canceled. Four days later, somebody finally gets around to telling me that my C.O., Colonel Oliver, had been using my team’s missions as camouflage to smuggle drugs into the country. Spent almost two weeks under house arrest before they decided I didn’t know anything about it. After that, I didn’t see much point in staying on."

There didn’t seem to be anything to say to that, so Blair held his tongue.

Stirring the cooking vegetables briskly, Ellison continued, "When I got out, I came back here. Met Mayhew one day on the street and we had lunch. He’s an old friend of my dad’s, so when he asked me for this favor, I thought, hey, why not. Seems he owned this modeling agency which was in desperate need of a ‘mature’ male model for a very important client. It seemed like easy money, and the rest, as they say, is history." He turned the stove off, then reaching into a cupboard, pulled out two plates. Rising, Blair grabbed two beers from the refrigerator and returned to the table just as Ellison set out the filled plates, along with a pair of forks.

Several minutes into the companionable silence, Blair suddenly remembered something. "Hey, man, how have your senses been? Any more headaches or something?"

"No, no more headaches," answered Jim, then hurriedly stuck of forkful of food into his mouth. He kept his eyes on his plate.

Suspicions instantly aroused, Blair growled, "Jim..."

Ellison sighed; he should’ve known this would happen. Raising his head, he almost flinched at the steely look in the dark eyes glaring at him. ‘Oh, boy, if Blair’s pissed now, he’s really not going to like what happens next.’ Deciding to just come clean and pray he could deal with the fallout, Jim sighed again and laid down his fork.

"I told you it was cold up in the mountains. There was some delay the first day, waiting for the equipment to arrive and the heater was broken in the bus. Everybody got out and started walking around to keep warm. I did, too, for a little while then I went back and sat on the bus’ steps, figured I could do as you taught me and turn down the dial so the cold wouldn’t bother me so much."

"And...?" prompted Sandburg impatiently.

"And for some reason, the damn dial wouldn’t work!" Jim told him tartly. "I tried everything but I couldn’t turn off the cold. It was making me mad, and I guess I sort of lost track of all the other dials ‘cause I was focused so hard on the cold."

Sandburg’s eyes got huge. "Oh, my god," he gasped. "You...you zoned, didn’t you!?"

"Yeah," admitted Ellison. "I don’t know for how long. The next thing I knew, there was a horrendous clatter. The equipment truck had arrived while I was out and somebody had dropped a mag light." He shook his head and finished off his meal. "I don’t think the shots from the first day are gonna be usable. After that, I felt like somebody had dragged me through a knothole backwards and I bet it showed."

"God, Jim." Sandburg let out an explosive breath. "We’ve gotta work on that. What if it had happened while you were driving or something?" Sapphire eyes reflected the inner horror of that image. "I told you it wasn’t going to be quick or easy!"

"I believe you." Standing, Ellison gathered up the plates and piled them in the sink for washing. "If you’re free tomorrow, maybe we could work on these damn dials some more."

Adding dish soap and running the hot water, Sandburg nodded. "I don’t have any classes or anything on Saturday." Turning off the water, he went on slowly, "I...I heard from my committee chair yesterday." Ellison instantly went on alert. "Yes?" He tensed unknowingly.

Strangely shy blue eyes lifted to meet his. "Well, I guess you could say ‘The Doctor is in.’"

"Yeehaw!" shouted Ellison. Grabbing his giggling lover, he picked him up and spun him around. "We have got to celebrate!" Taking in the sparkling eyes and flushed cheeks of the man in his arms, Jim felt a warm, sweet feeling swell through him. "And I know just the way," he declared, voice dropping a register. He felt Sandburg react to that, melting against him, breath quickening, his pupils expanding until only a trace of the blue iris was visible.

"Oh, yeah," breathed Sandburg, busy hands already at work on Ellison’s shirt buttons. "I’m down with that."

Mouth lowering, Ellison muttered, "Good."

Those were the last coherent words spoken in a very long time. A mutual, silent decision reached to move the activities to more comfortable quarters, the lovers abandoned the dishes sitting in the cooling water.

* * *

Warm spring sunshine flooded through the small kitchen window, illuminating a scene of domestic activity and lively debate. Entering the kitchen in search of sustenance that morning, Ellison’s neat soul had been horrified to discover the dirty dishes still in the sink. So, immediately after breakfast, oblivious to all his lover’s wiles, Jim had sat about doing the dishes and cleaning the kitchen. Beside him, desultorily drying said dishes as they were handed to him, Blair, who favored the lived-in approach, was grumbling that Jim was trying to avoid working on his senses. Both men, however, were too sated and happy to take the argument anywhere serious.

A knock came on the door as Ellison was wiping down the sink. He turned an inquisitive eye on the other man. "A little early for visitors, isn’t it? It’s only nine."

"Yeah." Wiping his hands dry on the seat of his jeans, Blair headed for the door. "My friends know I’m usually not up until at least noon on Saturday." He threw a dirty look over his shoulder.

Winking at him, Ellison continued his tidying of the kitchen, determinedly keeping his hearing turned way down to give Blair his privacy. Thus, he was slightly astounded to hear Sandburg call, "Hey, Jim; come here a minute, man!"

Swiftly drying his hands, Ellison carefully hung up the towel before leaving the kitchen. Whoever the visitor was, he was obviously no threat; Blair’s voice had been happy and excited. "Yeah, Chief?" acknowledged Jim as he entered the small living room. He stopped dead in the entryway, gazing in astonishment at the beautiful red-haired woman with an arm around his lover’s waist.

Catching sight of him, Blair exclaimed, "There you are! Come here, I want you to meet someone." He held out a hand to his lover, drawing the larger man closer. Pride in his eyes, he said, "Jim, I’d like you to meet my mother, Naomi Sandburg. Mom, this is Jim Ellison."

Stunned beyond comprehension, Jim could only gape for several long minutes before he was able to pick up his jaw to stutter, "Y-You’re...Blair’s mother!?" It seemed too incredible to be true. The laughing, blue-eyed woman who took his hand seemed much too young to have a son Blair’s age. Recalling himself with difficulty, Jim withdrew his hand and glanced sideways at his seriously amused lover. "Committed a faux pas, have I," he said dryly.

"Nah, man." Wiping at his streaming eyes, Blair brought himself back under control. "Everybody reacts like that the first time. Oh, boy, I wish I’d had a camera; wouldn’t that have made a great cover for ‘Vogue’!" He took off in gales of laughter once more.

"Silence, junior," Ellison mock-growled. Ostentatiously ignoring the giggling man, Jim said, "I’m pleased to meet you, Mrs. Sandburg. Sorry about my lack of manners."

A giggle very much like Blair’s erupted. "Oh, please don’t ruin it by apologizing, Mr. Ellison! You have no idea how flattering that is."

"Can’t apologize for the truth, anyway," shrugged Jim, grinning. Now that he looked closer, he could see some resemblance between mother and son. Both shared the same lively, bright blue eyes, small features, and high cheekbones.

"Excuse me, Mr. Ellison." Naomi was frankly staring at him. "I have the strangest feeling I’ve seen you before. Have we met previously?"

"Call me Jim, please. And, no, we haven’t met." With uncomfortable diffidence, Ellison shrugged off the expected question. "I do some modeling...now and then."

"Now and then!" Astonished at the other man’s reticence, Blair launched into speech. "Jim’s only the top male model in this part of the country, Mom. His picture’s been everywhere!"

"Well, that explains it." Turning back to her son, she leaned over and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "I’ve got to be going, sweetie. I know it’s early, but I just wanted to stop by and congratulate you on your doctorate; I know how hard you worked for it." She paused for a moment, brow furrowed. "There was something else, too. Now, what was it?"

Jim frowned as he sensed the lithe body next to him go tense. He glanced over to see a shadowed, sorrowful look in the smoky blue eyes.

"Mom..." began Blair, just as Naomi exclaimed, "Now I remember!" Eyes beaming, she asked her son, "Do you know why a Captain Simon Banks of Major Crimes would want to talk with you?"

Blair grunted as though he had been gut-punched. Watching worriedly, Jim saw his lover go sheet-white, eyes dark and huge in his face. Moving unobtrusively, he steadied the suddenly swaying man.

"C-Captain Banks? Nooo..." Voice cracking initially, Blair swallowed audibly. "Are you sure he wanted to see me, Mom?" It seemed to Jim that Blair was holding his breath.

"Oh, yes," replied Naomi blithely, curiously unaware of her son’s distress. "He came to see me last night, but he really didn’t say what for, now that I think of it." Brow furrowing once more, Naomi suddenly gave a shrug. "He asked if he could talk to you, so I gave him your address and phone number. That’s all right, isn’t it?" Suddenly, she seemed unsure.

"It’s just fine, Mom." Forcing himself to move, Blair escorted his mother to the door. Opening it, he kissed her on the cheek. "You go on; I’ll call you tomorrow."

"Oh, yes, do that, sweetie." Giving Blair another kiss, she suddenly gasped and looked at her watch. "Oh, look at the time! I’m supposed to be meeting your father for breakfast at the club and now I’m going to be late!"

An intently watching Ellison was surprised to see Blair go even whiter, his hands starting to shake. None of that showed in the husky voice, however, as Sandburg gently urged his mother through the door. "Don’t worry about it. You know Nathan will get you there in time."

Flashing another brilliant smile, Naomi said, "He always does." She turned to look at Ellison. "It was nice meeting you, Jim. I hope we can have lunch together soon."

Ignorant of the reasons for the undercurrents he could sense, Jim nevertheless answered calmly, "I’d like that, Mrs. Sandburg."

"Well, bye for now." A swirl of expensive perfume and Naomi was gone.

Closing and locking the door by rote, Sandburg was unaware of Ellison’s presence until two strong arms enfolded him, pulling him back against the muscled chest. "What’s wrong, Chief?" There was a warm concern in the deep voice.

Leaning back against the strong body, Blair said in a strangled voice, "S-she’s not going to meet my father for breakfast." Shaking suddenly, violently, he went on hoarsely, "My dad died fifteen years ago; h-his car went off a curve and into the Hood Canal. She’s never believed it, thinks Dad is just at his office or on a business trip. Her staff take good care of her; most of ‘em have been there for years and are devoted to her." He swallowed convulsively against the useless, hot tears.

"Oh, baby, I’m so sorry." Nuzzling the soft skin behind Blair’s left ear, Jim tried to project all the warmth and love the other man brought out in him. Sobbing once, Sandburg whirled, pressing himself against his lover’s chest. They stood there for some minutes, Ellison cradling the smaller man tenderly, muttering soothing, meaningless nonsense into a curl-covered ear. When he judged the younger man had calmed somewhat, he whispered, "That’s what Mayhew is holding over you, isn’t it? He’s threatening to tell everyone about your Mom being ill." Jim drew back in astonishment as the accommodating body in his arms suddenly went rigid, then tore lose. "Blair?" He watched in bewilderment as Sandburg paced frantically; thin, trembling hands running through curls over and over again.

"Oh, man, Oh, man," chanted Sandburg, "This isn’t happening...it isn’t." Suddenly coming to a dead halt, he speared his lover with desperate eyes. "Y-You don’t suppose Mayhew went to the cops, do you? I mean, I know I got rather snippy with him the other night, but..."

Bemused, Ellison gathered up both hands in his, stopping the frantic movements. "Sweetheart, just calm down, okay?" Dropping his voice to a soothing tone, he said, "Mayhew can’t go to the cops, Chief; not without giving himself away at the same time. Besides, I know a little about this, Major Crimes isn’t interested in...our sort...of thing, that’s Vice’s job."

"You don’t understand!" Tearing himself free once more, Sandburg began pacing again, arms waving wildly. "I know they don’t care about the whore thing; I know that! But...murder...my dad was a pretty important businessman, they would care about that, wouldn’t they? And there’s no statute of limitations on murder."

Feeling as though he could take no more shocks, Jim asked tightly, "Blair, are you telling me your dad was murdered?"

"NO!!! It was an accident!" yelled Blair, losing what little color he’d had. "An accident, god damn you!" He turned away, hunching over and grabbing at his stomach as if it pained him. "Oh, god, oh, god...it was an accident...an accident," he moaned over and over.

Ellison was at a loss for what to do or say. Heart breaking at the sight of the trembling man in front of him, he urged softly, "Blair, tell me what happened. It’ll be all right, I promise. I won’t let anything happen to you."

"Oh, god, I wish I could believe that," groaned Blair. "I’m sorry, Jim, so sorry. I never meant to involve you in all of this. I know you probably don’t want to hear this now, but I love you, man. Have ever since I saw you looking like a damn god in that tux at that stupid party. I’m sorry."

Warmth and joy flooded through Ellison. Voice shaky, he said, "I’m not; I’m not sorry at all. And it’s nice to know I haven’t been falling in love all on my own."

This was evidently more than Sandburg could take in his fragile state; harsh sobs shook the slender body. Gathering him close, Ellison held his lover tightly, tears prickling at his own lashes. Several minutes later, he gently pushed Blair down on the couch. Seating himself in front of him on the coffee table, Ellison took both hands in his once more. Looking into the reddened, tear-filled eyes, he urged softly, "Tell me about it, Chief."

In a raw, anguished voice, Blair told him about a twelve year old, skinny, rich, nerd, determined to fit in with the rest of the kids at school. How one day, this boy and a classmate, while playing around the garage, found his dad’s brand new Jaguar sports car. How the classmate immediately began boasting about his dad letting him drive his Jag around the estate. The smaller, younger boy was hesitant; he knew where the keys were kept, but Dad would be mad if he caught him messing about with his car. He finally gave in when the taunt of "Chicken!" fell from the other boy’s lips. Gathering his courage, he took the keys from where the chauffeur kept them and, hurriedly unlocking the doors, ushered his friend into the car. They had made it all the way down to the front gate without incident when, on the way back, a squirrel suddenly darted out into the drive. Twisting the wheel frantically to avoid the small creature, the youngster lost control of the car and it bumped and rattled over the sharp stones lining the asphalt driveway narrowly missing the scattered trees and bushes. Heart pounding, the boy wrenched the car back onto the drive and immediately headed for the garage. His companion, not so vocal by this time, helped him wipe the dust off the shiny finish in the hopes of hiding their crime. On their way out of the garage, the older boy regained his equilibrium and entertained his friend with "God, I hope you didn’t break anything underneath. That’s a bitch to fix, my dad says. You just have to scrap the whole car."

By pleading an upset stomach, the twelve year old was able to avoid his parents that night. Lying in his bed, he tossed and turned, bothered by nebulous nightmares when he did fall asleep. He knew he was going to have to tell what he had done, but he was afraid—afraid of seeing the look of disappointment in his father’s eyes. Getting dressed for school the following morning, he was shocked to hear a sudden, piercing scream echo through the house. Running downstairs, he flew into the front parlor. There, he watched his family’s doctor sedate his hysterical mother as a crying housekeeper broke the news that his father would not be coming home again. On his way into Cascade for an appointment the evening before, David Sandburg had lost control of his car on a sharp curve and gone into the canal. A man standing beside his mother said that the police suspected faulty brakes as there was brake fluid all over the road. In that one, elongated, frozen moment, Blair knew he had killed his father. He also knew, staring at his distraught mother, that he could never tell anyone. That thought was only reinforced when it became obvious that Naomi Sandburg would never accept her husband’s death.

Feeling inutterably tired, Blair mumbled, "Somehow Mayhew got a copy of the police report on Dad’s car. It must’ve been because he was his partner, though I don’t remember Dad ever saying he took on a partner. Anyway, he had a copy of the report and I must’ve been looking guilty, because he figured out the whole thing. He sat down and talked to me; said how, even though he knew I hadn’t meant to do it, the police would still consider it murder since I had tampered with the car. But he didn’t do anything, not then; just told me my secret was safe with him. It was just a couple of months ago, when he found out I practically had my degree that he...suggested...I do him a favor. Said it would be a big thrill for the johns, having a PhD. working as a whore. When I told him to get lost, he shook his head and said he guessed he was just going to have to tell Mom about the car ride." Galvanized, Blair’s limp hands suddenly clenched Jim’s tightly. "I couldn’t let him do that, Jim; I just couldn’t! You’ve met my mom—this will send her completely over the edge! I can’t let him do that!"

Speaking was difficult around the boulder in his throat, but Jim managed, "Come on, baby; we’re getting out of here." Standing, he tugged the other man up with him and pointed him toward the door.

"Jim? I don’t get it," Blair said, bewildered. "Where are we going?"

"My place...any place," answered Jim, hustling the younger man into a jacket. "But you need to get out of here, get some fresh air. Come on."

Ten minutes later, maneuvering through the morning traffic, Jim said bluntly, "For what it’s worth, Chief, I don’t think Mayhew has anything to do with this Captain Banks wanting to talk to you."

"Why do you say that?" Blair asked curiously.

"For one thing, he’d have a hell of time explaining why he’d kept quiet so long about a capital crime." Out of the corner of his eye, Jim saw Blair flinch. He went on, "For another, from what you told me, your dad died from an accident. An accident, Blair; do you hear me? Even if you had torn the brake line when you scraped the undercarriage on those rocks, it was not done maliciously or with forethought. It’s awful, and it’s tragic, and I’m sorry, but it was only an accident." Jim pleaded with his lover to believe him, though he knew so many years of guilt and fear could not be expunged so easily.

Blair was still silent by the time they entered Ellison’s spacious, expensively decorated loft. Gazing around listlessly, the younger man saw his anxiously hovering lover and berated himself harshly. ‘C’mon, Sandburg, get a grip here! Whatever happens, you can’t pull Jim down with you.’ Determined to live each minute as it came, he gave a sudden, blinding smile. "I like the view," he announced, going over the wide, glass balcony doors. Looking out, he could see Cascade harbor, with the mountains, high and imposing, in the background.

Ellison was aware of Blair’s tactics but decided to play along for now. "So do I. It’s the main reason I bought this place." Crossing over to stand beside his lover, a light caught the corner of his eye. "Damn," he groused, staring down in annoyance at the blinking red light on his answering machine. "Can’t a guy get a moment’s peace?"

"No rest for the wicked, my love," chuckled Sandburg.

Throwing him an evil glare, Ellison pushed the play button on the machine. He went stiff as he heard the message.

"Mr. Ellison, this is Dr. Carter at ‘The Ambassador’. Your mother is all right, but I do need to speak with you fairly soon. I will be in my office until seven this evening, or until 5:00pm tomorrow, if that’s more convenient. Thank you." The automatic recorder indicated the message had been saved at 4:00 yesterday afternoon.

"Jim?" Disturbed by the other man’s rigidity, and fearing another zone-out, Blair came up behind the model, laying a hand in the middle of his back.

"I have to leave." Taking a deep breath, Ellison smiled apologetically. "I know I could just call, but..."

"You want to make sure your mom is all right," completed Sandburg. "No problem, man. You want me to wait here, or I can go back to my place?"

"No," Jim said slowly, "No, I don’t want you to wait here." He gave Sandburg an abashed, yet apprehensive, smile. "I’ve met your mom. I want you to see mine."

Catching the subtle emphasis on the next to the last word, Blair just nodded and followed his lover back out into the warm, spring sunshine. This could prove interesting.

* * *

An hour’s drive later, Jim pulled up in front of a large, white building set in wide, tree-filled lawns with a small lake at the bottom of the hill. Here and there, scattered throughout the green grass, were groups of people, some all in white.

"Nice," commented Sandburg, climbing out of the car and coming to stand beside Ellison.

"Yes, it is," Jim replied seriously. "They take good care of people here. I’ve never had any complaints."

"Good." Climbing the wide, stone steps beside Ellison, Blair did not miss the discreet sign on one wide column: ‘The Ambassador Convalescent Home. Established 1952.’ It was evident Jim was well known here, for several white-clad people greeted him pleasantly, along with a few who were obviously patients at the Home. Coming up to a dark, wooden door marked ‘Private’ Ellison knocked, entering when he heard "Come in."

The gray-haired, spectacled man seated behind the large, overflowing desk came to his feet when he saw his visitor. "Mr. Ellison, I hope I didn’t worry you. Your mother is fine. I just needed to speak with you concerning a change in her medication."

Shaking hands with Dr. Carter, whom he genuinely liked and trusted, Jim shook his head. "That’s all right, Doctor. I admit to being a little worried, but since I don’t see anyone rushing around in a panic, I’ve calmed down quite a bit." Laughing, Jim turned to the man standing behind him, pulling his lover up to his side. "Dr. Carter, I’d like you to meet my life partner, Dr. Blair Sandburg."

A little overwhelmed at hearing Jim introduce him as his ‘life partner’, Blair was slow to shake the older man’s hand and reply to the polite conversation. "A doctor, eh? What specialty, may I ask?"

Already liking the old man with the twinkling brown eyes, Blair answered with a grin, "Cultural Anthropology...and I only found out about the ‘doctor’ part two days ago."

"Congratulations, Dr. Sandburg. I want you to feel as welcome here as Mr. Ellison." Turning back to a beaming Jim, the doctor said, "And congratulations to you, too, my boy. If I may say so, it’s about damn time."

Jim laughed. "I hear you."

"Now sit, both of you. Would you like some coffee?" offered Dr. Carter.

Ellison glanced at Blair, seeing him shake his head, he declined for them both. "Is there something wrong with Mom’s medicine, Dr. Carter?"

"Oh, no. Her blood pressure has continued to be a little high, even with her current pills so I was wondering if you would let me start her on a new regimen. I have to tell you the new drug is still in the testing stages, but the preliminary results are quite good on people with resistive, persistent hypertension."

Jim had been listening closely. "Are there any side effects?"

"Yes, the same as with most antihypertensive drugs...lethargy, headache, possible confusion, G.I. distress, you know them all. At this time, no severe, life-threatening side effects have been noted, but as I stated, the drug is still in the testing stage. It has not been fully approved by the FDA yet."

"Do you think it would help her?"

"Yes, I do." The answer was firm and unhesitant.

Jim frowned for a moment, then his face cleared. "If you think it will help... Sure, why not?" He gave a shrug.

"Good, good." The doctor reached into his desk and drew out a piece of paper. "Now, since the drug is still in the testing stage, I need you, as your mother’s guardian, to read and sign this release."

Jim read the paper in silence, then signed his name and handed it back to the doctor. Rising, he held out his hand again. "Thanks for everything, Doctor. I know you’re busy, so I won’t keep you."

"Thank you again, Mr. Ellison. I’m sure we’ll find that, in the long run, this is the best drug for your mother." Escorting his visitors to the door, the doctor asked, "You’re going to stop by and see her, as usual, I trust?"

"Oh, yeah. Let’s see, it’s Saturday morning, so it must be bingo time." Jim gave a small laugh.

"As always," chuckled Carter. He reached out and shook Blair’s hand again. "Nice to have met you, Dr. Sandburg. Please, do come again."

"Thanks."

Taking their leave, Blair once again followed his lover through the wide, bright halls. Soon, Jim stopped in front of a glass door which led into a large, sun-filled room. People of all ages were sitting at tables playing bingo and chatting. Drawing Blair up beside him, Jim pointed. "That’s her, the one in the bright yellow dress, next to the plants."

Looking, Blair saw a tiny woman dressed in a cheerful spring dress. Her face was still youthful and unlined, though there was a generous sprinkling of gray in the dark hair. As he watched, the woman suddenly broke into a wide smile and started yelling loudly, her speech slurred, "Inno...inno!"

A staff member, dressed in cool pastels, came over, smiling. "Very good, Grace. Do you want to pick out your prize now?"

"Yeah." It was definite.

"She’s three years old." Jim’s voice was level, yet filled with infinite regret. "The doctors said she will always be three years old."

"What happened?" asked Blair, hushed, as he continued to watch the bright eyed woman-child in the bright solarium. ‘Jim has her eyes’, he mused silently.

"Car accident. I was nine, and supposed to go with her and my little brother, Steven, to her folks for a visit, but my dad had grounded me the day before, so only she and Stevie went. A drunk driver ran the red, smashed right into the side of their car. Stevie died instantly. Mom...lived...but her brain had bled, badly. She’s learned how to walk, talk, and dress herself again, but still has trouble with eating and toileting. My dad had her put here because she’s always loved the grounds here. This was her grandparents’ place, she used to play here, until her grandfather died and her grandmother sold it to a group of people who wanted to turn it into a private nursing home."

"She looks happy and healthy," observed Blair.

"She is, basically. Her blood pressure has given us problems ever since the accident, but hopefully, the docs can continue to keep it under control. She’s already had one small stroke, that’s why she talks so funny."

Hesitantly, Blair asked, "Aren’t you going in to see her?"

Jim shook his head. "No. She has no idea who I am and, for some reason, I just upset her. The last time she got really upset, the staff had to sedate her and I hate for them to do that."

"Yeah, I can see your point." Turning away together, both men left.

Once they were back in the car and moving, Blair said, "She’s your weak point, too, isn’t she? Mayhew’s using both our mothers against us."

Flicking a quick glance at Sandburg, Jim nodded. "Good deduction, Watson." He paused for a moment as he checked both ways before turning onto the main highway, then he continued. "My dad set up a special trust fund for her care. I never thought much about it. Then, three years ago, my dad died of liver cancer. He hadn’t even told me he was sick, so I was really shook up at the news. The day after the funeral, that fucking Mayhew comes to visit, supposedly offering his condolences. He tells me that, while I was in the Army, he and dad formed a partnership ‘cause Dad’s company had fallen on hard times. I really didn’t care all that much, so I just kinda nodded and listened. That’s when the bastard socked it to me—an old friend of his was in town, and if I could do him this small favor, he’d be eternally grateful. It took a couple of minutes, but when I finally figured out just what he was asking me to do, I lost it and slugged him. He didn’t hit me back, didn’t even try to stop me from throwing him out the door, just stood there and said what it shame it was that Dad had used up all his money paying for hospital bills and doctors for his cancer. He said Dad was broke when he died, and therefore, he’s really sorry and all, but Mom will have to leave ‘The Ambassador’. She’d already been there over twenty years by that time, Blair. I couldn’t make her leave."

"What’s Mayhew got to do with your mom staying there?"

"He’s the chairman of the board of directors. It’s a private place, and they don’t have to take anybody they don’t want to. Mayhew could have Mom tossed out in a heartbeat."

"That fucking bastard," was Sandburg’s evaluation. He looked over at his lover. "What are we gonna do, Jim?"

"I don’t know, Chief." It was said with a sigh. "I just don’t know."

* * *

The two men were still slightly depressed as they climbed out of Ellison’s car in front of his building. As they opened the door, they were accosted by a tall, powerfully built African-American man. "James Ellison, Blair Sandburg?" His voice was deep and authoritative.

"That’s us," said Jim, sliding forward so he was between his lover and this unknown.

"My name is Captain Simon Banks, Cascade P.D. I’d like to have a word with you both."

Ellison’s sentinel senses picked up his lover’s increased heartbeat and fear. But it would be foolish to run, even if they had somewhere to hide. Reaching back, he grasped a tense hand, hoping Blair could feel his love and reassurance through the contact. "Of course, Captain Banks," he said evenly. "Come on up. We can talk there."

"Thanks."

Blair was silent the whole time it took to get to the loft, but Ellison noted his breathing and heartrate had eased somewhat. Ushering the big police captain inside, Jim idly wondered if this was the last time he would see his apartment.

The only thing wrong with harboring a guilty secret, though, is that it blinds you to other possibilities. Thus, both Jim and Blair were considerably surprised when Banks asked gruffly, "Do either of you know a Michael Peters?"

"P-Peters...?" Jim managed to get out while Blair gaped at Banks. "Well, I don’t know him, per se, but I know of him. He’s a businessman, pretty successful, I understand. I’ve seen him at parties and such."

"He was a businessman," corrected Banks. "His gardener found him hanging by the neck in his greenhouse early Wednesday morning."

"He committed suicide!?" Blair was aghast. "That’s awful! I mean, I’d only met him once or twice years ago at one of my mother’s parties but I just can’t believe he’d kill himself."

"That’s what his son maintained. Of course, being as the relatives are usually the last to know, we weren’t that interested." Banks eyed them both levelly. "Until yesterday morning, when the commissioner got a large envelope from Peters in the mail, dated the evening before he died. In it was a ten-page letter, stating among other things, that if he, Peters, were to die unexpectedly, the police would do well to look in the direction of Robert Mayhew. The envelope also contained copies of documents which showed that Mayhew was determined to take over Peters’ company, no matter what the cost."

"Oh, my god." A sick feeling rolled through Ellison’s stomach and he swallowed hard to force down the bile. Had Mayhew been questioned, and hoping for a break, spilled the beans about he and Blair?

"Exactly." Pulling out a cigar from his coat pocket, Banks bit down on it, unlit. "Now, I’ve already got men working on this from that angle. What I want to know from you gentlemen, is why did Peters also say in his letter, and I quote: If you want to know the full extent of Mayhew’s treachery, just ask James Ellison and Blair Sandburg. He’s stolen everything from them with his lies. Unquote."

"Oh, my god." This time it was Blair who moaned as he sank down into a convenient chair. Jim echoed him silently.

Eyeing the two pale men sapiently, Banks observed, "Now, I’ve done some checking around on you two. You, Mr. Ellison, are a highly successful model, with a hefty bank balance. Maybe you wanted to prove you could make it on your own, but humor this suspicious, old cop. Why did you turn your back on your father’s business after he died? The company is worth millions."

It seemed to be Jim’s day for shocks, "M-Millions?" he stammered, trading stunned looks with Sandburg. "But I was told Dad was bankrupt after paying off his bills..."

Banks nodded as if he’d expected that answer. "Mayhew told you that, didn’t he?" At Jim’s bewildered nod, the cop continued, "Mr. Ellison, your father’s company is worth somewhere in the region of 5 million dollars. Hell, that special trust fund he had set up for your mother is worth almost twice that! Two days after your father’s funeral, Mayhew showed up in your father’s lawyer’s office with a supposedly signed note from you detailing the lawyer to turn all yours and your father’s holdings over to Mayhew. He admitted to being suspicious but had no real reason to suspect fraud as it seemed you weren’t interested in running the company." "I wasn’t!" Jim cried. "I’m still not, but I sure as hell didn’t sign any damn note! And I sure didn’t know that my mother had more than enough money to keep her comfortable at the nursing home!"

"That’s what I thought," sighed Banks. "The lawyer kept the note; it should be easy enough to prove forgery." Sighing again, he looked over at Blair. "As for you, Mr. Sandburg, I have no idea. You come from a well-to-do family, but you put yourself through college and graduate school with scholarships and loans. Why would Michael Peters include you in this little sordid tale?"

Reaching out to take a large hand in his, Blair used his lover’s strength as a support while he told Banks the story about his father and the car crash that had taken his life. When he had finally faltered to a stop, the silence hung heavy and thick in the airy loft. When he saw Banks open his mouth to speak, Blair almost expected to hear the police captain read him his rights, but Banks surprised him yet again.

"You know," mused the big man slowly, "I’m going to get a hell of a lot of pleasure putting this bastard away. Maybe we’d better check into what became of your father’s business, hmm?"

"Huh?" asked Blair, jaw dropping. He exchanged puzzled looks with Ellison.

Banks gentled his normally harsh tone. "Mr. Sandburg, these last two days, I have gone over every scrap of paper pertaining to this case. Since you were mentioned, I have also gone over your father’s accident report. Yes, your father died when his car went into the canal, but it wasn’t due to damaged brakes. The was no brake fluid found anywhere on the road. The mechanic’s report stated the steering nuts had been loosened. According to two eyewitnesses, a couple in a car just behind your father, your dad took the corner too fast and, because he was unable to steer correctly, just skidded off. Unfortunately, the investigation into his death had to be shelved due to lack of evidence and clues."

Seeing that Blair seemed to be incapable of speech, Jim asked hoarsely, "You didn’t mention this to Mrs. Sandburg when you saw her the other night, did you?" He mentally crossed his fingers.

"No." Banks shook his head. "I was only there for a few minutes. When I saw she was...indisposed...I left."

"Thank you," whispered Blair. "Thank you very much for that."

"My pleasure. Now, if you two gentlemen will accompany me down to headquarters, we’ll see about getting your statements. Every little bit will put a few more years on that bastard’s prison term."

Jim halted in the act of reaching for the doorknob. "Prison? You really think he’s going to prison?"

"While I know it’s up to the courts and the judicial system, we have enough right now to put that fucker away for the rest of his life." Banks gave a sudden smile. "But, I do believe in having insurance policies."

"We’ll be right behind you, Captain Banks," Jim assured him, reaching out to shake the other man’s hand. "You have no idea what you’ve done for both of us this day."

"Oh, I think I have a slight clue." There was a sudden knowing gleam in the dark brown eyes. "But just remember this, gentlemen—everytime he opens his mouth to accuse someone else of something, he’s only digging a deeper hole for himself. I’m sure his high-priced attorneys will keep him thoroughly gagged. Besides, the courts today are crowded and judges have better things to do than mess about with petty concerns. They understand that some times you have do things you normally wouldn’t; it’s all a matter of pride." With a wink, the police captain left.

* * *

Seven long months later, after all the legal fireworks, subterfuges, accusations, and cross accusations, Blair and Jim sat in the back row of the courthouse to hear the jury’s verdict on Robert Mayhew. There had been more than one sleepless night, when they had simply held each other against the fear of having their secret life exposed, but Banks had been correct. Obviously, Mayhew’s attorneys had convinced him he was in enough trouble and that he would garner no points with the jury if it came out that he had blackmailed a leading model and a young anthropology professor into prostitution.

As the jury foreman stood to read the verdict, Jim clasped both of Blair’s hands in his and hung on tight. For his part, Sandburg seemed determined to never let go. Unconsciously holding their breath, they waited.

"We, the jury," announced the portly, gray-haired man, "have reached an unanimous decision."

"The decision is...?" prompted Judge Renfrue.

"We find the defendant, Robert Daniel Mayhew, guilty on all counts. With a recommendation that he be given a life sentence, with no chance of parole."

In the midst of the cheering that announcement engendered, Blair grabbed his lover, hiding his face in Ellison’s expensive suit coat. Gathering him tightly against his chest, Jim took a moment to nod an acknowledgment to Captain Banks as the other man walked out of the noisy courtroom.

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