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"Awake? Your eyes are open, let's try to focus shall we? Pay attention. This will be important later. No, I'm not going to get caught. You'll never have to testify. But I do need you to confirm that I'm responsible; and besides, there's a debt to be settled.

The bomb is in a trash can at the edge of a playground. It's by a short stone wall. Parents sometimes sit there waiting for their little ones. Lucky thing that it's raining today. There may be no one there at all. The blast won't be big enough to damage the school, but whether there are kids running down the path, we'll have to wait and find out on the news."

She set a radio down on the floor, plugged it in and flicked it on. She adjusted the dial to a local station that prided itself in providing up-to-the-minute information, then checked her watch. "It's 2:12 p.m.," she said, drawing a device from her pocket and deliberately depressing a switch. "The bomb just went off."

That said, she turned, ascending a flight of wooden steps to a door that she closed quietly behind her, leaving Blair Sandburg screaming into a thick gag.

***

Ellison growled in frustration as a Honda Civic stole the parking spot he'd been waiting for. The little red vehicle scooted past him while he was still trying to put his old Ford truck into gear. Swearing under his breath, he circled the visitor's lot yet again. The place was crawling with students... mind you, that wasn't entirely unexpected considering it was a university, but Jim couldn't get used to the swarms of young degree seekers. Finally pulling into a spot, he dug through his pockets and found he didn't have any change for the meter. //I better make this quick,// he decided, knowing that the campus cops at Rainier were absolute fascists about parking violations.

Blair hadn't come home last night. He wasn't worried about that so much as he was that Sandburg hadn't checked in this morning. Ellison had first left a message at the university, then a little later had left one at the loft asking Blair how his evening had gone. He'd worked through lunch, expecting the anthropologist to breeze into the station as he usually did on Fridays. Another hour had dragged by, and then Simon had caught him staring angrily into his phone receiver as Sandburg's voice mail picked up yet again. Realizing that Ellison had reached an entirely unproductive level of agitation, the captain had suggested he just go check on the kid.

Approaching the anthropology building, he spotted Sandburg's ancient Volvo parked in the lot two blocks away, his eyes easily picking out the green car despite the distance. He took the front steps of the anthropology building two at a time, preparing to chastise the younger man for not checking his messages. He was surprised to find Sandburg's office dark and locked.

"You looking for Blair?"

Jim turned to see a young blond man, keys in hand, letting himself into the office across the hall. Jim noted the short spiked hair, torn jeans, and small round glasses -- due to his prolonged exposure to Sandburg, he found it easy to identify graduate students, especially in their natural environment.

"Yeah," Jim responded. "He was supposed to meet me downtown for lunch."

"Oh, hey, you're the roommate!" the man enthused, grinning and nodding knowingly. "Jonathan Hames," he introduced himself, offering his hand. "Blair and I are both TAs for the Anth 100 class this term. He talks about you all the time."

"Have you seen him?"

"Not today. A couple of his students were floating around this morning looking pretty pissed. It seems you're not the only one he stood up. He dropped by the campus pub last night, but didn't hang around long. Missed a great band."

"If you see him, could you tell him to call me?"

"Done," the student replied, disappearing into his office.

//Studying, hey Chief?// Jim thought, then shrugged and decided it wouldn't hurt to drop by the pub. He could exercise his detective skills and maybe even pick up a quick bite to eat.

The pub was teaming with students, and the pounding music quickly killed Jim's appetite. He chatted briefly with a waitress who directed him toward the man behind the bar. The man griped about getting stuck with split shifts and how busy it had been the night before, then had no problem remembering Sandburg once he shut up long enough to listen to Jim's description. The bartender couldn't recall what the anthropologist had been drinking, but indicated Blair had definitely been well into the giggling side of plastered when he left.

"He was beginning to attract attention to himself before a brunette dragged him out of here," the bartender offered with a grin. Jim nodded without comment, then thanked the man and turned to go.

//Blair left with a woman,// Jim shook his head, //that always means trouble.// Still he wondered if he was overreacting. It was possible that Sandburg just had a little bit too much to drink and was sleeping off the hangover somewhere. Either way, Ellison knew he was out of leads and had to get back to work. He was walking back to the truck, eyes picking up the tell-tale white flash of a ticket under one windshield wiper, when his cell phone rang.

"Ellison," Jim answered.

"Is this Blair's roommate?"

"Yes. Who's this?" Jim responded. The voice seemed familiar, but he couldn't place it.

"Ronny," the caller answered, as though this fact should have been self-evident. Jim didn't recognize the name, but then he didn't keep close track of the women continuously leaving messages at the loft trying to catch the ever elusive Sandburg.

"Listen," the woman continued, "Blair's been puking his lungs out in my bathroom since he got up this morning."

And Ellison did listen, his sensitive ears picking up a muffled, painful mewling sound that no one else could have heard. //Oh, hell,// he thought to himself. //That's got to be Sandburg dry heaving. Damn.//

"I think it's food poisoning," Ronny said, emphasizing the point with a snap of her chewing gum. "He insists it's not. But I have to get to work, and I can't leave him in my bathroom. You have to come get him."

"Ronny--"

"Look, I offered to lend him enough cash for a cab to the hospital, but he won't go," Ronny cut him off, obviously interpreting Ellison's gruffness as a refusal. "I'm going to be late for work."

Jim winced at the whiny tones, then winced at the thought of Blair with this woman. //Whatever you were drinking, Chief, it sure sounds like you're regretting it now.// "Ronny, I'm on my way. Just give me your address."

Ten minutes later, Jim pulled into the gravel driveway of a small isolated house near a train yard. Stepping down from the truck, he fixed a strained smile on his face and prepared to retrieve his sick guide from the clutches of 'Ronny'. His cell phone rang before he could reach the front step. He snapped it open and identified himself.

"We just had a bomb go off in a playground," Simon barked at him, not wasting a moment on pleasantries.

"What?" Jim exclaimed, though he'd heard his captain clearly. "Where?"

"Pine Crest Elementary," Simon answered. "On the corner of Clarence and Richmond. Taggart's already on his way to the scene, and I want you on this one."

"Yes, sir."

"You locate Sandburg?" Simon asked.

"Yeah, I'm just picking him up now," Jim answered, feeling no need to mention Blair's reported condition.

"Good. I want you applying your special skills to this one," Simon said, then hung up without another word.

Tucking his cell phone back in his pocket, Jim realized that 'anxious to get to work' Ronny hadn't yet picked up on his arrival. Turning back towards the house, his senses sent up a warning flare. The place was empty, several days of mail filling the box mounted next to the front door. On instinct, he turned away from the house, scanning the street. Two sharp cracks sounded from the direction of the train yard. The impacts felt like bites, and Jim looked down to see two tranquilizer darts pinning his shirt to his skin. He had just enough time to realize he'd made a terrible mistake before he crumpled to the ground.

***

The screaming was entirely unproductive (and being honest with himself, it had been semi-hysterical screaming -- not heroic shouts of outrage -- but in this situation, he considered screaming to be a justified form of self-expression). The gag ran deep, and Blair could tell he wasn't producing enough sound to penetrate the closed door let alone summon a rescue. The effort did nothing but leave him starved for oxygen and heaving air through his nose.

//The Switchman set a bomb off in a playground!//

He let his head fall back against the cement floor, then threw his weight against the restraints, grunting with frustration. He was flat on his back, fear-sweat sticking his bare skin to the cold floor. His arms were spread crucifixion style; ropes bound his wrists firmly down, then looped around his forearms and upper arms before meeting across his chest. His ankles were chained, but he was left with some freedom of movement there, for all the good it did him.

He tried to force his way through the big fuzzy blot in his memory. He was in a basement. There were two small rectangular windows set near the top of one wall, but both had been covered with black paint. He suspected the cold floor he was resting on was new -- that is, he doubted the house had been built with metal rings spread in this particular pattern on the floor. Straining his neck he could see at least two more rings embedded in the cement, loose chains strung through them. A second pair of rings dangled down from the rafters overhead. He didn't want to think about what they were for.

In addition to the door at the top of the stairs, there was a second door at floor level. He suspected it opened to the outside, or more likely to a garage. //All the better to conceal the arrival of unconscious guests from nosy neighbours.// The door was rigged with three dead bolts, one with a latch that could be tripped from inside the room, the other two reversed such that a key would be required to open them.

The radio announcer asked if he was looking forward to the coming weekend, then finally confirmed it was Friday, 2:23 p.m. His frivolous chatter continued to fill the airwaves until he promised music and turned up the advertisements. There was no word about the bomb yet.

//I remember Thursday. Jim and I were at the station in the morning, then court in the afternoon. There was no hint that anything was wrong... that she was loose again. I went to the university and studied in the library. Thursday -- pub night. Jonathan tried to convince me to go... something about the band miking a digeridoo through a distortion pedal... said I had to hear it to believe it. Did I go?//

Blair couldn't remember leaving the library. He couldn't remember anything that would explain how he'd ended up stripped naked on a cold cement floor. //It's a tactic,// he told himself, twisting his hips and drawing his knees up as much as he could. It didn't offer much coverage.

How many articles on kidnappers and psychos had he read since he started working with Jim? He'd even started reading forensics journals searching for new ways for Jim to use his senses at crime scenes.

//Happy thoughts.// Blair moaned softly, recalling the first forensic journal he'd picked up. By chance it had fallen open on graphic photos of a dismemberment. He'd snapped the book shut, staring at the featureless dark green cover thinking it ought to have a big red warning label stamped across it. After a few deep breaths, he'd carefully opened the book to the index at the back and scanned through the topics, amazed at the information that could be gleaned from a few fibers or a chip of paint.

He'd read about kidnappings where nudity had been used as a method to debilitate the victim. It wasn't uncommon. The kidnapper wasn't interested in assaulting the victim, only humiliating and terrorizing them, leaving them unable to even think about trying to escape. //And that's the bright, optimistic side. That's just great. Let's completely ignore the obviously phallic-shaped gag. Jim, I need you.//

***

Simon paced the edge of the crime scene, chomping on his cigar. The media were out in force, crowding against the yellow police tape, assaulting those investigating the bombing with bright lights and a continuous barrage of questions. Parents were everywhere, some shell-shocked, others belligerent. The mayor had called demanding that Banks personally take charge of the case, yelling even louder when Simon pointed out that he was already at the scene doing just that. But what really had him fuming was the notable absence of the detective he wanted on point. //Perfect time for him to be off chasing after Sandburg...//

He dialed Ellison's number once again, then stared at his phone thoroughly pissed at the polite recording telling him to try again later. Swearing under his breath, he hung up only to have his cell phone immediately ring.

"Banks," he answered bluntly, hoping it would be Ellison on the line.

"Missed your anthropologist yet?" a female voice asked.

"What? Who is this?"

"The Switchman."

Banks almost dropped his cigar. Two years previously, the Switchman had blasted holes in structures all over the city, deliberately targeting and tormenting his best detective. Her background included a dangerous mix of military training and mental illness. Her father had served with Ellison during his special forces days. Simon hoped he was hearing things. He hoped it was a hoax. The Switchman had been caught and convicted. He'd personally attended the sentencing and watched her being led away in chains -- she was supposed to be locked up in a little cage somewhere.

Simon signaled urgently to Taggart, the bomb squad captain. When he had the man's attention, he covered the mouthpiece on his phone. "I need a trace on this line, now."

Taggart immediately got out his own cell phone and dialed the central precinct.

"You can stop searching for Sandburg," the Switchman continued. "He's with me."

"What?" Simon felt a distinct sinking sensation. The odds that this was a hoax had just dropped considerably.

"Don't believe Blair's keeping me company? Just ask Ellison -- oops, you can't, can you?" she taunted. "He's already involved in the game."

"I want to speak with Sandburg."

"Why? He's not your concern. It's not his life I'm ransoming... I have plans for it," she responded. "You just worry about all the sticks of C-4 I've scattered throughout the city. I want three million dollars by 6 p.m. today. I don't care how you get it. Rob a bank, tap the city treasury, drop by a few insurance companies, maybe remind them how much I cost them last time and ask for donations... I really don't care."

"That's not enough time," Simon insisted, catching a nod from Taggart indicating the trace was on.

"There will be no negotiations. Feel free to beg, just know that it will have no effect. I will call again at five o'clock with the bank account you'll transfer the funds to. At that point, you have one hour to comply; if you don't, six o'clock will arrive with a bang, and you'll have a new deadline."

"Wait one minute. Now, you listen to me--"

"No. You'll get the money, and Ellison will meet my other conditions -- or the city loses a building. Have fun trying to guess which one. Tick, tick, tick," she said, then left Simon shouting at the dial tone.

"Goddamn it!" Simon snapped his cell phone shut, then watched as Taggart exchanged a few more words with dispatch and shook his head. The trace had failed.

"Rafe! Brown!" Simon yelled out across the scene.

"Who was it?" Taggart asked.

"Our bomber," Simon said, holding the rest of his answer until the two detectives joined them. "I just got a call from Veronica Serris, the Switchman."

"What?" Brown exclaimed. "The nut-job that went after Ellison? I thought she was locked away."

"So did I," Simon responded. "I want to know how and when she got out. She's planted more bombs, and she's got Sandburg. It sounds like she's already dragged Jim into some kind of twisted game. I can't get a hold of Ellison. I'm not ruling him out by any means. I trust he'll do whatever he can to keep those bombs from going off, but we need to track her down, and fast.

"Rafe, Brown, you're on that. If you can't get a line on her, try and trace Sandburg. Start at the university," Simon instructed the detectives. "Taggart, leave your team to sift through the scene. I need you to come up with a list of probable targets and prepare teams to search and respond. We've got a six o'clock deadline. I'll pursue meeting her demands. Let's go."

***

Over the course of the last two hours, Blair's already low opinion of reporters had dropped a few more notches. Initial reports of the bombing had been horrific for the sheer lack of information and the amount of uninformed theorizing. Early on, the emphasis had been on the number of ambulances dispatched to the scene, the heat of the flames, and the debris shot into the yards of adjoining houses. The reporter could offer no word on the number of injuries but vividly described the flood of panicked parents rushing to the school searching for their children.

Finally the news had settled down into an accounting of minor injuries and estimates of property damages. In the meantime, Sandburg had been forced to listen to it all and put up with the abhorrent selection of music. He'd endured annoying 80s pop, stared at the ceiling, worked on breathing regularly, slowly skinned his wrists against the ropes, and gained not even a millimeter of freedom.

He'd spent two hours of waiting for whatever would happen next, trying to prepare for it. Yet when the lock on the door rattled and the Switchman descended the steps into the room, his heart rate immediately skyrocketed. Blair rolled his eyes shut, took a deep breath and opened them again to find her leaning over him reaching towards his face. He tried to turn his head away, only to have her clamp one hand down on his jaw, holding him steady as the fingers of her other hand worked the buckle on the gag open.

She yanked it out, and Sandburg swallowed convulsively, his eyes deliberately avoiding the offending object. The roof of his mouth was raw, and despite the saliva collecting at the back of throat, his mouth felt terribly dry.

"Water?" she asked, placing the straw of a water bottle between his lips and squeezing a stream of the liquid into him before he could answer. Blair swallowed rapidly, worrying the water might have been spiked with something only after she'd withdrawn the straw and the danger of choking had past.

Questions ricocheted around his mind... some he wanted answers to, others he didn't. Only one found its way to his ragged voice. "Why?"

"Why?" she echoed back. "Because I'm a sociopath. I was diagnosed in 1993. The label doesn't help much, does it?" She patted his cheek. "Repeat after me: My name is Blair Sandburg. This message is for Captain Simon Banks. I am with the Switchman. She is responsible for the bomb triggered at 2:12 p.m. this afternoon at the Pine Crest Elementary School. There are other bombs in other public places. She has demands."

Blair kept his mouth shut, his eyes locked on hers.

"Say it."

He wondered if this was really worth pushing his luck over, but it was almost an involuntary response, fierce anger closing his throat.

"I was planning to wait another few hours before triggering the next explosion, but I could move the schedule up," Veronica suggested.

Blair broke his silence, reciting the message back word for word. He repeated the words again at her request, then she extended a tape recorder.

"Now tell it to the tape," she said, depressing the record switch. Sandburg tried to keep his voice even and wondered if Jim would be able to tell how hard his heart was pounding. Serris shut the tape off as soon he'd finished the scripted statement, allowing no time for Blair to whisper a message to his sentinel, not that he could have offered anything more than his regret.

"I'll add the rest myself. Wouldn't want to give away too much of the game -- I want you to enjoy the suspense," she said. "But I'll let you in on this much. Bomb target #2 is the anthropology museum at Rainier, and this one will be a real blast."

Blair jerked against his bonds, his eyes flicking around the room desperately. He suppressed the urge to scream warnings at a tape player that was no longer recording.

"I thought you'd like that." Veronica smiled down on him. "Yes, I know about the special collection that just arrived from Thailand. It opens tonight. A nice little wine and cheese affair. A few speeches. You were supposed to go, weren't you? Half your department will be there." She read the shock and horror on his face and responded to it. "I know what you're thinking. After the trial, I wasn't dragged away ranting about retaliation -- but you didn't expect me to let it go, did you?"

"You would destroy a museum," Blair found his voice. "You would kill all those people -- just for revenge?"

"No, revenge is just a perk," Veronica chided, leaning over him. "I'm also after a few million dollars. I've decided I deserve compensation for my loss."

Blair let his head fall back, his eyes closing briefly. Talking to sociopaths was always a tricky business. He searched for the right words to get under her skin without spurring an immediate reaction. He needed an angle of approach.

"You're waiting for Jim, aren't you?" she asked. As he began to respond, she shoved the gag back into his mouth leaving him unable to answer. "I've been following Ellison's career closely. Gotta love the freedom of information act. That day on the bus... that was just the beginning for you, for the partnership, wasn't it?"

It was obviously a rhetorical question. Blair gave a muffled grunt as Serris dragged the strap on the gag tight and buckled it into place.

"I knew you were an amateur, but what a surprise to learn at the trial that I was punched out by a hyperactive, long-haired, tag-along anthropologist. Never thought you'd last a week with a hard-ass like Ellison, but here we are over two years later and doing so well." She smiled and stroked his cheek. "Ellison's been busting all the big cases, and there you are in the shadows every time."

"Do you need to go to the bathroom?" Veronica asked.

Though startled by the abrupt change of topic, Blair nodded enthusiastically. While he felt no particular urge, he would take any chance at freedom he could get, any chance to relieve some of the cramping in his immobilized limbs.

"No, you don't," she told him, patting his leg. "Don't you remember? I took care of all your needs earlier. Mind you, you were still pretty much out of it then, and it has been a couple of hours. Do you want the catheter back?"

Blair squirmed against his bonds, trying to curl in on himself, shaking his head vehemently, his eyes wide with horror.

"I was trained as a medic in the military," she explained. "I've been keeping very good care of you."

Blair continued to shake his head vigorously, disputing this claim.

"I'm going to adjust the chains on your legs. You may consider this to be some kind of opportunity... it's not. You will not so much as twitch while I do this. If you struggle, I will chloroform you, make the adjustments, wait for you to wake, and kick you in the crotch." She paused to allow Blair time to digest the threat, then offered further clarification. "Consider this: the chloroform could leave you nauseated, and having your balls crammed halfway to your diaphragm could definitely make you puke. You are gagged... that means anything that comes up has to go back down again. You might have the control to swallow it all; if not, the stomach acid hits your lungs. That could kill you." Her cold blue eyes met his. "Not a twitch."

"Ellison is going to fail you in more ways than you can presently imagine," she informed him conversationally as she undid the bolt holding down the chain trailing from his left ankle. "Say he devoted himself to finding and freeing you. Imagine if he succeeded, how you would feel knowing that because he focused on you, your friends were reduced to cinders?"

On the edge of hyperventilating, Blair forced himself not to react as she used the chain to drag his foot upwards. She threaded the chain through a ring dangling from the ceiling then pulled it further, drawing his foot up and out until his back was forcibly arched, his butt lifted slightly from the floor. Next she went for the chain around his other ankle. Blair focused on a spot on the ceiling, deliberately not watching as she maneuvered him into an even more exposed position.

"As for what happens should he fail you..." Veronica continued. "The truth is, he already has, as you'll find out soon enough. As much as I will enjoy the wealth I will gain from this venture, shattering your partnership will bring me immense pleasure."

Blair decided he'd spent enough time staring at the ceiling, and turned his head to stare down the length of one arm at the wall. He felt the touch of metal on the flat of his foot, followed quickly by a strip of tape to hold the object in place. Startled, he looked again at his raised and spread legs and beyond them to a black box secured to the ceiling. He'd noticed the box and the two dark wires trailing from it earlier, but had done his best to pretend it wasn't there. Veronica taped the second wire to his other foot then met his eyes. Her lips curled upwards, and she pulled something out from behind her back. "Look at this, Blair. It's another very special trigger." Before Blair could even discern the features of the object in her hand, he heard a sharp click.

Sandburg kicked involuntarily as he felt the current course down his legs, pain pooling in his knees before reaching further... He shrieked into the gag, then an instant later fell back, lungs struggling to replenish themselves as the pain receded, leaving a trail of pins and needles behind.

"Did you feel that?" she asked. "Never mind. It's obvious you did. The question is -- was that muscle spasm in response to the current or in response to pain?"

Blair clenched his eyes shut, preparing himself for another blast of electricity. It didn't come. His eyes flashed open, blazing blue fury as Veronica grabbed one of his nipples, pinching it, digging her nails in. He shouted into the gag, unable to pull away, his hands clenched in frustration.

"Pain, eh?" Veronica smiled. "Good. That means the morphine has worn off. You were sluggish a lot longer than I expected."

Blair knew he'd been drugged earlier, but hadn't really wanted to hear about it. //What the fuck had she been doing with morphine?//

"Unhappy about that? Just imagine how much your arms would be hurting if I hadn't given you something to keep you relaxed," Veronica said. "You should be pleased I gave you the clean stuff. I robbed a clinic for you. Rohypnol, morphine, sterile needles, a few other things for my medicine cabinet... I could have just picked something up from the street... could have strung you along on any number of easily available illegal opium derivatives. The problem with street drugs is there's no quality control. This job required exact timing; with morphine I had complete control over the dosage and still I overshot a little."

"It's time we got started. You ready?" Veronica didn't wait for his answer. She stepped out of his frame of view for a moment, then returned with a camera in hand. She focused the lens on his face and snapped off a couple of shots. "You're not smiling," she chastised him, dropping down closer and refocusing the lens. She stepped back to take several full-length pictures, then moved again, kneeling between his legs for a few choice close-ups.

He kicked, trying to knock her away but he didn't have the range of motion to even make contact. The cuffs scraped at his ankles, the one on the left biting through the skin, blood welling beneath the edge of the metal.

"I'm going to send copies to the police station," she told him. "Not to Banks or anyone who would burn them for you, but maybe to the guys in Vice, or a few of the lowly uniforms who have the sense to know that a hippie-freak like you shouldn't be running around with a detective. It should put a stop to your observer activities pretty quick. Figure Ellison will stand behind you on this, or encourage you out the door?"

Blair focused on the blood slowly sliding down his left leg, barely paying attention to her words. Partway down his calf, the rivulet split in two, one arcing out of view almost immediately, the other reaching his knee before slipping around to trail down the back of his thigh.

"And it won't end there," the Switchman continued. "Just imagine me as a millionaire, living comfortably on an island somewhere, every few years tracking you down at whatever university you're working at and mailing copies to all your students."

He could no longer see the path taken by the blood, but could feel the warm wet trace and kept his mind there, letting the threats drift over him. Struggling wasn't helping him; he had to stay calm, he had to bide his time until he had a chance. Jim would come. He just had to hold onto that thought.

He jerked when she lightly touched his right leg just below the knee, her fingers slowly stroking down his inner thigh.

"Have you ever been sodomized, Blair?" she asked. Her hand traced a path from his inner thigh and under to his outer thigh, drifting down onto his ass before the fingers were abruptly drawn away. "I'm not one to get my hands dirty, but I've found someone who likes to chain people and put them into little cages. And I've got all the leverage I need to convince him to take a turn with you."

His heart pounding at the base of his throat, Blair felt the tears streaming down his face and could do nothing to stop them. Just as he thought the situation couldn't get any darker, Veronica dangled a blindfold in front of him.

"Sorry," she said, draping the cloth over his eyes. "I want to keep the lights on, maybe take more pictures, but I know your rapist would prefer it if you never saw his face."

She secured the blindfold with a tight knot, and swept her fingers along the side of his face, touching his tears. Then Blair felt the air shift as she stood. He heard her cross to the second door, unlock the three dead bolts, then step through the door leaving it open behind her.

She returned dragging something, her breath harsh with exertion. He heard a meaty thump and reflexively turned his head as though to look. He dragged the side of his face roughly against the cement trying to dislodge the blindfold. He needed to see what was happening, he needed to move. There was a second raw thump, closer now. //What the hell was she dragging, a body?//

"He's unconscious," the Switchman broke the silence. "Drugged actually, but it's all part of the game. He'll come around soon."

A limp weight was draped onto him, then lifted, heaved a few inches further up between his legs and dropped again. He couldn't believe this was happening. This couldn't be happening. The guy was big and fully clothed. Blair heard the Switchman gather up the chains, their cold lengths falling against him. He listened to the links clink against each other, wondering how he could be bound down any more thoroughly than he already was. It wasn't until she stepped over him to work on the other side that he realized that the extra chains weren't for him.

Blair screamed himself out of breath.

"He doesn't get to leave until I decide he's finished," the Switchman informed him. "But you'll find he has all the freedom of movement he needs to touch you as deeply as he wants."

Then she slipped a band of cloth under him at the small of his back, drawing the ends up around him. To Blair's horror, he felt her shifting the chains holding the other man's wrists, positioning the man's hands between his legs before tying them down.

"Feel that?" she asked, as she completed the knot. "That's a nice big bow. He'll be able to undo it as soon as he comes around. In fact, he'll be able to pull off the blindfold he's wearing too. I just want to see what he does before he figures out what he has in his hands... before the drugs have really worn off."

The stairs creaked again, and Blair thought for a moment she was going to leave him; but she stopped partway up, settling in... waiting... watching...

Hip joints and ankles already aching from the awkward position, Sandburg did his best to hold himself perfectly still. He didn't want to do anything that could wake the behemoth whose chained hands lay heavily against the most sensitive parts of his anatomy. //Sensitive.// It was as though his sense of touch in that region had kicked into overdrive, input from the rest of his skin fading from his attention. Hence he felt the faint shiver pass through the hands on him, followed by the first twitch, then a succession of involuntary shifts before one set of fingers came completely to life and curled around his penis, reaching under it, brushing over his balls as though in search of an answer.

Blair moaned, his hips heaving upwards trying to dislodge the intrusion only to feel the grip on his penis tighten painfully, drawing a second more desperate moan from his throat. The other hand planted itself on his hip, restraining Blair's motions then applying even greater pressure as the man tried to push himself upright. Pain spiked up the full length of Sandburg's leg, the skin on his ankle again tearing against the cuff binding it. Throat convulsing in a stifled shout, Blair tried to force himself to breathe evenly, needing to find some kind of focus, to detach himself from what was happening... what was going to happen.

His tears soaked the blindfold, and he could make no sound to accompany them. His sinuses abruptly clogged, threatening to suffocate him. Instinctively he snuffled and swallowed. Both actions were painful with the gag in place but restored his airway -- some of the salty slime sinking into his throat, the rest sliding across his face.

He realized the man on him was moaning too, the sounds more suggestive of a bad hangover than arousal. Blair hoped this would give him more time. The man had been drugged; perhaps regardless of whatever kink he had, he wouldn't be able to... perform... at least not for awhile.

***

For Jim, awareness returned in a series of sensory flashes, bolts of red and black blasting across his optic nerves. The black was so intense it was painful; and if this absence of colour hurt, he didn't want to think about what a splash of white would do to him. Eyes clenched tight, he tried to extend his other senses and found they were also swirling out of control. Amongst the assault, he found one strong unmistakable scent -- Blair.

He waited for Sandburg's voice to cut in and make everything clearer or just explain what the hell was going on. His vision was off-line, powerful smells were flooding his sinuses, and whatever he had in his fingers felt alive. It was warm, soft, and pulsing... definitely skin and there were curls of coarse hair...

//Curls?// Jim jolted to another layer of awareness. Though the details were fuzzy, he knew he'd been searching for Blair, that Blair had been in trouble. The smell of blood reached him, first faint then overwhelming. He recognized the approaching zone-out as he teetered at the edge of it and snapped himself from it by sheer force of will. As he regained some semblance of control, the scent of blood nearly vanished while that of his guide remained strong.

He was definitely in close contact with someone, and from the intensity of the smell it had to be Sandburg. Though his vision was getting lighter, he still couldn't see anything. His eyes just wouldn't work for him, so he used touch, again focusing on the points where his fingers connected with bare skin, brushing into thick hair. The curls seemed short and very coarse, but he didn't know if that was real or a sensory scaling problem. He swore his ear had to be less than an inch from Sandburg's heart, the rapid pounding so loud it overwhelmed everything else.

He tried to push himself up, and a pained sound reverberated in the body beneath him. Sandburg was panicked and struggling, fresh fear adding an edge to the smell of sweat. Jim tried to call out to his partner, only to choke on the words, the vibrations in his throat too intense. Again, he forced himself to focus, replaying the sound of Blair's guiding voice in his mind, falling back onto breathing exercises now instinctive.

The geometry of his grip finally penetrated his fog-filled mind. Realizing what he had in his hands, he let go and backed off quickly only to be pulled up short. Suddenly self aware, he felt the metal cuffs tight on his wrists and the cloth across his face blotting out his vision. He brought his head down within reach of his trapped hands and, with a tug from his fingers, the blindfold slipped off. It was that easy. As he blinked against the light, he glimpsed his partner and tried his voice again.

"Blair?" His eyes found a point of focus, then expanded their field of view. Blair was naked -- he'd known that, but found knowing and seeing were different things. His guide was also gagged, blindfolded and bound spread open in an absolutely horrifying fashion. Jim couldn't help but confirm that it was Blair's penis, lying limp against his abdomen bedded in the curls of his pubic hair, that he had palmed and squeezed earlier. As he croaked out his guide's name, he saw Sandburg freeze then jerk his head upwards as if trying to see through the blindfold.

"Sandburg!"

"Mm!" Blair's head fell back, and he seemed to almost collapse in relief, taking big sighing breaths, his nostrils flaring. Sandburg's heart actually skipped several beats before finding a new rhythm... still fast, but no longer pushing the body's physical limits.

"Isn't that cute? He thinks he's safe now."

The voice came from behind him, almost purring, simultaneously seductive and menacing. Hands still awkwardly bound before him, Jim turned to look over his shoulder. He recognized the Switchman, Veronica Serris, sitting on the stairs behind them. Her dark hair was now cut short. A set of keys dangled from her throat on a chain like some kind of twisted fetish.

"Serris," Jim said flatly, his face deliberately devoid of emotion. He knew she had to be responsible for the explosion earlier that afternoon, and it wouldn't be the only bomb she'd set. In fact, even now she kept turning some kind of remote triggering device over in her hands.

"Detective Ellison," Veronica responded, descending the stairs as she spoke. "It looks like I found your weak point."

Ellison devoted the barest fraction of his attention to tracking her movements, the rest he focused on his guide. The cuffs on Blair's ankles had torn through the skin, sending blood dripping down his legs. The ropes around his wrists were also stained with red. He had bruises shading from yellowish grey to purple, including dark half-moon fingernail marks surrounding one nipple. A gag filled Blair's mouth, and Jim could see Blair's eyelids fluttering against the dark cloth bound across them.

Rage poured through Jim's veins -- how many hours? How many hours had Sandburg spent pinned like a specimen until he was as pale and cold as floor beneath him?

//I scrambled eggs for breakfast, enjoyed an extra long shower, and he was here. By midmorning I knew something was wrong, but what did I do? Left a message at the university, convinced Taggart to split his donut with me, distracted myself with a trip down to forensics to chat with Dan, and all the while he was here.//

Furious, Jim yanked against the bindings only to hear Blair grunt in reaction. Looking down he found he was held in part by a ribbon tied around Blair's waist then through the links of two long chains cuffed to his wrists. Undoing the bow with one swift motion, he immediately reached for the cloth tied across Blair's eyes.

"No." The Switchman spoke the word without inflection. Her finger tightened on the trigger she'd been toying with and it clicked.

Blair jerked beneath him, his jaws clamping around the gag, his scream muted. To his horror Jim recognized the sound from Veronica's phone call, the muffled noise in the background... //Sandburg screaming.//

"Serris!" Jim shouted, unable to contain his rage. He could feel the edge of the current, the hair on his arms prickling at the charge. Then it stopped and Blair went limp, his lungs struggling to restore a regular rhythm despite the gag hindering him. There was a fresh sheen of sweat on his skin, enough that his chest hair was flecked with fine beads.

"You don't touch him without my permission." Veronica's voice shook with anger. "Do you understand?" she demanded, aiming the trigger and waiting for a response.

"Yes."

"Good," she smiled, then continued as though she were generously granting a wish. "You can undo either the gag or the blindfold, but it's one or the other, not both."

After a moment, Jim stretched himself upwards, touching the gag lightly, doing his best to telegraph his intentions to Blair and give him the opportunity to respond.

"And there's a price," Veronica added, the glint of a new idea sparking in her eyes. Her time at the psychiatric hospital obviously hadn't helped her. She was as crazy as ever and inventing rules as she went along. He waited, as still as granite, for her to name the price.

"Actually, I'll give you a choice. You can either let Blair take two more jolts from my toy, or give him a nice deep-throated kiss."

Jim's eyes blazed with anger, but he held his tongue.

"Come on, Ellison. You're too noble to let him get zapped. Make the sacrifice: kiss him. And don't think you can get away with a chaste brushing of lips. Extract his tonsils with your tongue, or I'll punish him anyway." Her voice still wavered dangerously while her index finger tapped compulsively against the back of the device in her hand.

"Need a countdown to push you along?" she asked. "Five... four..."

Jim's unsteady fingers brushed the buckle on the gag, and Blair nodded slightly, agreeing with the choice and the conditions. Concentrating, the drugs still messing with his sense of touch, he managed to work the buckle loose. He pulled the gag out, the sound of it scraping against Blair's teeth unnaturally loud in his ears. Surprised by the length of the object, Jim looked closer and abruptly realized what he had in his hands. Furious, he tossed the monstrosity aside, suppressing the impulse to shout obscenities at their captor.

Blair drew a deep breath, then coughed convulsively, saliva spilling from the corner of his mouth and coursing down his cheek. Sandburg's fingers flexed upwards, his pinned hands stretching in a futile reach. Recognizing his partner's desire, Jim used his sleeve to gently to wipe away the drool and clean off the rest of Blair's face.

Carefully holding himself away from Blair's naked length, Jim leaned in so that only their lips touched. Blair's lips parted, and Jim responded automatically, his tongue probing inwards. It was his intention to perform the act as quickly and mechanically as possible but his senses betrayed him. The moment his tongue drifted into Blair's mouth, input from his taste buds spiked off the chart... Sandburg obviously hadn't seen a toothbrush since the previous morning.

Whatever drug he'd been given was still throwing Jim off; he couldn't seem to tone down the sensory assault. He proceeded anyway, extending his tongue to stroke the inside of Blair's cheek. He wanted his compliance to be obvious. He didn't want to give the mad woman any reason to hurt his guide again. Beneath the sour tang there was a faint trace of beer and something else, something...

Jim tried to isolate that one unique flavour from the others. Tumbling at the edge of a zone-out, the rough texture of Blair's tongue rubbing against the underside of his own snapped him out of it. Embarrassed, Jim withdrew and found he brought Blair's wet taste back into his own mouth.

"Thanks," Blair croaked, his teeth showing in a grateful expression that couldn't exactly be called a smile. His tongue flicked out to trace his dry lips. Jim wished he could see Blair's eyes... those expressive eyes that would tell him in an instant how well his partner was holding up.

"Don't thank him yet," Veronica interrupted.

Jim watched as Blair's expression shifted to a frown.

"He's just begun," Veronica continued. "I told you what he's going to do to you, Blair. Don't you remember?"

Abruptly Sandburg was twisting frantically beneath him, struggling against the restraints, drawing fresh blood from his already damaged wrists and ankles. Jim grabbed Blair at the waist, trying to still the thrashing. He could feel Sandburg literally shaking in his hands.

"He's going to fuck you up the ass," Veronica said, the words slow and deliberate and full of malice.

Jim reared back, severing all contact with Blair, his wrists jerking against the limits of the chains. "No fucking way!"

"Tick, tick, Blair," Veronica taunted. "Tell him you want him to do it."

"Oh, no... please, no," Blair begged.

"I won't," Jim reassured his partner, then fixed his icy blue eyes on Serris. "I won't."

"Ellison, you'll do it, or I'll blow all of Blair's little anthropology buddies away. You don't want me to do that, do you Blair?" Veronica added with false sweetness.

"No," Blair said, his horror clear in his voice.

"So what do you want Jim to do?" Veronica prompted. "Say it."

"Fuck me." He said the words so softly his lips barely moved, but Ellison heard them clearly.

"You're out of your mind," Jim turned on Serris, anger pouring off him.

"You'll do it, or the museum at Rainier University will be leveled before the hour is out."

"Forget it. You're fucking nuts. Even if your threats convinced me, essential parts of my anatomy would never cooperate. There's no way--"

"I thought of that," Veronica interrupted. "I've thought of everything. There's a shoebox next to you. Why don't you open it?" She phrased this as a polite request, but her finger rested on the button that triggered the tazer rigged to Blair's feet.

After a long second, Jim reached over and pulled the lid off the box. Surveying its contents, he closed his eyes and turned his head aside. The box contained condoms, lubricant, and a very large dildo.

"He's straight. He hasn't done this. He doesn't do this. You can't expect..." Jim struggled to keep the words even, appealing for reason in the face of insanity. "It won't fit. Not a first-timer."

"Make it fit," Veronica said. "We're on a deadline here. See the red mark near the base? That's how deep it has to go. You have forty minutes to have it or yourself in to the hilt. Your choice."

"You're insane," Jim said, his voice hauntingly quiet. "All this to fulfill some twisted revenge fantasy you worked up while in jail?"

"I am insane. That's why you have to do what I tell you to. And Jim, revenge fantasies are the very best kind. This is the thrill of a lifetime. Besides, I'm also requesting an obscene amount of money be transferred to an account in the Cayman Islands. Better pray that the money goes through, or your efforts will be for nothing." She paused to check her watch. "Now, I need to make a few phone calls -- see how things are going. I expect you to make some progress before I return. Don't waste your time trying to free him. And don't even think about touching the blindfold." Serris quickly ascended the stairs, pausing in the doorway for one final look down at them before proceeding through, locking the door behind her.

"Are you okay?" Jim asked quietly, trying hard not to impose on Blair despite their awkward position and the ultimatum hanging over them.

"Muscle cramps, maybe a few bruises," Blair responded. "No permanent damage, man."

"No, I mean are you...?" Jim could see the tear streaks, now dry, on Blair's face. He reached out to touch them, then drew his hand away, not wanting to make such an intimate gesture under the circumstances.

"Am I clinging to my sanity?" Blair laughed without humour, displaying a flash of teeth. "By a thread, man. A thread." Sandburg turned his head. Though his eyes offered him only blackness, he could hear and feel where Jim was. "So how the hell are you?"

"Not great," Jim answered, again surveying his partner for signs of injury. //What the hell was wrong with the people at Conover?// That facility was built like a high-tech fortress, and yet somehow the criminally insane kept slipping out of it. "She set a trap and I walked straight into it. She pumped a couple of tranquilizer darts into me with a rifle. I'm sorry."

"Hey, I don't even know how she got me," Blair said, dismissing the apology. "Last thing I remember I was in the library at the U."

"You went to the pub. She must of slipped something into your drink..." Jim's words trailed off as his eyes found disturbing signs on Blair's outstretched arms. "Blair, there are needle marks."

"Morphine. She said she gave me morphine. Why would she do that?"

Torture was based on the controlled use of pain, physical and psychological. He knew from his days in covert ops there was no benefit to indiscriminately hurting the target. He shrugged, then realized Blair was still waiting for a response. "It would keep you disoriented," he hastily offered.

"Yeah, yeah, it did. I lost most of today. I slept through things... things she did. When I was awake, I felt so disconnected, I thought I was dreaming. I didn't know..." Blair let the sentence die, seeming unwilling to complete it. "So you're going to...? Are you...?" Sandburg stumbled on the words, but Jim knew what he was asking.

"I can't," Ellison answered, his voice thick with pain. "I can't rape you."

In the silence that followed, Jim's mind desperately searched for alternatives, his entire being seizing at the thought of what would happen if he couldn't find any other way out. But there was no other way out -- he knew it and he could tell Sandburg knew it, too.

"Don't rape me," Blair said finally. With a subtle shift, his position was suddenly deliberately open to approach rather than forced. "Make love to me."

***

Blair almost couldn't believe the words as they came out of his mouth, but what choice was there? He'd felt Jim freeze up in response to her demands. And earlier, he'd seen Serris pull a trigger without hesitation, not caring who might be in the path of the explosion. He didn't want to know what would happen if Jim refused to comply. //If he tries to protect me and people die...// Blair couldn't even complete the thought.

He felt Jim shiver, and he worried at the silence until he felt Jim's hand on his hip. The touch communicated what couldn't be said -- conveying a myriad of emotions for which there were no words. Blair felt something splash against his thigh. Jim's touch lingered another moment, seeming steeped with sorrow, then released, the thumb dragging up through the wet spot.

"Jim...?"

"The bomb, do you know if it's on a timer or a remote trigger?" Jim asked, no hint of tears in his voice.

"Trigger, I think. The one earlier was a trigger," Blair answered. He shook his head, his thoughts returning to Serris' threats. "There's a new exhibit opening tonight. The museum will be full of people. I told my students about it. Oh god, I told them to go..."

"She's sick, Blair. Even if we do as she asks--"

"I know," Blair interrupted. "I know, she's going to blow it anyway. She can't resist. But if you don't -- if she comes back and you haven't -- she'll pull the trigger now. We have to make sure Simon has as much time as possible."

"We need to get free," Jim responded.

"Think you can pull a Houdini here in under forty minutes?"

"My wrists are in tight," Jim said, and Blair heard him pull at the chains. "How about you?"

"You think I'm bloody from lack of trying?" Blair grimaced at his own sarcasm. "Sorry."

"I could try the knots on your wrists," Jim suggested. "Untie them, or maybe use my teeth..."

"And my ankles would still be chained," Blair sighed. "That doesn't help us. She'll come back. Who knows how much time we really have."

The silence... the stillness... fell between them again.

"Jim, you see a chance -- any chance -- take it," Blair said. "Until then, you have my permission to do whatever's necessary."

"Have you ever done this before?" Jim asked.

"No, not exactly, not all the way. I'm familiar with the mechanics. I've read about it..."

"Taken a course? Written a term paper?" Jim quizzed. Blair laughed -- a genuine though slightly hysterical giggle.

"I'm sorry," Jim repeated.

"You have my consent."

"Any idea where we are?" Jim asked, stalling again.

"Not a clue," Blair answered. "You?"

"No. When she shot me I was near a train yard -- I can't hear it now," Jim said, then swallowed audibly. "There's lubricant. It should help. You have to let me know if it's hurting, okay? You have to tell me."

Blair heard Jim uncap the gel and was sure they both flinched at the loud pop.

"Just do it, Jim. Start."

The first finger, slick with lubricant, pressed at his opening, dragging across it several times before entering with a shallow push. The finger probed him tentatively, slowly sliding deeper. Blair felt the bump of the second knuckle passing into him, and shuddered slightly. This was actually happening.

Blair's heart rate was skyrocketing again. He could tell because he could feel it pounding against his eardrums. He tried to control himself, to hold still, almost immediately realizing that whenever he moved, Jim stopped moving. Clamping down on the panic he was feeling, he groaned in dismay as Jim withdrew abruptly.

"Blair, you have to breathe," Jim told him.

"Right. Breathe," Blair repeated, nodding. He demonstrated he could follow the instruction, then a deep breath turned into a shuddering gasp when Jim touched him again.

"It's okay," Blair said, rushing to reassure himself as much as Jim. Knowing he couldn't ignore the sensations, Blair let the analytical side of his mind loose, allowing it catalogue events. //Lubrication is an amazing thing,// he thought, feeling Jim's finger gliding easily through the tight grip of his inner muscles. It wasn't painful, just... different. //Okay. One more thing to add to the "been there, done that" list.//

//I can do this,// Blair thought, //I have to do this.// The finger was withdrawn, slipping from him, his sphincter closing with an ache he'd never experienced before. In the next instant, two fingers pushed against him, and he knew he was in trouble. They bumped hard against that inner ring of muscle but didn't make it through. Jim tried again, then adjusted his angle of approach and pressed.

It wasn't working. Blair couldn't help but squirm away from the pressure, suddenly aware of how big one finger had felt, how tight the fit had been. Worse yet, he knew his roommate was not small -- he'd seen Jim nude (the man had repeatedly proven he had no sense of modesty) -- and from Jim's reaction, the dildo was even bigger.

The horror of his position suddenly crashed in on him again, and squirming became struggling. He couldn't see, his own pulse was loud in his ears... she was coming back, she could return at any time. //What if she was already in the room sitting quietly, watching like before?// Blair jerked against the ropes, straining to look despite being blindfolded. //What if she had come back quietly and he hadn't heard her?//

"Sandburg, you're fighting me," Jim said. "You have to relax."

Blair felt Jim remove his fingers, a warm strong hand settling on his thigh and stroking downwards. He could feel himself trembling against the firm touch.

"Is she...?" Blair strained his neck, unable to respond to the gentle contact, still trying to listen past Jim.

"Not yet, Chief. I'll warn you when I hear her," Jim reassured him, his voice rough. Then Jim shifted forward on his knees, lifting the younger man onto his thighs, taking some of the weight off Sandburg's suspended ankles.

"Better?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah," Blair answered, feeling all the more exposed by the added tilt to his hips, but accepting the new position.

"Ready?"

"Ready," Blair responded, bracing himself. Jim's hand returned to his thigh, again comforting and encouraging him to relax.

"I need you to let go, Chief," Jim urged, gently kneading his hip. "Let everything go. Then when I push against you, push back. It will go easier if you bear down to start with."

Sandburg took a deep breath and released it slowly, trying to let some of the tension flow from him before nodding slightly. Though Jim said nothing, he moved his hand down between Blair's legs, to gently clasp Blair's flaccid penis. Maintaining contact, careful not to startle or surprise the younger man, he moved his other hand lower, brushing over Blair's lightly haired scrotum before slipping down to push into him again with only one finger. He held his finger still, allowing Blair to adapt to the sensation, then began moving it in slow circles as though to stretch the opening wider. Blair found the touch unexpectedly and shockingly erotic, and felt himself flush as his cock began to warm in Jim's hand and respond accordingly.

Jim then pulled out and pressed in with two fingers. They made more progress than before but still hit almost immediate resistance. Blair shifted, this time not trying to pull away, but trying to control the sensation and bear down as Jim had suggested. It was distinctly uncomfortable... on the edge of hurting... but he was committed. He was going to stay calm. He wasn't going to freak. Jim had enough to deal with as it was.

"Relax," Jim urged him.

"Trying," Blair gasped, swallowing against the lump in his throat. "I'm trying. Do whatever you have to. I consent," Blair said, uncertain of what to expect but accepting that there would be pain. The last thing he imagined was Jim's wet mouth descending on his cock. He jerked at the contact, feeling the fingers in him drag sharply at the motion. Jim paused, his mouth engaged in the most intimate hold.

//What is he waiting for... permission?// Blair thought desperately, then suddenly realized that was exactly what Jim was waiting for. "Unh, oh, okay, go for it, I guess."

Though he hadn't even considered suggesting it, Blair had read at least one book that indicated this was a good way to go. He didn't know if the method was truly effective, or if the story was simply an erotic fiction playing along with popular mythology. Regardless, he would never have asked this of Jim. Apparently he didn't have to; it seemed Jim had read the same book.

He felt himself responding as Jim's tongue stroked him. Now this -- Blair had actually fantasized about this. He'd never restricted his imagination to male/female couplings in the missionary position. In fact, he would fantasize about almost anything. He'd even found himself reflecting on the smooth curves of a table leg after Jim had made an off-hand remark. This was just one of the many ideas his raging hormones could get kicked up about, which he'd had no intention of pursuing in reality.

//Welcome to reality,// Blair thought to himself. //Never thought you'd find yourself here, did you?//

Jim's mouth enveloped him again and sank down his stiffening length, the action almost completely distracting him from the fingers still working at his anus, pumping ever deeper. With a jolt that ran from the base of his brain to the base of his cock, he realized that Jim's actions betrayed experience.

//He did not get this from a book!// Blair realized abruptly. //Ellison had done this before. Oh, shit!//

The words rang through Blair's brain so loud that for a moment he was afraid that he'd yelled them. Sandburg couldn't string two thoughts together, and Jim kept on... Jim was... Jim knew exactly what he was doing. That changed everything. Blair was instantly, completely hard. He felt tears springing in his eyes again. He hadn't known, so he hadn't even considered... he hadn't been given the chance to decide, and now it was out of his control. Even though he couldn't see what was happening, the image of Jim going down on him was absolutely clear in his mind's eye. It was too intense. He was on the edge of a precipice. He had to warn Jim.

"No!" The word escaped him, a breathless gasp. He did not want to come in Jim's mouth, not like this. He couldn't bear to force himself on Jim that much. "No."

Jim froze, then shifted just enough to lift his lips free before stating quietly, "It's the quickest way to relax you." Blair could feel each word brush against his skin. Then the tongue returned, licking him gently, questioning.

"Yes," Blair gasped, struggling for coherency. "I know. It's okay... help me, make me... please, I just... don't waNT... unh..." Jim drew his fingers out, then pushed them in deeper. The mouth descended again, and Blair could only writhe and groan at the mercy of the sensations. He needed release. Desperate, he swallowed the sounds in his throat and forced them into words. "Please, don't... I'm almost... there. Don't want. Not in your mouth... Jim!... move away!"

"Blair?"

"I'm there," Blair gasped. "Please, just -- my ear -- lick it?"

Blair stifled a groan as Jim's hot mouth plunged down on him one last time before he disengaged and slid up alongside him. Jim's fingers slid out of his anus and his hand moved up, lightly tracing over his balls to grip his cock, the thumb gliding along the underside in slow smooth strokes. The action was simultaneously calming and electrically exciting.

Jim's free hand slipped under Blair's neck, tilting his head. Teeth brushed gently over the edge of his ear, lips closing in after them. Then Blair felt Jim's tongue lightly tracing the rim of his ear, sending a rush of shivers all over him. He'd always been susceptible to this. Another brush of the tongue, this time against the back of his ear, sent a rich wave of sensations washing over the full length of his body. The sharp-edged teeth returned, lightly pinching, contrasting with Jim's warm, moist breath against his ear. Suddenly Jim's wet tongue plunged in. A groan escaped Blair, and the tongue plunged again and again dissolving him in a shuddering orgasm.

Jim shifted to one side, and Blair knew Ellison was likely trying to avoid the splash of semen now cooling on his abdomen. Jim's crotch pressed against him, and he was startled to feel an unmistakable hardness through the warm cloth. Blair gasped, searching for something to say, but as his mind stumbled over words, Jim realized what had been revealed and practically leapt off him, retreating, literally pulling the chains holding him taut in the process.

"Jim! Jim?" Blair dropped his voice. The last thing he wanted was to attract Serris' attention. "You can't... you... you can't stop," Blair finished, not sure what it was he'd intended to say.

After a terrible moment of silence, Jim quickly moved back into position, reseating Blair against his thighs and focusing again on what had to be done. Two fingers entered him again, pumped deeply, twisted, wriggled and withdrew, then three fingers twined thickly together found their way in. Blair grunted as they dug deeper; he could feel lube spilling out from him in their wake. Blair felt Jim's other hand reach across him, felt the box the Switchman had left brush up against his side as Jim dug out what he needed.

"Ready?" Jim asked, sliding his fingers out until only their tips remained, holding Blair open.

"Yeah," he responded, the uncertainty in his voice obvious.

"Blair. I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I love you." Blair said more than he meant to, but let the words stand. They were the truth.

"Blair," Jim hesitated, before responding to the confession. "Blair, would you prefer me or the... the..."

He wanted Jim. It came as a complete shock to him, to feel that with such certainty. He was just as certain he would never let the Switchman hurt Jim in that way if he could prevent it. //She is using me, Jim. I will not use you.//

"The dildo, Jim. Use it," he said through clenched teeth. A squelch from the tube of lubricant made his stomach turn over. Next came a cold, hard touch at the base of his spine, a steady force following it. The pressure built, and kept building until his teeth parted, his throat opened. The resisting ring of muscle finally gave, and the head of the dildo penetrated, shoving his breath from him. "Hoh! Ow."

"Sorry."

"S'okay," Blair responded, catching his lip between his teeth trying to suppress all further outbursts. Jim continued to work it into him with a series of short pushes. "Hmph. Hmph. Hmph. Oh. Um. Making. Progress?"

"You're doing great."

Blair accepted the encouragement but it felt huge and it was hurting and it wasn't in him hardly at all yet. //This is not good,// Blair thought, again letting his head fall back, trying to remember to breathe and bear down, his teeth clamping on his raw lower lip.

Then Ellison froze. Blair didn't need his eyes to know what was happening. He could envision Jim's head lifting, one of his senses caught on something...

"Jim?"

"She's coming."

"Shit!" Blair gasped. Abruptly, Jim pulled away, his knees no longer supporting Blair's weight. Blair grunted, feeling the strain through his ankles, down his legs to the base of his spine where it met with another sharp pain. Then he heard the rattle of the lock on the door at the top of the stairs. Reason fleeing him, he tried to pull his legs down, then reversed the motion, kicking against the restraints, his back arching.

"Blair, don't move." Jim placed one hand flat against his stomach, and Blair immediately stilled, once again hyper-aware of the fact that he had something in him.

***

Jim spread his body over Blair's, keeping his weight on his hands, which he braced against the floor on either side of Blair's waist. He deliberately positioned himself to conceal all that his guide would consider private.

"Back away," Veronica demanded, as soon as she realized what Jim was doing. "I want to see it."

Jim ignored her. Every muscle in his body tensed, but he held his position, waiting.

"Move or I'll have to zap your partner again. I'd hate to do that when he's being such a good little hole."

Jim felt Blair flinch beneath him. Still he waited, holding his ground, wishing he had some way to communicate his intentions to Sandburg... some way to apologize for the risk he was taking. He was absolutely amazed when the body beneath him completely relaxed, accepting whatever was about to happen. Trusting.

"You will do what I want," she said, her voice taking on a desperate edge.

"Or what? Where does it end?" he asked. "I can do whatever you ask, but I can't give you what you really want." Jim twisted to meet her eyes, trying to convey the truth of his words. "I did everything I could for your father, but he died. I can't change that."

"No. He trusted you! You should have given up your life rather than let him die."

"The helicopter we were in was shot down over the jungle. I don't know why I survived. It was chance, Veronica, not choice. My entire unit died, and there was nothing I could do." Jim's sorrow was evident in his voice. "You weren't the only one left alone."

"Why did you stop me last time?" she asked, stepping closer. "All that effort. You were supposed to pay, but you didn't. You let them lock me away. You just picked up and carried on as though nothing happened, as though it didn't matter, as though my father's death didn't matter. I was ready. I was ready to die. Why did you stop me?"

"You weren't ready. You wanted to be stopped," he told her gently, then turned away, looking down at his partner, rebalancing his weight on his hands. He would stop her, one way or the other. "Veronica, please."

"No. This time we take it all the way," she responded coldly. "You think this is bad? We've only just started. Cascade will never be the same. Now you'll move away from him and let me see, or I'll shock him again and again until he passes out."

Jim shifted back slightly, as though complying and felt her move closer. It was a critical error. Jim kicked his legs up, hooking his ankles around her neck. In an all-or-nothing move, he used his full weight to drag her down. Veronica's head cracked against the floor, her neck snapping.

He couldn't help but drop onto Blair in the process and the smaller man yelled out.

"It's okay," he assured Blair. Then, needing to be certain for himself, he kept his ankles locked in place and listened for Serris' heartbeat. There was none to be found, just the low thrum of her blood slowly sinking down through her tissues, released from all forces but gravity...

"Jim, aww man. Don't zone on me. Don't do this. Jim!"

The exclamation snapped Jim out of his daze, and he abruptly heaved himself off Blair, preparing a hasty apology. An apology that jammed in his throat when he looked down and realized that at some point in the action the dildo he'd left pressed into his partner had been dislodged.

"Blair, the... it's..."

"Out," Blair filled in. "No kidding."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to -- are you hurt?" Jim asked, alarmed by the possibilities.

"No, no, it just... it... it's okay," Blair concluded. "Is she...?"

"Dead," Jim confirmed.

"Oh, man." Blair's head fell back as he processed this. "Are we stuck?"

"No," Jim answered, reaching toward the keys only to have his fingers fall short. He then began a series of systematic contortions to bring them into range.

"What's happening?" Blair asked.

"I got the keys," Jim responded, freeing one wrist, then reaching forward to pull the blindfold from Blair's eyes. Sandburg blinked wetly, wincing at the light. The bright blue irises contracted, drawing Jim in before Ellison broke from the gaze. He couldn't bear the gratitude beaming up at him from Blair's eyes.

"I'll get your legs down," he said, hurriedly unlocking his other wrist. Scrambling to his feet, he glanced down and found his new perspective emphasized his partner's vulnerable position even more. He could only imagine what Sandburg was feeling.

Carefully keeping his eyes locked on neutral territory, he pulled the taped electrical leads off Blair's feet, then fumbled a key into the lock to release Blair's bloodied left ankle. The leg dropped under its own weight, falling too quickly for Jim to catch it. Sandburg's heel hit the floor with a bone jarring thump.

"Oh, hurts. That hurts," Blair cried. He tried to shift his leg into a more comfortable position, but the resulting spasm-like motions didn't help. Jim rushed to free Blair's other foot, this time taking care to grip the cold ankle, supporting it and easing the leg down slowly.

Blair twisted his hips, his legs curling up. Though his arms were still pinned outwards, he turned his head in concert with his change of position. Unfortunately this afforded him an all-too-clear view of Veronica's sightless wide-open eyes.

"Oh, oh." Blair swallowed convulsively, turning again, drawing up his uncooperative legs to curl on his other side. Jim quickly shoved Veronica's body aside with his foot, kicking her over to face the wall, his attention never wavering from his partner.

Crouching down, he tried to pick open the knots of rope holding one of Blair's wrists. It was no use. "I'm going to need a knife," Jim said. "You just hold on, I'll be right back."

"Sounds like a plan," Blair responded, closing his eyes, drawing slow, even breaths through his teeth.

Jim ascended the stairs, pushed through the door and found himself in a kitchen so bright it staggered him. Sunlight beamed through yellow-curtained windows. The fridge was decorated with sunflower magnets. This was a lived-in place, and it wasn't Serris' -- there was nothing of her here. Jim could only hope the owner was safely away somewhere, blissfully unaware of how her home had been used.

Tracking Blair's heartbeat in the room below, willing it to remain calm and steady, he reached for the drawer by the sink. //He said he loved me.// Jim's fingers froze mid-motion. //He said he loved me and I...// He shook his head. Quickly shoving the emotions down, he spotted the phone mounted on the wall. He snatched it up and dialed Simon's number.

"Banks." The call was answered on the first ring.

"Simon, it's Jim. The Switchman planted a bomb at the anthropology museum at Rainier University. I think it's on a trigger, not a timer, and I stopped her so it shouldn't go off, but the building should be evacuated just in case. Get Taggart over there."

"Wait. Jim, where are you?"

"I don't know... a house somewhere. Trace the line. Come get us, and bring the coroner. I stopped her--"

"Blair?"

"He's here," Jim hastened to reassure the captain, unaware of how haunted and detached his voice sounded. "I have to go. I have to find something to cut the ropes." He dropped the phone on the counter without another thought, leaving the line open for the trace.

"Jim? Jim!"

He heard Simon's urgent yell, but he'd already moved on to other priorities, searching through the kitchen drawers for a knife. Finding a suitably serrated blade, he paused at the sink, grabbed a dishtowel and ran it under the tap. He found Blair's clothes neatly piled on a chair at the kitchen table and gathered them up as well.

***

Blair slowly flexed his legs, rubbing his feet against each other, enduring the twinges of pain as circulation was restored. He kept his eyes closed except for the occasional glance towards the stairs. Now free of the blindfold, he found there wasn't much he wanted to look at. He didn't want to stare at the needle marks on his arm stretched out before him, nor the dangling wires above him; and in trying to check over his feet he'd already caught a glimpse of another object he didn't want to see. The dildo had been left on the floor next to him.

He heard Jim approaching and looked up at him with grateful eyes, especially when he saw the bundle of clothes he was carrying.

"Oh, thank you," Blair said as Jim set the clothes down and moved around to Blair's other side.

Sandburg stretched out his fingers and managed to just touch the edge of his shirt, taking immense comfort in the feel of the cloth. As Jim crouched down to cut through the ropes, Blair tried to use the tips of his fingers to draw the shirt a little closer. Succeeding, he was focused on pinching the cloth between his fingers when his other hand was suddenly freed. He automatically swung the arm over to assist him in the big lift-the-shirt project, only to have his shoulder ignite, muscle spasms seizing the joint. Blair yelped, curling into a tight ball as pain blotted out the room around him. When awareness returned, the ropes on his other wrist had already been shredded through, and Jim was leaning over him, one hand extended, reaching but not touching.

"Oh, that sucked," Blair said, trying to smile and downplay his troubles.

Jim smiled back, an automatic lost-looking smile that didn't reach his eyes. He offered Blair a damp cloth.

Blair cleaned himself with a few awkward swipes, moving with careful slowness, praying the spasms would not return. He discarded the cloth, and Jim collected it, folding the cloth over and backing away.

Sandburg attempted to push himself off the floor, failing before he made any notable progress. His arms and legs just weren't up to the task of supporting him yet.

"I think I'll rest here for awhile," he said, then reached out for the edge of his shirt again, this time managing to pull it over to cover himself.

"What should I do?" Jim asked.

Blair couldn't believe Jim was asking him.

"Take it." Blair directed Jim's attention to the dildo with an uncoordinated sweeping gesture. Jim stared at it, his mouth open as though he wanted to continue the apologies but couldn't get the words out. He dropped the cloth in his hand over the offending object and picked it up.

"Wash all traces of me off it," Blair instructed. "Take the whole box. Put it in her bedroom under the bed as though it's all hers."

Jim nodded and disappeared up the stairs, leaving Blair alone on the floor again.

//...don't want to move... want to move... oh, man, really can't move... need to move...// The internal dialogue became a formalized mantra as Blair struggled to his feet. Sandburg finally stood only to feel all the blood drain from his brain into his feet. The vertigo was accompanied by a sharp crescendo in the fiery pins of feeling jabbing his legs. Blair decided he preferred sitting, and it was from that position that he began pulling his clothes on.

His legs were streaked with blood, some dry, some still wet, but he pulled his jeans on over it anyway. //Deal with it later,// he thought to himself.

Once dressed, he rose slowly, teetered, stabilized himself and stumbled up the stairs. At the top of the stairs was a kitchen area, painted in such cheerful colours it was surreal. Little glass vases graced the window sill. Blair was staring at the room in a daze when he spotted the camera on the counter.

Grabbing a tea towel, he used it to pick up the camera without bringing his fingers into direct contact. He popped the back of the camera open to expose the film, then slowly rewound it, leaving the back open to ensure that every frame was thoroughly blackened by light.

He'd been to enough crime scenes to know that if he tried to toss the film, forensics would find it. He also knew that if he got carted off to a hospital, his clothing and the contents of his pockets could well wind up in evidence bags, and absolute proof of evidence tampering could bring an end to his observer status, regardless of the circumstances. Careful not to leave any fingerprints, he pointed the camera into the sunlight streaming in the kitchen window, cranked the aperture wide and snapped the film forward before closing the camera and putting it back where he found it.

He could hear a tap running somewhere upstairs. //He's washing it,// Blair thought to himself. //He's washing his fingers and he's being thorough.// Blair suddenly realized that Jim would use his abilities to make sure that there was literally no trace of Blair left. Concerned that Jim might be zoning at the task, Blair was about to attempt the stairs when he noticed a second source of background noise.

The phone was off the hook, and it was muttering. Blair lifted the receiver and held it to his ear.

"...the phone pick up the phone pick up the phone pick it up..." A familiar voice came down the line.

"Hello?" he said tentatively.

"Blair? Blair!"

"Hey, Simon," Blair answered, thinking it odd how casual his own voice sounded in contrast to Simon's panicked shout.

"Sandburg, are you all right?" the captain demanded.

"Yeah, I'm okay."

"Where's Jim?"

"He's..." Blair hesitated. "He's taking care of things."

"We've traced your location. We're on our way," Simon assured him.

"Okay, see you," Blair answered and hung up without another thought. A few seconds later, he wondered whether he really should have done that, then shrugged. He had a feeling that half the department was about to roll right over them. They had to be ready.

Blair looked down at his pale, bare feet. "I need my shoes," he said to himself. He took a few steps away from the counter, then stopped. He didn't really want to wander around the house on his own and was thankful that Jim chose that moment to reappear, his hands empty.

"Jim, do you know where my shoes are?" Blair asked. Ellison stopped on the stairs, silent and ashen, the muscle in his jaw twitching.

"I need my shoes," Blair repeated, trying to express the urgency of the situation.

Jim nodded, then sniffed once. Catching the smell he wanted, he proceeded straight through the kitchen into the adjoining hallway where he retrieved Blair's shoes from a closet near the door. He returned to the kitchen and handed them off to Blair without a word.

Sandburg settled on a chair and was pleased to find his wool socks tucked into his hiking boots. He grimaced as he pressed his injured feet into the hikers, but nevertheless laced them up tight, then stared down at his feet feeling oddly satisfied.

"Simon's coming," he reported.

"He's here," Jim responded.

Blair stood to look out the kitchen window just in time to see Simon's sedan pull up, followed by three marked cars all with their lights flashing. Sandburg bolted from the kitchen, dashing to the front door then through it. He stumbled on the steps as he rushed down them but managed to recover his balance when he reached the walkway. It was then he heard Jim shout his name and came back to himself, freezing up, uncertain about being outside in the bright sun.

Simon leapt out of his vehicle, slammed the door and strode towards Blair. "Don't you ever hang up on me like that again!" he bellowed, though he looked ready to embrace the anthropologist.

"Back off," Jim interrupted, deadly serious, ready to do damage as he descended the steps and placed himself between Blair and the stunned captain. "Not another step, not another word, Simon, or so help me I'll--"

"Jim, it's okay," Blair said, nonetheless stepping into Jim's protective shadow, placing one hand against Jim's back. "Simon was just worried. It's okay."

Jim stepped away from the touch, then turned, reaching out his fingers to barely brush Blair's arm as he looked intently at the younger man. "I think you should sit down."

"Oh, okay," Blair responded. Not one to argue with his trembling knees, he allowed Jim to gently guide him to the front steps and settle him there.

"What happened here?" Simon asked, crouching down to eye-level with Blair, his concern evident.

"Veronica Serris," Jim said flatly. "She was responsible for the bomb earlier today. Her body is in the basement. Upstairs there's a room with all her tools and materials including triggering devices. There's a pad of paper on the desk. On it are initials followed by sequences of numbers. I think they identify each of her targets and the radio frequencies that set off the bombs she's planted."

"How many?"

"Six in total. The two we know about, PCE and RMA, then four more," Jim reported. "She said the city would never be the same. I think the rest of her targets are major landmarks. CPT was at the top of the list."

"The Cascade Panorama Tower?" Simon suggested.

"I think so," Jim nodded. "The rest I don't know."

"Show me," Simon said, straightening and starting up the steps to the front door.

"No."

"What?"

"I'm not going back in that house." The refusal was blunt and absolute.

"Jim--"

"I'm staying with Sandburg."

Simon looked from Jim to Blair and back again before nodding, signaling for the uniformed officers to follow and continuing up the steps into the house.

Blair couldn't sit still -- his knees were bouncing in place, and he locked his arms across his chest in an effort to contain himself. He was familiar with post-stress bursts of energy. He was way beyond shock, and he knew it. It seemed Jim knew it, too. Ellison hovered close by, glaring at him every time he made any motion to get up. Sandburg really needed to be doing something -- anything -- and was once again gathering his strength to rise, when Simon emerged from the house looking sick to his stomach.

"Jim, I need a word with you," he said as he descended the steps, gesturing for the detective to follow as he walked out onto the front lawn. He stopped after only a few short steps when it became clear that Ellison would follow him no further, refusing to be separated from his guide. Hence they didn't make it as far out of earshot as the captain would have liked.

"I saw the chains," Simon said, pausing expectantly, waiting for Jim respond but getting only silence. "Blair's okay? It looked like..."

"Don't say it," Jim warned.

"I'm okay," Blair said, rising from the stairs and interrupting on his own behalf.

Simon scrutinized the anthropologist as he approached. "Sandburg, you're limping."

"That bitch burned my feet," he exclaimed, feeling no need to mention the other sore points hobbling his gait.

"What?" Simon looked at him with horror. "She did what?"

"Simon, I'm fine," Blair responded, trying to tone down the maniacal grin he knew he was wearing. "If it were bad, I wouldn't be walking at all. What was it, Jim?"

Jim just stared at him, not responding.

"It was, like, a tazer rigged up to a remote control," Blair continued, gesturing broadly, trying to prompt his partner. "Jim?"

"Tazer," Jim repeated the word, nodding slowly.

"Simon," Blair made sure he had the captain's full attention, "we need to get back to the loft. I mean now."

"You need to give a statement," Banks responded. "And I want you to let a doctor check you over, too."

"No, no. We have to go now," Blair insisted, bouncing in place, twisting his hands together. "Do I need to define post-traumatic stress to you? Jim and I, we can't be here any longer."

"Sandburg, there's been a fatality. There are procedures that have to be followed, and I really think you need to see a doctor."

"I don't need a doctor. I told you, I'm fine," Blair insisted. "You want a statement? How's this: I'm blank on how she got me. I woke tied up in the basement. Jim tracked her down. Somehow she managed to hit him with a couple of tranquilizer darts. It was looking bad there for a moment, but then Jim came to as she was trying to chain him down. He offered her a chance to surrender. She refused, indicating that she was about to remodel Cascade and cook me with her little electrical appliance. Jim stopped her. I didn't get a visual, but it sounded a lot like 'crunch'. Jim was partially debilitated at the time. He couldn't afford to mess around. He used maximum force because he had to take her down. If he hadn't, if she'd slipped away from him, he wouldn't have been able to pursue her. She would've gone up the stairs, flipped a few switches and set the city aflame. He called you. He cut me loose. You came. And you let us go home."

Captain Banks shook his head.

"Simon, you're a friend. Run interference. Do whatever you have to. We need to go home now." Blair unleashed the pleading look he used to convey that he was trying to cover for a sentinel thing.

"Okay," Simon agreed, unhappily offering his keys to Jim. Ellison numbly moved to accept them, only to have Blair step in and stop the transfer.

"Simon--" Blair began. Simon caught Sandburg's expectant look and withdrew the keys. "Kidnap victims do not drive themselves home."

"No. I don't want the keys. I... my feet hurt and she had me tied all stretched out. It really sucked. That's why Jim was kind of freaked. When he cut me loose I couldn't move, my muscles were all cramped up in knots. It's better now," Blair rushed to reassure the captain. "But you can't let Jim drive."

"What's going on?" Simon asked, and it was clear an answer was required.

Blair thought of one quickly and, conveniently, it was even the truth... or at least part of it." He got hit by tranquilizer darts, remember? His senses were spiking all over. I don't think they've completely settled down yet, or maybe they've settled down too much, an aftereffect of the sedative."

Simon took another look at Jim and found that the detective, while seeming completely focused on Blair, didn't seem to be following the conversation at all.

"Rafe!" Simon shouted, and the detective scurried over in response to the yell. "Drive them home."

"Sir?" Rafe asked, in hopes that the breach of procedure would be explained.

"Just do it."

***

Splashing cold water on his face, Blair ran his fingers into his hair, and much to his disgust they got stuck. His long curls were in tangles, his jaw ached, his feet were really hurting, and these were only distractions from the spike of fear buried deep in his chest.

Jim had remained silent during the ride back to the loft. Not that there was much that could be said in front of Rafe; but Jim not only wouldn't talk to him, he would barely look at him... and he wouldn't touch him. //Not with a ten-foot pole -- not after that.//

Blair's stomach was in knots. His mind was leaping all over. Jim had been aroused. He needed to know what that meant. It could have just been a physiological response -- Jim was a sentinel and that would make him particularly sensitive to certain smells. What if that was it? //And what if it wasn't?// Blair pinched the bridge of his nose. He was not going to dissolve into tears. Jim was as fucked up as he was; the last thing he needed was a weeping guide. Oh, they were screwed. Jim wouldn't touch him, and Jim was a full contact kind of guy. He'd tossed Blair against a wall the day they met; since then, casual physical gestures of comfort and friendship had underscored the bond that had developed between them.

Blair knew that now probably wasn't a good time to talk about it -- about everything -- but eventually they would have to talk. Jim wasn't the greatest at expressing himself with words, and Blair knew if Jim couldn't touch, there was no way he would be able to talk. And if they tried to let it slide? -- their friendship would atrophy under the weight of the unspoken, taking with it any chance of there being something more between them. He couldn't let that happen.

Sandburg just wished he had the strength to do what needed to be done. He'd made it to the loft only through the numbing graces of endorphins and adrenaline but knew he was on the verge of crashing. Jim had opened the front door, and Blair had bolted straight into the bathroom, practically slamming the door after him. //That's communicating, Sandburg. Show him how it's done.//

Closing the toilet lid, he sat down heavily, then pulled at the laces of his hikers and worked the boots off. Removing his socks proved to be a more delicate task as the wool threads clung painfully to the wounds and had to be separated by force. This done, he was left staring at the angry red skin and broken blisters on the arches of his feet.

//Fuck, she hurt me,// he thought, noting that his hands were shaking -- wrong, he was shaking all over. //I am not fine.// It was all too clear what had been taken from him. //You never had a clue. You never thought there was a chance. And now what?//

The cold of the floor had worked its way into Blair's bones. He rubbed his arms, remembered the warmth of Jim on top of him, then shook his head. He wanted to crawl into bed, bury himself in blankets, and stay there for maybe a week... but first he had to get clean.

He carefully wriggled out of his pants, rusty flakes of dried blood nevertheless dusting the tiles surrounding him. He didn't have the strength for a shower, his legs would never support him -- he knew they would drop him the moment the spray hit the raw skin on his feet. Reaching over to the sink, Blair yanked at the nearest tap and dropped a face cloth into the path of the hot water. He washed the soles of his feet first, swearing at the sting, persisting until they were clear of dark threads. Jim kept a first-aid kit under the sink; knowing the wounds should be kept clean, Blair dutifully dropped squares of gauze over the burns and taped them into place.

Rinsing the cloth, he then scrubbed the blood from his legs. This reopened the scrapes on his ankles, but most were small and easily covered with band-aids. Standing balanced on the balls of his feet, one hand braced against the sink, he dropped his boxers down and dragged the cloth between his legs. He pushed all thoughts from his mind as he did this, tossing the cloth aside when he was done. Keeping his weight on his toes, Blair turned to the sink. He brushed his teeth, watching himself in the mirror, trying to judge what he was feeling from the expressions at play on his face.

***

Jim paced the living room, every breath, every gasp Blair made, loud in his ears. When the quiet pain-filled cursing started, the urge to rush down the hall and offer his help nearly overwhelmed him. But he couldn't. He was the cause of the pain.

//She tied him down so tightly he screamed went you cut him loose, and you got off on it. What the fuck kind of friend are you?// Jim's hands clenched into fists. He wanted to strike himself -- fling himself down a flight of stairs. He wanted to hurt.

The tap in the bathroom was running continuously. Jim heard rough cloth pull against skin and realized that even in listening he was being a voyeur. Blair deserved privacy. Whatever space Sandburg needed to get through this would be his, Jim would make sure of it. Trying unsuccessfully to block out the sounds, protective instincts at war with each other, he waited and worried about the closed door. He wondered if it was locked, if he'd lost Blair's trust, if Sandburg could continue to live here knowing Jim had seen him... touched him. He wondered what was taking so long.

Blair emerged clad only in his boxers and undershirt. Jim dropped his gaze to the floor, disturbed by the sight of so much bare skin.

"I'll go," he said quietly, not looking up. "You have to agree to let someone stay here. Simon, or Joel, or someone else. I know a social worker who was just laid off. She's really nice. I could hire her to stay here, no questions asked; and you could talk to her about anything you need to. I'll go for as long as you want, but you have to agree to have someone here. I can't leave you if you're going to be alone."

"You want to leave -- you -- I--" Still standing at the entrance of the bathroom, Blair grabbed the door frame to steady himself. "You want to leave?"

"No. I just can't--" Jim tried to explain, but found the words locked up in his throat. "You can't want--"

"Want what, Jim?" Blair demanded stepping forward. "Want what?"

"Want me--" Jim managed before his throat choked him up again. He couldn't talk about this. He couldn't talk about what he wanted, not after --

He backed away from Blair.

"You want to walk out on me?" Blair asked, matching Jim's steps, not allowing him to increase the distance between them. "Forget it. That's my method of dealing with stress, not yours."

Jim read the pained regret in Blair's eyes and took another step back.

"Don't you back away from me!" Blair surged forward, looking desperate and angry and ready to physically shake some sense into his partner.

Ellison avoided the grab; but Blair persisted, and Jim felt his arms being roughly seized. He forcefully shrugged off the hold. Blair grabbed at his shirt front, and Jim shoved him away an instant before he realized the younger man was only trying to catch his balance.

Blair stumbled backwards, yelping as the soles of his feet forcefully met the floor. In the next instant, Sandburg was collapsing before him, and Jim's reflexes took over. Catching Sandburg and sweeping him off his feet, Jim had his guide in his arms before he was even aware he'd reacted.

"I'm sorry, Chief. So sorry," Jim said, holding Blair close. Carrying Blair into his room, Jim kicked a few of the books from the bed and set him down amongst the assortment of throw pillows. Abruptly realizing he had his partner pressed against his chest, Jim released his grip and tried to step away only to find Sandburg's arms locked tight around his neck.

"Blair?"

"You can't take off on me, I won't let you," Blair said, his face still buried against Jim's chest. "That's what she wanted. You have to stay."

"Okay. I'm not going anywhere." Jim realized he didn't have any idea what threats Veronica had made before his arrival. He didn't know the extent of the damage to Blair's feet or if anything else had been done to him. He had been so wrapped up in himself that he hadn't even asked. "Do you need a doctor?"

"No, I need you to stay," Blair insisted.

"But I--"

"This is me taking control of my personal space," Blair told him. Keeping one hand wrapped around Jim's neck, he reached around behind him with his other hand and began tossing pillows off the bed, making room. "You stay."

Unable to refuse the direct order from his guide, Jim allowed himself to be pulled onto the bed.

"If you leave, I'll track you down," Blair told him once they were lying side by side. "I swear. I'll hobble after you all pissed, and you'll hear me coming 'cause I'll be swearing at you for making me chase you all over Cascade when I'm so tired and I have burned feet."

Lying stiffly on the narrow bed, Jim was acutely aware of every place he was in contact with Blair. He shifted trying to minimize the points at which they touched. Blair used the arm he'd kept hooked around Jim's neck, to squeezed him closer, speaking softly, "Please, just stay."

Sandburg curled against him, and Jim stared at the wall trying not to feel his partner, the shivers running through his cold skin, the warmth of his breath, the flutter of his heart. He was needed, so he would stay until Sandburg was sleeping, then remove himself to a chair and keep vigil in case of nightmares. He tried to decide if it would be wrong to sit at the desk and watch Blair as he slept or if he should move to the living room and only listen.

Reaching the very edge of sleep, Sandburg suddenly jerked awake. He grabbed at Jim's neck before his blue eyes blazed wide, making sure Jim was still there. Nodding slightly to himself, Blair settled against Jim again, his breathing evening out and slowing. Slowing until again he woke abruptly, reflexively grabbing hold and confirming Jim's continued presence.

This happened again, and then again, making Jim regret he'd ever suggested leaving, regret even thinking about it, regret the cowardice that had him scrambling for a way out, when he wasn't even the one who'd been...

The smell of salt tickled his nose, and drew his attention to the tears edging Sandburg's eyelashes. Blair, refusing to allow himself the comfort of sleep, lay perfectly still next to him, perfectly silent, his breath not even hitching as he cried.

"Blair." Jim reached around and lifted the hand from his neck. Sandburg let it fall. It was as though he had surrendered, and it was enough to break Jim's heart. "I promise I won't leave. You don't have to worry -- I promise. I know you can't want me here. It's okay. I won't even go upstairs, I'll just sit outside your door; if you need anything, I'll be right here. I promise." Jim tried to rise from the bed, but Blair's fingers twisted into his shirt, dragging the fabric downwards. "You can't want me here," Jim insisted. "Not after I--"

"It wasn't rape."

"It--"

"I consented," Blair interrupted, avoiding Jim's eyes.

"You had no choice."

"No."

"That makes it rape," Jim continued.

"No."

"I raped you."

"No, it happened to you, too." Blair's fingers were clenched so tight they were shaking. "I'm sorry it was you. I am. But I am so glad it was you." These words were spoken as a confession of the darkest guilt and seemed to tear Blair so deeply it was as though he was being rendered open -- ribs cracking wide of their own accord.

Jim would have done anything to make it right, would have given anything, but it was too late.

He'd already fucked everything up. "I'm sorry, Chief. I let her get me--"

"No. No. She said... she... she..." Blair tried to protest, gulping air as his tears spilled over. His throat convulsed as he swallowed back sobs, so many that he couldn't slip words between them, and instead remained utterly silent, shuddering with the strain.

"It's okay," Jim awkwardly patted Blair's back, frustrated at his inability to offer greater comfort. In a single bright afternoon, so much had been shattered he didn't know where to start.

"I'm glad it was you. I'm sorry. She said... she told me she wouldn't do it herself. She said she had some bondage freak who was going to... going to force me... hurt me." Blair pushed at the tears on his face with one hand, his eyes downcast. "Even after she put you... between my legs... I didn't know. I didn't know it was you. I could barely breathe. I was trying to hold onto my mind, but I couldn't breathe. And then it was you. I'm sorry I was glad. I shouldn't have been so glad that she had you -- that she made you do that."

"Oh god, Blair." Jim wrapped Blair up in his arms, remembering how the smaller man had struggled beneath him when he first woke. //Oh my god. He thought he was about to be brutalized.//

"I didn't know," he said, lifting Blair up against him, rocking them both back and forth. He was terrified by what could have happened, what Blair could have had to endure alone.

Sandburg responded to the embrace, one arm extending around Jim's waist, the other reaching up, to stroke his cheek, wiping some of the tears from Jim's face before hooking possessively around his neck again. Blair turned his face against Jim's chest and muffled his own sobs there.

Blair's sinuses clogged, and the disruption in his breathing seemed to momentarily panic him. He stiffened, eyes squeezing tightly shut, his limbs jerking as though struggling against the bonds they'd been freed from a few short hours ago. After an explosive snorfle and several gasping breaths, Blair returned to himself, pulling back to blink up at Jim, embarrassed.

"I'm sorry," Blair apologized, trying to smear the snot off Jim's shirt with his hand.

"It's okay. I love you," Jim replied, kissing Blair's forehead softly, drawing the younger man close. Blair nodded against him, returning the tight embrace. Ellison lifted his partner slightly and lay them down properly, keeping Sandburg secure against him as he stretched them out on the bed. Blair, through with tears, soon dropped into a deep, exhausted slumber.

Jim snagged a pillow and made himself comfortable. He kissed Blair's forehead again then rested his lips against his hair and drifted to sleep thinking about personally making sure the curls got thoroughly cleaned in the morning.

***

Blair woke feeling comfortably warm. Muted sunlight was streaming in through the curtains and Jim's fingers were running through his hair, slowly pulling out the tangles. He spent several minutes completely zoning on how wonderful that felt.

"Good morning," Jim said, smiling down at him.

"Morning," Blair responded. He stretched, then realized that if he had room to do so, Jim had to be balanced on the edge of the bed. "You can't be comfortable."

"I'm doing all right," Jim responded. "And you?"

"I feel terrible," Blair replied honestly as each of his limbs reported in only to lodge a formal protest.

"Do you want to get up?" Jim asked, shifting over to give him even more room.

"No -- I'm not moving today."

Jim wrinkled his nose at him. "You need a shower."

"Is that a sentinel's opinion?"

"No heightened senses required for this determination."

Blair turned his head and sniffed himself. "I see what you mean."

"Come on, Chief," Jim said, rolling off the bed. "I'll help."

"That a promise?"

Jim nodded.

"Okay, pull me up?" Blair offered his hands and let Jim slowly draw him up onto his feet. "That wasn't as bad as I thought it would be," he remarked when he was standing on his own.

"Chief, I'm sorry my past... that you got caught up in it. That Veronica--"

"Yeah, that sucked." Blair nodded. Then his mind sparked on something Serris had said about that day on the bus two years ago... //that was just the beginning for you.// "But she's our past -- not just yours. You realize that if it wasn't for her, we never would have met."

Jim flinched slightly. "I know, but--"

"Jim, it's all chance or fate -- one event triggering another and so on down the line." Blair looked up into Jim's eyes. "Keep tracing it back. Why was she after you in the first place? Your helicopter crashed into the jungle and you lived. That's at the root of all of this. I can't regret that."

Jim wrapped an arm around Blair's shoulders and began guiding him towards the bathroom.

"You know I won't be this mellow once I've properly woken up," Blair said earnestly, reaching around Jim with a slightly uncoordinated hand. "We still need to talk."

"I know," Jim responded, with a smile that sent a warm rush down Blair's back. "We will."

"I'm hungry," Blair said, as they passed the kitchen and his stomach checked in and complained.

"I'll cook... after you've had that shower."

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