Blair sat on the curb, a blanket around his shivering shoulders, an oxygen mask held to his face and watched his building burn.

Tom and his wife, along with three others, had been taken to Mercy General, all victims of smoke inhalation. The Evans' were fine, but their age made the medics wary. They'd also wanted to transport Sandburg, but he'd refused. No surprise. Now he sat there, coughing up a lung and watching everything he possessed burn to the ground. And he could wallow, because no one had been seriously injured.

"Blair? Honey? You okay?" A well manicured hand landed on his left shoulder and he looked up into Jolie's midnight blue eyes.

"I'm fine, Jolie," he managed to rasp out. Jolie lowered herself down to the curb beside him and threw an arm around his waist. At the same time, another voice said, "Tell me it wasn't another drug lab, Chief?"

His head swivelled up, and up and up, to find Jim's concerned pale blue eyes gazing down at him.

"Not this time, Jim. A faulty heater. Just my luck, though."

Jim squatted down and peered closely at his friend. "You look terrible and you sound even worse. I assume you refused the hospital?" And at Blair's nod, he added, "You want to crash at the loft?" The minute the words were out of his mouth, he regretted their poor formation. But before Blair could answer, the woman next to him said, "Blair, honey, you can stay with me. Jolie'll take good care of you."

"Uh, Jolie? Have you met my partner, *Detective* Jim Ellison?"

"Oh. My. Well, I should be getting back to wor.....home. Can I do anything for you before I leave?"

"Could you look for Jersey?"

"Sure thing, babe." She stood, smoothed out her red satin dress and ambled off, teetering only slightly on her new spiked heels.

Jim chuckled, which solicitated a, "What? What?" from Blair.

"You, Chief, you. Burning buildings, and cross dressing hookers, that's my partner."

"Yeah, well you should be counting your blessings....that could be the loft."

"Hell, you came close plenty of times. Three toasters, one microwave."

" *You* dropped the microwave, and two of the toasters had faulty wiring, you should have sued."

"In your dreams."

For several minutes they just smiled at one another, Blair's coughing the only sound.

Eventually, the fire was out and Blair stood, looking at the shell that had been his home. Last time he'd lost a few pieces of furniture, this time - everything.

Everything.

"Blair, please? Come back to the loft?"

He stared at the wreakage and was about to say yes, when he spotted Jolie, followed by a fireman carrying a small bundle, making their way toward the two men.

"Mr. Sandburg? This young.....lady, said that...that this...."

"Honey, it's - Jersey, " Jolie finished softly.

The fireman lifted a corner of the blanket to reveal the cat.

"We found him curled up in the trash bin, I'm afraid he probably panicked and hid. The smoke got to him. I'm sorry."

Blair lifted a shaking hand and touched the still, furry body and his eyes burned and filled, but didn't spill over as he blinked harshly.

"We'll take care of him....if you'd like."

But Blair continued to stare, one finger lightly stroking over the cat's nose. Jim slipped up and put his arm around the younger man and said, "Please, and thank you."

The fireman nodded and carefully re-covered the cat as Blair pulled his hand away.

"Come on, Chief, let's get you home."

 

(*) (*) (*) (*)

 

Other than Blair's coughing, the ride was silent. Sandburg sat huddled in the corner, staring out the window.

"Chief, you're not going to believe this, but you left some of your clothes. In the laundry. I've got some jeans, shirts, and a couple of flannel shirts. And underwear and socks. Guess I just forgot to give them to you."

"yeah, Jim, lucky me."

"I'm sorry about.....your cat."

"just an old mooching, stray," he responded, tonelessly.

Jim turned onto Prospect and parked in his usual spot. He got Blair upstairs and inside 852, guiding him into the bathroom and saying, "You shower, I'll get some of those clothes. Use all the hot water you want."

When the door closed behind him, Blair stripped, balled up the dirty clothes and placed them into the trashbag that lined the basket and tied it off. He turned on the shower and stepped in. He spent a goodly amount of time trying to scrub the smell of fire and smoke from his body and hair, ever cognizant of the sensitive Sentinel nose.

As the water sluiced over his body, he was grateful for the heat and the moisture that hid his own hot tears.

 

(*) (*) (*) (*)

Jim stood in the kitchen, boiling water for Blair's tea and listening to the sounds coming from the bathroom. He'd already placed the clothes on the hamper lid, and now simply waited for Blair to finish.

As Blair exited the bathroom, Jim was there, handing him a hot mug.

"I added a few ingredients....for your throat and cough. Drink up."

Blair took a sip and his eyes widened in surprise and appreciation. "Um, got the chamomille, the lemon and the honey, but.....rum?"

"Yep. My own version of a Blair Sandburg hot toddy." He steered Blair to the couch and sat him down. "You drink up, then we'll make up the couch. You're wasted."

"No, Jim," and Jim's heart gave a lurch, believing that Blair was saying no to staying, but his next words belied that, "If I finish this drink, *then* I'll be wasted."

Both men grinned and were still grinning when a key was fitted into the lock and the door swung open.

Jim jumped up, and Blair watched, heart in his throat, as keys were dropped into *his* basket, and a jacket was hung on *his* peg.

Curtis turned and spotted Blair on the couch and frowning, said, "Hey, what's up?"

"There was an accident, a fire. Blair's apartment building. He's staying here tonight."

Blair stood, the blood draining from his face and stammered out, "No, Jim, no. I'm going to a hotel, don't worry about me." And he turned pleading eyes to his partner, eyes begging that Jim understand what he couldn't possibly. "In fact, I was just leaving, I'll stay in one of those resident hotels. Don't worry, I'm on my way." And he moved toward the door, two bright red splotches on his cheeks.

"Don't be ridiculous, Blair, you're staying here." And Jim started for him, but Curtis caught his arm and said, "Jim, he clearly wants to leave, don't be so overbearing."

And Blair was out the door, running down the stairs, and out onto the street. He stood for a moment, taking in deep gulps of air, and immediately almost doubling over as he coughed harshly. The cold hit his still wet hair, and he realized - he had no way to get back to his car. Except ---- run.

He ran. Three miles.

 

(*) (*) (*) (*)

 

Jim whirled on his old friend, pulling away from the hand that had been gripping his arm.

"He has no where to go. He lost everything, God Dammit."

"And he doesn't need your pity, Jim," Curtis hissed out.

"He doesn't have my pity. He has....."

"Your love?"

 

(*) (*) (*) (*)

 

Blair landed against his car, breathing hard, his coughing out of control. His breath was ragged, but he was here.

The street was empty, barriers surrounding his building, the dark shell rising up in the darkness, the only evidence of the earlier fire. His hand went to his pocket......and he remembered.

No keys. No wallet. No money. No anything.

He slumped against the Volvo.....and remembered his magnetic key case, now kept *under* the vehicle. He reached down and plucked it out, opened it and pried out the key.

YEsssss. Something had to go right. Right?

And there was more.....his small apartment couldn't have held all his stuff, so resting comfortably in his trunk? Camping gear. Sleeping bag, an old coat, his emergency pak.....he quickly move to the back of the car, popped open the trunk, retrieved his bag, the pea coat and the emergency pak.

Ten minutes later, he was in the back seat, bundled in the warmth of the heavy blue coat and the thick thermal bag.

Fuck.

He was homeless.......

Blair Sandburg was homeless.

He turned his thoughts to Jersey. A poor alleycat, eager for a home, and Blair's hand seemed to reach out, as if Jersey were on his lap, and he petted the bag.....and the tears came again, tears for a helpless animal, who'd died alone, who'd given love easily, wanted only some warmth, his ear scratched, and tuna.

There wasn't a whole lot of difference between the two. Animal and man.

 

(*) (*) (*) (*)

 

Pounding. Rapping. Tapping. Blair peeked out from under the warmth of the sleeping bag, to find a white, shiny light in his eyes.

Okay, died and gone to heaven.

"Get out of the car....now!'

Okay, died and gone to hell.

He recognized the tone though.....a cop.

With the sense of "What more could happen?" he climbed over the seat, opened the door and backed out onto the sidewalk.

"Officer."

"I.D. Now."

He sighed heavily. Vagrant. Homeless *and* a vagrant.

"I lost everything in the fire tonight. I'm Detective Sandburg, Major Crime."

The flashlight roamed up and down his body, and the snort of derision did not bode well.

"Riight. Well, *Detective*, we'll just have to take you in. The city of Cascade frowns on people sleeping in their cars."

He bit back the obvious retort, deciding that getting beat up would not be a good idea. He recognized the type of cop standing before him. Pig was kind.

Okay, rock bottom. Homeless, a vagrant, *and* he'd be spending the night in jail.

"Officer, I can vouch for *Detective* Sandburg."

The flashlight whirled, to reveal Jim Ellison, shield held aloft, walking easily toward the men on the sidewalk.

"Thank you, Officer Dent."

Jim gave a hearty and extremely effusive wave to the squad car as it peeled away from the curb. He dropped his arm and said, "Well."

Blair was facing away from Ellison, trying hard to control his shaking limbs, his cough and his relief that Jim had shown up when he had.

"I was really on a roll here, Jim and you screwed up. I was going for Ripley's Believe It Or Not. Homeless, vagrant, and arrested. I could have been famous."

"Sorry."

"that's okay," his voice, suddenly small.

Jim found himself staring at his partners back, unsure and feeling very like his shy twelve year old self, kicking at the dirt and mumbling, "Aw, shucks."

But he wasn't twelve, he was forty. And kicking dirt was *not* what he wanted to do now. For the last four months, Jim Ellison had been floating, giving over control to someone who was nothing more than a cheap substitute for Blair Sandburg. It was time to take back control, at least long enough to turn it over to the *Real thing*.

Jim took two hesitant steps, put his hand on Blair's shoulder, turned him and pulled the man into his arms.

The body stiffened, almost pulled away, but at an urgent whispered, "please", it relented and allowed itself to be cocooned within the strong hold.

As soon as Blair's body made contact with Jim's, as Jim's head tilted down and came to rest against the tangled mess that was Blair's head, Jim Ellison felt safe. Which was ironic as hell. The man in his arms had lost his world tonight, was sick, tired, holding it together by a thread, and yet, holding him made *Jim* feel safe. Go figure.

Jim smiled into the hair as Blair's arms slowly wound around the bigger man's waist. Yes, safe.

"Come home, Chief."

There was no immediate answer, just that stiffening up again.

"He's gone, come home."

 

(*) (*) (*) (*)

 

By the time Jim got Blair back to the loft, the younger man was dead on his feet. Jim got him down on the couch, ran upstairs, grabbed some of his sweats, and a few minutes later had Blair out of the jeans and flannel and into the too big sweats. He took a comforter from Blair's old bedroom, pushed the pliant body down, covered him up and then stared. Blair was already asleep.

 

(*) (*) (*) (*)

 

His bedside clock showed a red 3:03....he'd been asleep two hours. So what had awakened him? He sat up and focused.....moans, and coughing. Blair.

He bolted from his bed and ran down the stairs, taking them two at a time.

Blair was huddled under the comforter, his body wracked with tremors, heat pouring off him. Jim was down by his side in an instant, hand on his forehead, listening to the harsh, ragged breathing, identifying the congested lungs.

Fever - somewhere around 102......Jim made a beeline for the bathroom, took the aspirin, got some juice.

"Blair, wake-up, babe. Come on, sit up for me." Jim put his arm under Blair's shoulders and lifted.

"noo, leave alone."

"You need to take these aspirin, Chief, help me out here." Blair gave a disagreeable, "hmph", but his mouth opened. Jim popped the pills back, put the glass to Blair's lips and watched as he greedily sucked up the juice, then said, "back to sleep, mom."

Jim smiled, put down the empty glass and promptly lifted the man into his arms and carried him upstairs.

"hey, what ya doin'?"

"Carrying you."

"duh. *nobody* carries me."

"I do. Upstairs."

"oh, okay then, since you explained it that way." And Blair's head flopped sideways.

Once he got Blair into his bed and under the covers, he slipped in beside him, took him into his arms and slept.

At dawn, Blair's fever rose and the coughing increased. Just as Jim was thinking of taking the man to the hospital, the phone rang. He reached across Blair and pulled the phone to him. "Ellison."

//Jim, Blair's building.....//

"I know, Simon. He's here," Jim paused, then added, "With me."

//Oh. Good. Is he okay?//

"No, smoke inhalation and now a fever. I was just considering the hospital."

//Listen, my own physician, Dr. Stanhope, he'll come if I ask//

"Thanks, Simon."

//He'll be there in thirty//

 

(*) (*) (*) (*)

 

"jersey....."

Blair had become restless in his sleep, his body twitching as he mumbled vague words and a dead cat's name. His fingers were opening and closing, reaching for something he couldn't find. Jim was still holding him, having already unlocked the front door, telling Simon to have the doctor come right up when he arrived. His left hand was brushing hair back from the warm, moist forehead as Jim slipped his right hand into the grasping fingers. They closed over the hand and held on tight.

Jim heard the footsteps, smelled the cigar, and smiled. The doctor had not come alone. A few minutes later, Simon's head appeared at the top of the stairs, another man just behind him.

"Jim, this is Dr. Paul Stanhope. Paul, Jim Ellison."

Stanhope stepped forward and with a grim smile said, "Don't get up, Detective Ellison. Tell me what's going on." And he immediately sat down on the edge of the bed, opened his bag and as Jim talked, he began his examination.

"Can you lift him up? I need to listen to his lungs."

Jim slipped his arm under Blair's back and lifted, letting Blair's head rest on his shoulder.

"jim?"

"Hey, you're awake. This is Dr. Stanhope."

"where....."

"My room, in my bed."

"Blair, can you take a deep breath for me?" Dr. Stanhope asked.

Blair took in some air, and immediately started coughing. He turned his head and blinked at the doctor, then spotted Simon, who'd been standing behind Stanhope since their arrival upstairs.

"simon?"

"Yeah, Sandburg. Go back to sleep."

Blue eyes closed.

"Okay, you can lie him back down now."

Jim gently lowered Blair back onto the pillows and looked expectantly at Stanhope.

"Do I need to say that he's pretty sick?"

Two heads shook in the negative.

"I'd say, from the sound of his lungs, that he was already ill before the fire, and the smoke inhalation simply aggravated and accelerated the problem. I'm going to prescribe Augmentin, to forestall pneumonia, and I'm going to give him a shot now, B-12, which should help. Also a decongestant to clear out those lungs." He looked over at Jim, smiled and added, "Do I need to say, plenty of water and juice, aspirin for the fever and lots of sleep?"

Both men shook their heads again, grinning.

"Good. You should notice a big difference in about 24 hours, and make sure he finishes the Augmentin. Any questions?"

"No. Thank you, Doctor."

"My pleasure. I'll give you call later this afternoon and again tomorrow, just to check, but I expect him in my office on Wednesday."

"Jim, I'll show Paul out and pick up the meds. Need anything?"

Jim shrugged helplessly, "More juice?"

"You got it. Back in an hour or so."

 

(*) (*) (*) (*)

 

"I'm staying, Jim. It's the weekend, you'll need help."

Simon had returned as promised, with more than the meds and juice. He returned with soups, bread, fruits and - beer. Then he'd announced his intention to stay through Monday, maybe even Tuesday. He'd also stopped at home and retrieved the necessary items for the two night stay at Jim's.

"Simon, I can handle this."

"No doubt. But after a day of it, won't it be nice to have me show up?

Fix a good meal, relieve you for a bit?"

"I'm not gonna be able to change your mind, am I?"

"Nope."

And take turns they did. Jim rarely left the bed, keeping Blair close, wiping him down when needed, but Simon took his turns as well, when Jim showered, or rested downstairs for brief spells. For Blair's part, he was blissfully unaware of the dual partnership that had been formed. Everytime he woke, he found himself in Jim's arms. And a pill being stuffed down his throat.

For the first several hours, Jim and Simon were treated to a very depressed Blair. His sleep was uneasy, his words, sorrowful. He mumbled, he apologized, to whom or for what, was never really clear, but somehow, both men had a good idea. He frequently called out for Jersey, and when it wasn't the cat, it was Jim. The first time he'd said Jim's name, the older man bent low, expecting to be asked something....but as Blair kept repeating his name, Jim realized that Blair was asleep, and simply calling him. But it hurt.....the way he said Jim's name, the pleading in his voice, or the sound of loss. On more than one occasion in the first twelve hours, Jim felt tears threatening.

And he found himself asking over and over again, why had Blair moved out? Why?

By Monday, Blair was indeed better. The coughing had slowed, the fever broken. He slept healthfully and deep.

Late on Monday, Blair awoke, thirsty and hungry, to find Simon, seated next to the bed and reading the paper.

"simon?"

The paper was lowered and the big man smiled at his patient. "Hey, Mr.

Sunshine speaks."

"you're sitting next to jim's bed."

"Yes, yes, I am. I'm reading today's paper as well."

"um, why?"

"Well, I like to know what the Examiner believes is going on in the world, and because Jim is taking a shower, and we didn't want to leave you alone. See?"

Blair's mind refused to function beyone a two year old. He said, "why?"

"You're sick. We're paranoid about you."

Blair was still confused. "why?"

"Jeez, Daryl wasn't this much trouble. I *care*, okay?"

His mouth really wanted to say *why* again, but he wisely refrained.

Hadn't he learned, never look a gift horse in the mouth?

"oh. okay."

The next time Blair woke up, it was dark and he awoke to the soft sound of gentle snoring - in his ear. He turned his head and found himself looking into a sleeping Jim's face. He simply smiled, decided to take his brief advantage and snuggled in closer.

 

If his stomach hadn't set up such a ruckus revolving around the disgusting need to eat, he would have simply dug himself deeper under the blankets and gone back to sleep. But small, insistant voices kept yelling, "feed me, feed me" so he had no choice but to wake up.

He opened one wary, bleary blue eye, just in case someone was lurking, ready to stuff another pill down his throat, but found the room empty. He stretched his arms over his head, gave a huge yawn and took a few moments to savor the fact that he felt almost human and that he was in Jim's bed.

The need to relieve himself and to quash his frenzied stomach finally drove him to toss back the covers and attempt to stand.....

He swayed a bit, but rallied, and moved slowly toward the stairs. He started down, his right hand on the wall, his head down, eyes focused on his feet.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Blair blinked and focused on Jim, at the bottom of the steps, hands on hips, scowling.

"I should go back up, maybe, and wet the bed?"

"No, but you could have asked for help." As Jim spoke, he started up the stairs.

"I'm fine. I can do this."

Something in Blair's voice stopped him, "Okay, but you don't mind if I hang around? Just in case you need a hand?"

"No, no...I don't mind."

As Blair continued down, Jim pulled off his blue robe and with an arched eyebrow, held it out to a shortclad Blair, who, shamefaced, took it.

Once Blair entered the bathroom, Jim hurried upstairs, slipped into jeans and a t-shirt and then back down, to find Blair sitting at the kitchen table. Jim paused at the bottom of the stairs and watched silently as Blair's eyes roamed the loft. He started with the kitchen, eyes lingering on Jim's silly, flowered apron, then onto the coat rack and Jim's coat.....and the naked hunger and poignant longing in his eyes sent Jim's heart thudding into his throat, forcing out a small gasp of pain. Immediately, Blair glanced down at his hands, then over to Jim, all emotion successfully shuttered.

"So, where's Simon? Or did I just hallucinate him?"

Jim took a deep breath and joined Blair as he answered. "No, Chief, you didn't hallucinate, he was here. Right now, he's at the station."

"Oh. Um, should I call in? Sick? And a little rusty here.....but what day is it?"

"It's Tuesday, and the boss knows."

"Oh."

"You hungry?"

"I could eat."

Jim went into the kitchen and fifteen minutes later he was setting a plate of eggs and a glass of juice in front of Blair, then going back for his.

As he chewed, Blair rolled his eyes and mumbled, "mmmgood."

"After three days of nothing but juice, water and pills the size of horses, anything would taste good, and don't eat with your mouth full."

Blair flipped him the bird.

 

(*) (*) (*) (*)

 

Eggs and juice gone, Blair sat back, sated and happy. As Jim cleared the dishes and started to wash them, Blair's gaze fell on the coat rack once again, which reminded him of Curtis.

"Uh, Jim....what happened with - Curtis?"

Jim set the last dish in the drainer and replied nonchalantly, "He left.

We came to an.....understanding."

"Oh. I'm - sorry."

Jim faced Blair, and as he wiped his hands, he said with a smile, "No, you're not, and neither am I."

As Jim's words penetrated the fever tortured brain, Blair's mouth dropped open, but he managed to stammer out, "I, uh, yes....Jim, I'm, uh," but Jim cut in with, "You're not sorry, Chief."

Blair had the grace to blush.

With the jerk of his thumb, Jim indicated that Blair should go back upstairs, and he did get up, but instead, walked to the livingroom and sat down on the couch. Jim gave up, took a pill out of two med bottles, got a glass of water, walked over to Blair and held them out. Blair frowned, but took them.

Jim sat down next to him and as Blair downed the last pill, Jim said, "Good boy".

"So. Wanna tell me why you moved out?"

The glass was still at Blair's lips, and at Jim's question, Blair spit out the water and immediately began to choke. With a disgusted shake of his head, Jim started slapping Blair on his back.

Finally, "Shit, man....where the fuck did that come from?"

"Just answer the question, Darwin."

"Um, what was the question again?"

"Why - did - you - move - out?"

"Oh, yeah. Do you want the painful, embarrasing truth, or a brilliant obfuscation?"

The expression on Jim's face said, truth or body pieces spread out over the harbor. Since Blair didn't believe he could *admit* his folly, he decided what was good for the goose, was better for the smaller but smarter goose.

"Why did you *let* me move out?"

"Clever, Sandburg, very clever. Okay, just to show you what a coward you are, I'll answer that question."

"I let you move out, because A) I'm a fool, and B) I'm a fool. The ball - is now in your court, maestro."

Blair was stunned by Jim's admission, so much so, that he found it impossible to meet Jim's eyes. Or the dare they carried.

"Well?"

"I don't suppose I could fall back on the fact that I'm a very sick man?"

"I'd like to say, okay, Blair, don't tell me, but somehow, I think this is too important to both of us. Spill, Blair."

"Oh, sure, *now* you call me Blair."

"Okay, here goes. I have nothing to blame this on.....except stupidity. And it really sounded very scientific at the time.....", he took a deep breath and, "IthoughtifItoldyouIwasmovingout, youwoulddeclareyourloveandwe'dbefuckinglikebunnies," then he added, "Ireallywantedtofucklikebunnies - with you."

"Let me process this a minute.....um, would this mean, that you never intended to actually - move out?"

"yes."

"But....then I didn't uphold my end of your little sex fantasy, did I?"

"no."

Jim stretched out his legs, rubbed his chin, regarded the floor, then said, "Fuck like bunnies."

"uh, huh."

"And after the fucking?"

"morefucking."

"Endless fucking?"

"uh, huh."

"Endless - meaning - forever?"

"uh, huh."

"Four months, Blair. You've been miserable for four months. *I've* been miserable for four months. You moved out. To Muriel Avenue. You could've been killed."

Blair wasn't at his most brilliant when he said what he said next.

"But, you moved the chair."

Jim turned to face his partner, who'd evidently been kidnapped by aliens and brain cells sucked out....."The chair?"

"You moved the chair back, right after you found out I was moving."

"And that meant - what, exactly?"

"Jim, you were glad I was moving out. Admit it. You moved the chair that I'd moved, back to it's original spot. It was an act of territoriality. You were reclaiming your home."

Jim closed his eyes, praying for patience and will power. Killing Blair now, before they got to the fuckinglikebunnies part would be foolish.

He opened his eyes and with great care, said, "I moved the chair *back* to where *you'd* originally moved it, before *I'd* moved it back. See?"

Blair gave his head a good shake, tilting it first one direction, then the other, certain that little waxy creatures had crawled inside and were even now, laying eggs.

"You moved the chair back to where I'd moved it before you moved it back to it's original position, as opposed to you moving the chair back to it's original position after I moved it in the first place?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"So you'd know."

"Know what?"

"That I didn't want you to move out, you dickwad."

"You moved the chair that I'd moved, that you'd moved......mmmmph."

Jim had no intention of letting the whole chair thing start up again, because suicide wasn't a good thing either, so he leaned forward, grabbed the front of *his* robe, being worn by *his* partner and pulled him in for a kiss.

It was a mistake. Blair might still be weak, but he was a red-blooded American man, in his prime, and as his body was pulled forward, as Jim's lips clamped down, Blair reared up and pushed Jim back until the older man was flat on his back with Blair writhing on top of him, tongue seeking his heart. Jim could have told him, he'd had it all along.

It didn't take long, what with Blair's weakness, and Jim's pent up passion. But somehow, the quickness of it, the rapid dispensing of clothes, the frantic humping, and stroking, the urgent kisses, almost the entire sexual act onto itself, the whispered words, the moans, the grunts and the final assault of sound as Blair came first, arching up from Jim's chest, his neck extended, and Jim, lurching up, fastening his teeth on one sweet, soft indentation, following with a shudder and a hissed out, "Blaaaiirr!", somehow, it was perfect.

Hours later, or was it just minutes, Jim carried an almost comatose Blair upstairs, and once again climbed in with him, took him into his arms, watched with delighted humor as Blair, still out, seemed to *climb* onto Jim, to bury himself *in* Jim, and with a sigh, settle back into a deep sleep. Home had never felt so good.

 

(*) (*) (*) (*)

 

"You mean Hairboy lost everything, Captain?", Henri asked incredulously.

Simon looked around the bullpen, made contact with every horrorfied expression as he nodded and added, "Everything, people, every stitch of clothing, *everything*."

"Where is he now, Simon?", Megan asked, very worried.

"He's back home."

No one had to have that defined. There were satisfied nods, and wicked smiles exchanged before Rafe said, "So, what do we do now?"

"People, figure it out." And Simon walked into his office.

 

(*) (*) (*) (*)

 

It was after two before Blair woke up again. But this time, when he stretched, he heard, "Ow!"

"Oh, god, Jim, I'm sorry, I forgot."

"You forgot you were using me for a bed?"

"Hey, who knew you were so comfortable?"

"Well, you make a great blanket....all that hair, and all, so I guess we're even."

Blair settled back, smiling and staring.

"So, you moving back in?"

"Gee, I don't know.....my car is pretty comfy...what do you think?"

Hands slid down Blair's backside, kneading the incredible flesh, teasing, as Jim whispered, "You're moving back in."

Blair found Jim's right nipple absolutely fascinating, and just before he lowered his mouth to it, he whispered, "I've nothing to move in.....so I guess, I'm here."

"To stay."

But Blair couldn't respond, his mouth now busy with the sucking, biting and laving of one hard nub.

As Jim caressed Blair's ass, luxuriating in the wonderful combination of muscle and soft, silky skin, he watched the head on his chest, the hair moving softly around his skin, and the sight amazed him. Blair was doing this - to him. In his bed. As the tingling spread through Jim's body, his fingers teased Blair's ass, and as he moved one finger in......Blair arched up in surprise, eyes wide, but the near blackness of his iris' told Jim the surprise was just that, not fear, not trepidation. Their gazes locked and slowly, Blair nodded......

Jim rolled them over, did some quick fumbling in the nightstand, and with a rain of kisses on the now exposed back, he began the slow preparation.

Watching the play of muscles along the lean, compact back, the tensing, the relaxing, the hands clenching the sheet, Blair's head, moving, trying to look back, to *see* Jim, the way he wantonly spread his thighs, lifted his hips, groaned and bit his lower lip as Jim fingerfucked him, teased him, kissed him, all served to make Jim harder and more anxious than he could ever remember being. His need to complete this, to serve Blair, to *join* Blair, drove him faster, and Blair eagerly accepted, and encouraged. Jim rose, positioned himself, pulling Blair up with shaking hands on beautiful hips, watched the curls obscure the face he needed to see, and he began to move in.....he felt the body stiffen in surprise again, and he brought his mouth down to that neck, nuzzling the curls, and his right hand moved to Blair's half hard cock, and he stroked, and murmured nonsensical words, and the cock in his hand lengthened and hardened, and Blair thrust back, hard, and Jim was in......

"Oh, God.....", and it was like nothing, and it was like everything, and Blair was telling him, yelling at him, pleading with him, and he did as he was asked, he pumped harder, faster, he plunged in deeper, and Blair met every stroke, pushing back with even greater strength, and the sweat trickled down into his eyes, and he wasn't close enough to Blair, the connection wasn't close enough, so he brought him up, Blair's legs on either side of Jim, but some of his weight still on his knees, and the action increased, until Blair shot over Jim's hand, his neck muscles taut, hissing out Jim's name.......and with three deep thrusts, Jim came, and his cum was *in* Blair, deep in, and Blair's head fell back on Jim, as they both continued to shudder, until only fine tremors remained......

Their breathing calmed, Blair lax against Jim, Jim's arms wrapped around the younger man, holding him to his chest, and he lowered his head, mouth to ear and whispered, "so, you're moving back in?"

And somehow, Blair, who'd have bet that incredible sex with Jim would have seriously blown several badly needed brain cells, managed to say, "yes, and I'm moving the chair back to where you had it originally, before I moved it and before you moved it back."

"No, no....you're going to move the chair back to it's original position before you moved in the first time."

Okay, so some brain cells had been lost. At this rate, he'd be a moron in two weeks.

"Right, what you said."

Neither one wanted to move an inch, not to lie down, or get up, or curl sideways......

"But I'll only stay a week, all right, Jim?"

"Right, one week."

 

(*) (*) (*) (*)

 

It was after six, and they were in the kitchen, raiding the fridge, when Jim stood, head up and cocked to one side.

"We have company, Chief. Lots of company."

"Uh?"

But there was no time to answer, and he thanked god that he was in sweat bottoms, and Blair was back in the too-big robe.

He pulled the door open to see over half of Major Crime marching down the hall, arms full of packages. He grinned in anticipation and stepped back.

"Prepare yourself, Chief."

Blair walked over to Jim, peeking over his shoulder, just as Simon stepped in, closely followed by Rafe, Megan, Joel, Henri, Rhonda, and a host of others.

Simon boomed out, "Sandburg, beware Greeks bearing gifts!"

"Or," Jim added, "Beware Greeks bearing gifts for geeks."

Everyone pushed their way in, and gathered around Simon, who waved a hand at Jim and said, "Tell him to go sit down in the livingroom."

Jim looked down at Blair and said, "Go sit down in the livingroom."

Blair looked up and said, "Tell Simon to go.....mmmphmmp", his words were lost as Jim wisely clamped a hand over his mouth and pushed him into the livingroom and down onto the couch. Everyone surrounded him and began dropping their parcels, packages and bags on the table, the floor, his lap and the couch.

He looked up and around at all the faces he'd come to know in four years, his eyes suddenly bright....."What....what is this you guys?"

Megan sat down next to him, grabbed up the bag on his lap, tore into it, pulled out a two pairs of sneakers and held them up for all to see.

"Well, Sandy, these are *shoes*. You wear them on your feet. See?"

Blair peered closer and exclaimed, "But - those are *my* shoes!"

"Yes, well," said Rafe, "I went to Sneaks, told him what happened and he - volunteered those."

Megan reached into another bag and pulled out a navy blue Henley shirt, two undershirts, and one pale blue, flannel shirt.

"These are *shirts*. You wear them over your chest. This," and she held up the flannel shirt, "This is a flannel shirt.....a popular affectation of the rare but handsome, Blairbird."

"Uh, this is *my* blue flannel shirt."

"Um, yes, Sandburg," Rafe piped up again, "I borrowed it, remember, poker night, about four months ago?"

Rhonda picked up a box and handed it over to Blair, saying, "Please, open this one next."

And as if it were indeed, his birthday, that's how the rest of the evening went......by the time he'd finished opening every single parcel, he was surrounded by jeans, slacks, jackets, shirts of every type, but flannel definitely the shirt of choice, socks, underwear, shoes, boots, sweats, ties, a wallet, a shaving kit, notions, books and pens, a glass case, and miraculously, a pair of silverframed glasses. He looked up at those, and Rafe said, "You left at them at my house, after the Fourth of July picnic, remember?".

Blair even received a pair of pale blue, silk pajamas, courtesy of Joel, who accompanied their opening with a decidedly wicked look at Jim, who sent his eyes heavenward.

Blair gazed at his haul, shaking his head in wonder, and murmured, "God, I don't know what to say, except," and he reached out a hand and slapped Rafe's, "except keep your hands off my stuff, Rafe!"

That comment brought guffaws and much back slapping, which was interrupted as Simon yelled, "Everyone who believes Detective Ellison should buy pizza, signify by saying *YEA*!" A chorus of *yeas* rang out and Jim found himself propelled backward, to the phone.

 

Epilogue

 

They sat side by side, legs outstretched in front of them, resting on the coffee table, shoulders touching, hands entwined.

Blair's move back was official, the doctor had told him he could go back to work on Monday, and Simon had okay'ed Jim's sudden, but expected vacation request.

Jim's finger swirled around the indentation between Blair's thumb and finger, amazed that even such a simple act could thrill him. Blair was looking better, and Jim had made it his goal to *fatten* his love up.

Much of what Blair had lost in the fire had been replaced in one way or another, with only some cherished books lost forever. And Sir Richard Burton's Monograph, or so Jim believed, until Blair had told him he'd sold it months ago. That news had both shocked and depressed the Sentinel, knowing *why* Blair had done it. And as the week progressed and Blair improved, the Monograph became an obsession. An obsession, he'd finally quelled.

He let Blair's hand slip from his, stood, walked over to the cabinet under the stereo, and pulled out a package wrapped in brown paper. He dropped it on Blair's lap.

"Open it."

Blair looked up, puzzled, but he tore at the paper and his eyes became impossibly round, as the paper was pulled away, to reveal the Monograph.

"Dear God. No." He lifted tearfilled eyes back up to Jim, shaking his head and whispering, "no,no,no......"

"Yes, Blair. This is us. We're together, I'm a Sentinel, because of this book. It's ours, Blair. No one else is entitled to it, no one."

"But how.....and how, much, oh, God.....", the tears were falling now, his hand grazing lovingly over the old cover.

"Okay, I did have to sell my soul.....Blair, don't look like that....Naomi bought it....or rather, Sid bought it. Poetic justice, don't you think?"

"jesus," he murmured.

 

(*) (*) (*) (*)

 

On Saturday, Blair went back to Muriel. The Evans' had moved to the Sutherland Building, two doors down from their old building, and Blair wanted to check in on them. Jim drove him over, but waited in the truck.

When Blair came back out, he looked happy, but before he could climb into the truck, a voice hailed him.

"Blair! Blairbaby!" He turned, not surprised to see Jolie trying to run on small, silver heels. And in her arms, she carried a basket.

"Oh, baby, am I glad to see you....Tom said you were coming over today.

Look what I found!"

And she held out the basket and lifted the lid.

Inside, curled up, were two orange and white kittens, one with a black tipped tail.

"They're Jersey's, Blair. I found his little wifey, hiding behind the wreakage, in the other trash bin, the one Tom always had to rescue Jersey from...now we know why, and curled up under her, were these two.....".

Blair found his hand dipping in, fingers curling around one furry ball, and bringing it back to his face.....

"Oh, no, Chief....no cats....absolutely no cats!" Jim pleaded, as he came up alongside the younger man....who immediately turned to Jim, the kitten held to his cheek.....

"But not both of them, Chief, definitely not both of them!"

"But, Jim.....one has to be Jersey, and the other one, has to be Maid, and they go together...see?"

"Well, actually," Jolie added, "There's the mother too....."

"No, no way, Chief.....we are not going to have three cats....I won't stand for it."

 

(*) (*) (*) (*)

 

"Okay, we need flea collars, and cat toys, and catnip....and dry cat food, always dry cat food, never canned, unless it's tuna....oh, and a litter box, and kitty litter....", Blair mused, as they walked down the pet section of the supermarket....."and we need to go to a pet store, we need a cat tree....with cubbyholes...for mama, and later, for the kittens, when they get bigger...." and behind him, hand reaching out, tagging onto Blair's jacket, walked Detective Jim Ellison, wondering how this had all happened to him and behind *him*, pushing the cart, was Simon, who was puffing happily on his special Troya Classico.

##End - Moving On#

 

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