Time and Again
Chapter 7 to Chapter 12
by M-n-M
© July 1997
Chapter 7
Wednesday, 4/30
Blair entered his office and tossed his backpack onto the already cluttered chair. Glancing around, he decided to clear his desk a little before settling down to catch up on all the work he had neglected this week. Since Jim's zone-out a week ago, he'd been true to his vow and had stayed close to the Sentinel.
Unfortunately, hanging around the station this past week had had the young man spinning his wheels. After the excitement of the break-in, things had settled down and it had been rather boring with nothing happening. Even the momentary spike of endorphins which he had felt while helping Jim concentrate enough to describe a man named Sethos to the police artist didn't compensate for the lost work time. The anthropologist finally decided to come to work and get caught up. Amen-hetep IV's sarcophagus was due to be delivered Friday afternoon and he wanted to be free and clear. Besides, staying at the station only gave his body more opportunity to turn traitor at the sight of his Sentinel.
Blair shook his head and started filing the various papers littering his desk. He worked steadily for several minutes before coming across an article he'd been meaning to read, and had assumed lost. He settled in to read, and was soon deeply engrossed; not noticing the passage of an hour.
The anthropologist tossed the finished article down onto his desk and stretched. Time for him to do his real work. He decided to tackle the pile of mail that had accumulated during his absence, wondering as he did so why the whole world wasn't using e-mail yet. He separated the anthropology and history magazines and threw out the junk and bulk mailings. Concentrating on his personal correspondence, Blair frowned as he shifted through it. One particular letter caught his eye and a sense of unease traveled up his spine. Like the previous note, this one had no return address and his name and department were typed in bold capital letters across the front. With a sense of deja vu, Blair opened the envelope and pulled out the single piece of stationary.
Blair shivered as he read the note. It was different than the first. It was a death threat. In the past he might have blown it off, but in light of recent events, he opted to take this seriously. Remembering his promise to Jim, he picked up the phone and dialed the station.
"You have reached the desk of Detective James Ellison. Please leave--" Blair slammed the phone down. Jim obviously was away from his desk.
"Where are you, big guy? You said you'd be at work," Blair muttered in the suddenly too silent office. He tried Jim's cell phone. No answer. "Okay, don't panic. Think Sandburg...Simon!" Blair snatched up the receiver and called Simon's office.
"Banks."
Blair breathed a sigh of relief. "Simon, I'm looking for Jim. Do you know where he is? It's really important."
Simon must have heard the note of panic in his voice, because he didn't hesitate. "He's right here, Sandburg. Hold on."
Moments later, Blair's Blessed Protector was speaking into the phone. "Talk to me, Chief. What's wrong?"
Blair swallowed convulsively. "Um, Jim, I...I was going through my mail and, well, I got a death threat." The young man flinched as if saying the words out loud made the threat more real.
"Sandburg," Jim's voice was tinged with anxiety. "What's the note say? Read it word for word. Don't leave anything out."
"Right now? It's giving me the creeps looking at it."
"Now, Sandburg. I want to hear it."
Blair cleared his throat and began to read:
"Mr. Sandburg: Stop the exhibit at once! You are a blasphemer and all blasphemers are bound for hell. Take heed or you will bring about your own doom. If you wish to live, stop the sacrilege and your life will be spared. If you decide to ignore this, be prepared to pay the price with your life as we will not tolerate such sacrilege. Pain and suffering will be yours before you experience the freedom of death. This is the only warning you will receive..." Blair's voice trailed off. It was a sick feeling to get a death threat. It was almost as if someone was watching your every move. He glanced around nervously and nearly jumped when Jim spoke.
"Sandburg! Get out of there now. Leave your office, get in your car and go home. Do it as fast as you can, you hear me? Get the hell out of there."
Blair pulled the phone from his ear and gave it a puzzled look. If he didn't know better, he'd have sworn he heard a note of hysteria in Jim's voice. As it was, the urgency was unmistakable.
"Sandburg? Blair, can you hear me?"
Blair put the receiver back to his ear. "Yeah, Jim. I'm on my way."
"Do you have your cell phone? Call me on mine as soon as you're on the road. Got it?" Jim spoke rapidly.
"Okay," Blair replied, his adrenaline kicking in as a wave of fear knifed through him. He had to make it to the Corvair in one piece. "I'm hanging up now. Give me two minutes to get to my car."
"Faster!" Jim barked and hung up the phone.
Blair grabbed up his backpack and shoved the note into his pocket. He was racing across the quad seconds later, bypassing students and professors. If anyone called his name, he didn't hear it.
As he neared his car he stumbled to a halt, and stood staring, open-mouthed, face pale, mouth dry. He fumbled for his phone and dialed.
"Ellison. That better be you, Sandburg, telling me you're on your way home."
"Uh, Jim. You'll never believe it, man."
"What?"
"Oh, man. My poor car. Why would someone do this? First bullet holes, now--"
Jim interrupted him. "Sandburg, what the hell happened?"
Blair paused, wondering how to begin. "Man, all four of my tires have been totally shredded," Blair replied.
"Anything else?" Jim asked, sensing his partner wasn't through.
"Yeah..." Blair stared at his beloved car. "Someone painted the sun symbol of Aten on my windshield in red paint, Jim. Too weird."
"Hang tight, Chief--I'm almost there. I'll meet you in front of the anthro building in five minutes," Jim spoke tersely.
"Huh?" Blair sounded dazed. "You're on your way here? I thought you were at the station."
"Blair, just do what I tell you. And stay public. Make sure you're with a lot of people. I'll be right there." Jim snapped the phone shut as he turned onto campus.
The grad student numbly placed his phone into his backpack. Jim was going to be there soon and everything would be fine. He walked mechanically back toward the anthro building, reaching it just as Jim screeched around the corner and drew up in front of him.
He opened the passenger door and got in. Jim was already pulling away before he had the door closed and his seatbelt on.
"Parked in the usual spot?" Ellison's voice was tight, controlled.
"Yeah," Blair still sounded dazed and Jim spared his partner a brief glance.
'Don't worry, Chief,' Jim thought, 'I'm here and I won't let anyone hurt you.'
Blair was speaking. "Why d'you want to know?"
"I'm going to have forensics come out and dust for prints. I'll be taking a look at it myself later, but I want to get you to a safe place first." Jim pulled into the police parking garage and motioned to Blair. "Come on, Chief. Simon's waiting."
Blair looked puzzled, but followed Jim up to the Major Crimes division. "What are we gonna do now?" he asked as they crossed the bullpen to Simon's office.
"*You're* staying here with Simon," Jim began, "and *I'm* going back to check things out. You're not to leave his sight until I come back and pick you up. Got it?"
Blair sputtered for a minute at Jim's dictatorial manner, then opened his mouth to protest. "Now wait just a minute, man. I don't need a sitter! I want to come with you. You *need* me with you, especially after your zone-out last week."
Jim raised an eyebrow as Simon came around his desk. "You're staying here where it's safe. No arguments. I'm going back to the university to check the Corvair, and your office."
"Jim, I should go--"
This time it was Simon who interrupted. "Don't waste your breath, Sandburg. Have a seat."
Blair reluctantly sat in one of the captain's chairs.
As Jim left he said, "I'll be back soon. Stay put."
The anthropologist roamed aimlessly around Simon's office and occasionally ventured out into the bullpen to visit with Brown or Taggert. He felt like a recalcitrant child because he wasn't allowed past the Major Crimes doors. Jim was taking this death threat to the extreme. He wasn't sure what he was going to do about that, but he knew Jim couldn't be his shadow all of the time and he was going to have to go back to work this weekend. He'd deal with that issue later. Blair had long ago gotten used to Jim's protective streak, but it seemed to have gone into overdrive lately and he really didn't have the mental stamina to consider why.
Blair's relentless pacing got on Simon's nerves and he was put to work. He spent most of the afternoon sitting cross-legged in one of Simon's office chairs working, and didn't notice that the day had turned into night until Taggert came in to wish him a goodnight.
"Is it that late already?" Blair asked, looking up.
Taggert gave him a strange look and indicated the window. "Sandburg, it's dark outside. You didn't notice?"
"Guess not." Blair shrugged. "I wonder where Jim is. He said he wasn't going to be long."
"He went to the university, right?"
Blair nodded.
"He called in about an hour ago. Seems that a few protestors have gathered over there. Only a few, he said, but he wanted to talk to them. Then he said he had to see someone before he was going to head back." Taggert replied.
The younger man looked surprised. "Why didn't Simon tell me he called?"
"Probably didn't want you to try to take off on him." Taggert smiled. "After the time you ditched me, I'm sure he didn't want to take the chance that this new info would send you running to the university."
Blair ducked his head in apology, remembering the time that Jim had disappeared. "I wouldn't have done that, Joel. The protestors have been there off and on since news of the exhibit became public knowledge. There haven't been too many of them and they've been very peaceful. The campus police have been dealing with the problem, but I guess Jim wanted to check into it."
"He doesn't like to leave anything to chance." Taggert yawned.
'You don't know the half of it,' Blair thought. Aloud he said, "Man, go on home. You look beat."
"It's been a long day," Taggert agreed. "Goodnight, Blair."
"Night, Joel. See you tomorrow." Blair watched the other man cross the bullpen, only stopping to speak briefly with Simon who had been talking to Rafe.
Standing and stretching, Blair capped his pen and headed for Jim's desk. He was all done with the work Simon had given him and he decided he might as well catch up on some reading. Settling himself into Jim's chair, he pulled a textbook from the bottom drawer of the desk. He was about to open it when Simon walked up to him.
"Sandburg, I just got a call from the lab. They went over the Corvair with a fine-toothed comb, and it looks like they were able to lift a partial print. It's being run through the computers now. Hopefully, we'll know something soon."
"Man, it was totally trashed. Are you guys finished with it? Can I move it?"
Simon nodded. "They took pictures to use as evidence. I suggest you call your insurance company and see if they cover vandalism."
"I already did," Blair replied. "I think they're beginning to wish they'd never heard of me, but they're taking care of it. I'll get someone out there tomorrow to replace the tires. It'll be an eyesore until then."
Simon laughed. "Don't worry about it, Sandburg. It'll get fixed and you'll get it back. I'm going into my office and try to get a few more things done. Holler if you need anything."
"Sure thing, Simon." Blair turned to his book.
Sometime later, Jim walked into the bullpen. He glanced around for his partner, wanting to get back to the loft as soon as possible. He was tired, and wanted nothing more than to make an early night of it. Based on what he'd found today--that he was going to have to share with Blair--tomorrow was going to be a long day. 'And that doesn't even count when the Ambassador arrives,' he though with a renewed surge of weariness.
He spotted Blair sprawled in his desk chair reading an anthropology textbook, and noted his Guide's slumped shoulders and drooping eyelids. It was still early for either one of them to be so tired, but the incredible amounts of stress, worry and the increased workload had created a lethargy in both of them. More so for Blair who made it a habit to stay up past two in the morning most nights. He sighed, wanting only to get his Guide home safe.
"You ready, Chief?"
Blair looked up startled, noticing Jim for the first time. "Hey, man, where have you been? You were supposed to be back hours ago. I ended up having to write Simon's reports. God, I thought yours were bad."
Jim smiled, wearily. "We'll talk about it in the morning."
"But Jim, what did you find--"
"I said *tomorrow*, Sandburg." Jim headed for Simon's office. "I'm going to report in to Simon and then we're leaving. Make sure you're ready to go when I'm done."
Blair's sigh turned to a yawn as he waited for Jim's return. He tucked his book back into Jim's desk where it was stored in case of an emergency, and put his head down on the desk. He didn't know how long he sat there, dozing, before Jim and Simon walked out the captain's office.
"...I put that APB out that you requested, Jim. Hopefully we'll hear something soon." Simon was saying.
"Thanks, Captain." Jim collected Blair with a nod and the three men shared the elevator to the garage. "It's my only lead right now. I hope like hell we get this case wrapped up soon."
Banks looked at them. "Soon, Jim. Then you two can take some time off."
"Sounds good, Sir. I'll remind you of that." Jim smiled. "Goodnight, Simon. Thanks for looking after Blair." He unlocked the Expedition.
His companion rolled his eyes. "God, man, you make me sound like a kid who can't take care of himself." He waved at Simon and got into the truck.
Jim settled in beside him and started the engine. "If the shoe fits..." His voice trailed off into a grin.
Blair shot him a dirty look and lightly smacked him on the arm. "There you go again, trying to be funny. Guess you flunked clown school, huh?" He smiled.
"Yeah, people like you gave me too much competition." Jim laughed.
Blair stared at him a moment before laughing with him.
Thursday, 5/1
Jim sat in the pre-dawn darkness. Cool air drifted in from the open balcony doors and caressed his bare skin. He knew he should be asleep--he was so tired his body ached--but what was expected and what usually happened didn't always amount to the same thing.
He'd awakened about an hour ago, gripped in the shadow of a nightmare he couldn't remember now, with a sudden need to make sure his friend was all right. He eased quietly down the stairs, and stopped at Blair's partially open door; stood there for long moments just watching the figure within sleeping. So reassured, Jim had gone out onto the balcony to stare unwaveringly at the sleeping city. He didn't know how long he'd stayed out there before moving back into the loft and sitting on the couch. It really didn't matter. His thoughts had already drifted to later that morning and the conversation he was going to have with his partner.
Jim sighed and shifted to lie on the couch. Curling a muscular forearm under his head, he pondered the inevitable argument that would take place when the sun rose. How would Blair react to the news? Would they be able to work through it together? He hoped so. Too many things had gone wrong between them in the past few weeks. Subtle changes had occurred in their relationship, but he couldn't define them--he just knew things were different. Fear grabbed him suddenly, fear of losing Blair. He didn't want to lose his Guide, couldn't stand it if he did.
Soft, gentle breathing underscored by the regular thud of a heartbeat reached Jim's ears. He blinked drowsily and focused on the reassuring presence in the next room. The musical sound of air escaping kissable lips eased the older man into a peaceful sleep, a smile on his face.
Blair was up and dressed early, ready to face the day in spite of the death threat hanging over his head. He'd slept better than he had in a long time, a deep sleep not disturbed by strange dreams or phone calls. 'Maybe,' he mused, 'it's because Jim and I are finally settling back on track. For a while there, we weren't even on the same train.' He eased out of his room and stopped short. Eyes widening in surprise, Blair made his way to the somnolent form on the couch.
He sat down on the coffee table and reached a gentle hand out, laying it on Jim's shoulder. For a moment, the younger man allowed himself the pleasure of feeling the corded muscle beneath his hand. Closing his eyes, he kneaded the shoulder lightly, knowing that he would have to tell Jim he was in love with him soon.
He sighed and opened his eyes, and gently shook the sleeping man. "Jim? Wake up."
Jim shifted and mumbled, "just a few more minutes, lover."
Blair froze. Surely his friend hadn't just called him 'lover'. 'I wonder who he'd dreaming about,' the younger man thought with a tinge of jealousy. Just the same, a gentle warmth infused his heart and a slight smile crossed his face. "Jim?" He spoke louder, giving the powerful arm another shake.
"Blair?" Jim's sleepy voice sounded. "That you?"
"Yeah, big guy. Who else would it be?" The smile became a grin.
There was an answering grin on Jim's face as he slowly sat up. "Right. Who else."
The older man didn't even try to avoid bumping into Blair as he swung his legs to the floor. A shiver of emotion vibrated through him as Blair's blue-jeaned knees contacted with his bare ones. Their gazes locked for what seemed like endless moments before the younger man tore his away and rose to his feet. He moved a safe distance from Jim before saying, "Guess I'll start breakfast while you get dressed."
Jim nodded and the awkward moment slipped away under the pretense of normalcy.
"Good idea. Maybe you could make something different? Something not eggs? I feel like a change."
Blair nodded and made his way toward the kitchen as Jim stood and stretched. "Sure. How 'bout Belgian waffles?"
Jim's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "You can make those?"
The other man laughed. "I'm a man of many talents, Jim."
"I'm sure you are," came the dry reply. "Throw in some bacon and coffee and we'll have a real breakfast. These last couple of weeks have been too rushed, and we're not in any hurry this morning."
'We're not? That's weird.' "Sounds good to me," Blair replied. He began rummaging in the cupboards for ingredients, and Jim disappeared into the bathroom.
Minutes later, clutching a towel around his waist, the older man stepped out of the bathroom. He sniffed appreciatively at the delicious smell wafting from the kitchen.
His stomach growled loudly, prodding Jim to hurry up the stairs to his bedroom. Dressing quickly he returned to the lower level and walked into the kitchen just in time to catch Blair gesturing wildly with his arms, a dripping spoon in one hand. He was humming an oddly familiar tune.
Jim burst out laughing and Blair turned to grin at him. "What're you *doing*, Sandburg?"
The younger man shrugged, blue eyes twinkling. "Walking like an Egyptian, man."
The detective groaned as he poured himself a cup of coffee. "Oh, man. Is that the song you were humming?"
"Uh-huh."
"Bad, Chief, bad."
"Oh come on, Jim," Blair set two plates of waffles and bacon on the table. "I couldn't resist. The Ambassador's coming in tomorrow. It seemed appropriate."
Jim snickered as he and his partner took seats at the table. "Appropriate. Only you, Chief." He began to eat.
"*I* thought it was funny," Blair defended as he picked up his fork.
"Oh, yeah, whatever it was you were doing when I walked in here sure was, " Jim agreed between bites. "I don't think you should be entering any talent shows anytime soon, though."
"Why not? I do a pretty good Macarena, too."
Jim bit into a slice of bacon and chewed thoughtfully. "Yeah? Well, from what I saw, my advice is for you to stick to anthropology."
Blair laughed. "Want any more? I made plenty."
"Give me a chance to finish what I've got and then I'll probably have seconds. These are good, by the way."
"Thanks. You were right--we haven't sat down and had a real breakfast in a while. It's a nice change."
Jim nodded, and they finished breakfast in a light, happy mood.
Blair was rinsing the plates and setting them in the strainer when he asked, "Hey, you never did tell me what went down yesterday after you left me at the station."
Jim dried his hands on a towel, feeling the mood they'd enjoyed slowly start to fade. "Yeah. We've got to talk, Chief."
Blair focused his attention on the somber tone. Brow furrowed he asked, "What's wrong, Jim? Did something happen? Oh, man-not another zone-out!"
"No, not another zone-out. Something else. Have a seat." Jim indicated the kitchen chair Blair had been occupying earlier.
The younger man sat as Jim leaned against the counter and faced him. It was quiet for a minute. Finally Jim spoke, "I didn't zone out, but it does have something to do with the one I had last week."
"Yeah? You never really did explain what happened that day. Was it something you've never experienced? Something we've never dealt with?" Equal parts of alarm and fascination, Blair spoke rapidly.
Jim held up a hand to stop the questions. "No, Chief. Nothing like that. I don't know if I ever told you exactly what I zone out on. While I was at the museum, I smelled roses."
"Okay," Blair encouraged. "Go on."
"Not roses exactly. There was oil and very faint traces of chemicals I couldn't identify. Probably zoned trying to figure it out."
His Guide nodded. "Perfume?"
"Yeah, that's what it was. Anyway, I finally figured out where I had smelled it before."
"Where?"
The detective hesitated. "Sarina Collins wears a perfume that smells like roses."
Blair frowned. "So? What's that got to do with anything?
"Blair, you aren't paying attention." Jim moved closer to him, and tousled his hair gently, briefly. "I think she's the one who hit you."
Blair's eyes widened and he jumped to his feet. "No way, man! Sarina's not capable of hurting anyone."
"Listen to me. The rose perfume was at the museum. That ties Sarina to the break-in."
"That's really weak, Jim. Lots of women wear floral-based perfumes and the museum has a lot of people going through there every day. And how do you even tie that to Sarina supposedly hitting me on the head?" Blair's voice rose angrily.
"My gut instinct--the one *you're* always telling me to trust!--tells me Sarina's involved in this somehow. Now, it's entirely possible I'm wrong, but let's look at what we know. Think you're up for that?" Jim stared intently at his partner.
Blair's mouth set into a grim line. He nodded tersely and sat back down, arms folded across his chest in a 'keep-away' stance.
The detective took a deep breath. "Okay. First, not too many people know about the special package arriving tomorrow. You said yourself that only a couple of you at the university are aware of the existence of this mummy and its sarcophagus. Sarina is one of them." Jim watched Blair's mouth open and he held up a hand to forestall the protests. "Let me finish. African culture also happens to be Sarina's area of expertise."
"That's *not* enough to convict her, Jim."
"Now, let's talk opportunity," Ellison ignored the interruption. "Sarina knew the artifacts would be moved to the university from the museum. Again, she's one of a handful of people who knew that. Next, she's the one who found you unconscious in the early morning hours. What was she doing there so early? Even if she was there to help you, Sarina is one of only four people who have access to that basement and the artifacts. You were out cold. Dr. Hathaway was in Seattle attending a convention. Michael Patterson was at home; his roommate Jarvis Deacon confirmed that. Sarina was the only one with access, Chief, who doesn't have an alibi that we can confirm."
Blair was shaking his head, not quite believing that Jim was standing there accusing a friend of his of the heinous activities of the previous month.
"Then there's the conversation I overheard last week," Jim continued. "Remember the composite drawing you helped me with? Well, that guy, Sethos, was talking to Sarina about you, and the exhibit. He seemed to know more abut it than he should have."
"So?" Blair shot back defensively. "Sarina could have told her boyfriend about it. After all, I told *you*." His face flushed as he thought how that sounded. He hoped Jim wouldn't notice, and chalk his red face up to anger.
Jim was skeptical. "Sarina's in love with you, Sandburg. I realized that early on, and the conversation I overheard only confirmed that." He shook his head. "No, Sethos and Sarina aren't involved romantically. I think they're working together. Knowledge and opportunity, Chief. She's a prime suspect along with this Sethos character. We don't know much about him, unfortunately. A database search of our domestic agencies didn't tell us anything. We're still waiting to hear back from Interpol."
"Come on, Jim. Aren't you being a little quick to judge here? You said you could be wrong and that you didn't have all the info. What about motive? What could Sarina have to gain from all of this?"
Jim's voice was quiet when he replied, "Religious fanatics don't need motive, Chief."
Blair's face drained of color. "You think she's a member of the cult, don't you," he whispered, a sick feeling of despair rising in him. Jim was rarely wrong--especially when he was going on instinct. To admit that he was right though--that meant that Sarina had betrayed him...and that his character judgment was faulty. God, what did Jim know, to make this conclusion, that he hadn't told him? Didn't he trust him to remain objective? 'Which you're not,' the voice in his head taunted. He rose to his feet, needing desperately to get out there.
A hand on his arm stopped him. "Where do you think you're going, Sandburg?"
Blair turned to face Jim, steps away from the front door and freedom. "I'm going out, man. I need to think, work things out in my head."
Jim indicated Blair's room. "You can do that just fine in there, or on the balcony. You're not going anywhere, Chief, at least not by yourself. Or did you forget about the death threat you received?" Jim's voice was quiet, but the words carried an impact nonetheless.
Blair stiffened. "Do you think I could forget something like that? Look, Jim. I'm not the bad guy here--I don't see why I have to be the one who's locked up. I can't stay in the loft forever, you know."
Jim sighed and stepped back, allowing the younger man a little breathing room. "I know you can't, Chief. It's just that this whole case has me on edge. I have nothing but suppositions and possibilities--nothing really concrete."
"You seemed to have everything you needed a few minutes ago," Blair replied bitterly. "I thought Sarina did it."
Jim gave him an exasperated look. "She's a *suspect*, Sandburg. She hasn't been tried and convicted of anything. But I *know* she's involved, and that it goes way beyond that. Others have to be involved. This is not a solo project. And there's still Sethos to consider. Where does he fit in?"
Blair leaned back against the door, arms crossed. "That's the guy we had the composite drawing done on, right? Jim, have you even talked to Sarina about him--about all of this? Maybe she doesn't know this Sethos person very well--what you heard could have been circumstantial, or a coincidence."
Jim shook his head. He could see Blair's reluctance to believe badly of his friend and colleague, but the detective knew that his partner was now at least considering what he'd told him. With his intelligence and his knack for piecing together puzzles, Blair had to accept the possibility that Sarina was involved, given the evidence--however circumstantial. Unfortunately, he was about to drop the biggest incriminating piece against her.
"We can't find her, Blair. She hasn't shown up for work, hasn't been to class--hell, she hasn't been to her apartment in at least three days. We put an APB out on her...hopefully she'll turn up soon."
"I just saw her..." Blair began, a note of--what? sadness? betrayal?--in his voice.
Jim ached at having to do this to his friend. "Before yesterday," he said gently, "you hadn't been on campus for almost a week."
Blair stared at the floor, uncertain of what to say. As Jim opened his mouth to speak the phone rang.
The detective moved to pick it up. "Ellison." Pause. "Yeah, Simon, what'd you turn up?" Jim nodded, eyes flashing toward Blair. "It figures. Okay. Thanks."
"What'd he say? Have they found Sarina?" Blair asked as Jim hung up the phone.
"No. They found a match to the partial fingerprint we found on your car yesterday. Interpol identified him as Sethos Hasan. He's a former priest who's wanted in connection with the bombing of an Egyptian museum that killed five people. He's also a suspect in an attempted bombing of King Tut's tomb." Jim paused, then shook his head. "The file photo of him matches our composite. This guy's crazy, Chief."
Blair's mouth tightened. "Man, this really sucks." He paused, considering all of Jim's statement. "A former priest, huh? That's wild. But I just don't see Sarina getting involved with someone like that. She's an academic, working on her Masters in African culture for cryin' out loud! Not a terrorist or a religious fanatic."
Jim shrugged. "She knows him--that right there is incriminating. As to why she'd help him...that's something else. We'll have to keep looking for her, get her side of things."
"There's still a chance you're wrong about her, right? You can't prove anything without talking to her first."
"Right. But I have to tell you it doesn't look good."
Blair sighed and started for his room. "I think I'll go work on my dissertation for a while. Maybe finish writing up the final for my intro class."
"Chief?"
The younger man paused in mid-stride. "Yeah?"
"I know none of this has been easy, but I...still need you."
Blair smiled briefly. "I'm your back-up, man. You can always count on me--even if we don't see eye-to-eye on some things." Blair closed his mouth, then opened it; then closed it again.
Jim watched him with a raised eyebrow. "What? Spit it out-it couldn't be any worse than the last hour or so has been."
"I have to work on the exhibit this weekend, Jim. Most of it's just positioning of the pieces, and finishing touches on the tableaus, but it's got to be done. Mostly I have to work on the Aten display. It's the center of the whole exhibit. Think you can handle me doing that, man?"
"We'll work it out," Jim said, careful not to make any set-in-stone promises. "Go on, work on your dissertation. Maybe you'll be done with that thing before my senses stop working from old age?"
"Ha. Very funny. Hey!" Blair's eyes lit up. "How about doing some experiments?"
The Sentinel rolled his eyes. "Go. I've got things to do."
"Later though, right? I mean, fair's fair--if you're gonna keep me locked up here all day."
Jim's face softened. "Yeah, Chief. We'll do some later."
Friday, 5/2
"Wow!" Blair exclaimed. "Look at all those reporters."
Jim nodded. "What else would you expect with an Egyptian Ambassador flying in and most of Cascade's top brass waiting for him."
The two men stood in the crowded airport, waiting for the ambassador and his entourage. Blair glanced out of the window at the runway, expecting the plane any minute now. It was a fairly bright afternoon and he had to squint.
"You know, Chief, maybe we oughta go rescue Simon."
Blair turned from the bright glare to his partner. "Huh?"
Jim indicated across the waiting area to Simon. The captain of the Cascade police department was having a conversation with two other gentlemen, looking like he'd just swallowed a bug.
Blair laughed. "Isn't that the Mayor and the Chief of Police he's talking to?"
"Yeah," Jim was grinning. "Doesn't look like he's having too much fun. He always did hate tap dancing."
"Guess you'd better go get him then." Blair was still smiling.
Jim wound his way through the crowd of media and police personnel until he was standing just behind his friend. "Sir," he called to Simon, who turned around with a grateful look on his face, "Excuse me, but I need to speak with you a moment."
"Will you excuse me, gentlemen?" Simon waited for the nods before moving away with Jim. "Thanks--I needed that."
Jim smiled. "No problem. I did want to tell you that everything's been set up at the hotel. Cops are already stationed at the penthouse he'll be using. As soon as he disembarks, he'll be escorted over there. Blair and I will see that he's taken care of before returning to the university to make sure the mummy has arrived and is locked up safely."
Simon nodded. "Good. I take it that some of our men here will be escorting the artifacts to Rainier?"
"Yeah--it's already been taken care of." Jim moved toward Blair. "Plane's coming in, sir. I suggest we get ready."
The policemen joined the Mayor, the Chief of Police, and their various personnel at the arrival gate. Brown, Taggert and Rafe met them at the front as the plane taxied to a stop.
Jim turned to the three men. "Everything okay?" Taggert nodded.
People began emerging from the plane then, and Jim turned his attention to that. He identified at least two personal bodyguards and several other personnel attached to the office of the Ambassador, as well as the Ambassador himself.
"Which one's the Ambassador," Brown questioned from behind Jim.
The detective replied, "The gentleman in the grey suit is Ambassador Abu el Ka'ab. The other one is his personal advisor, Keb Boussard." He was thankful he'd had the foresight to examine the dossiers of both men.
The Mayor stepped forward and introduced himself and the rest of the welcoming party. Jim was introduced specifically as being in charge of the security detail, and he moved forward to shake the Ambassador's hand in welcome.
The large group made their way through the airport terminal toward the motorcade. Jim kept glancing around him, senses open to potential sources of trouble. The other members of his team were also looking around, constantly scanning the area. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the ambassador, safely ensconced in the center of the group, speaking earnestly to the mayor; his two bodyguards flanking the duo, and his advisor a step in front of him.
'Looks like everything's under control,' Ellison thought and glanced to his left. Blair was striding along next to him, also looking around. He'd been with the detective for so long that he'd picked up certain habits.
Jim, not liking the fact that Blair was on the unprotected outside of the circle of security, unobtrusively stepped back, letting Blair take the lead before shifting to the outside. Air whistled past his teeth in relief now that Blair was safely inside the circle. The younger man didn't notice the maneuver and quickly struck up a conversation with the advisor. By the time they'd reached the vehicles his partner was so involved in his conversation that Jim had to grab Blair's arm to prevent him from getting into the car with the man.
He led Blair to the truck as Simon issued last minute orders for conveying their Ambassorial guest safely to the Cascade Towers Hotel.
He tuned out Simon and focused on Blair who was talking, gesturing expansively. "Man, Keb is so *interesting*. He was born in Zanzibar. His dad is French, and was with the diplomatic corps, and they were located there for a while. When his dad retired they moved to Cairo, 'cause his mom is Egyptian. He got his degree from *Oxford*, then moved back to Egypt, so he could be closer to his folks--and because he wanted to follow in his dad's footsteps and get into the diplomat scene."
There was no mistaking the slight tinge of hero-worship in Sandburg's voice, and Ellison rolled his eyes. "I know, Chief. I read the file." He shook his head. "I can't believe you got all that from a five-minute conversation."
"It's a talent, man. Remember, I'm a man of--"
"Many talents." Jim finished for him. "Right. It's BS, is what it is," he said dryly. Jim turned the truck onto the street, and followed the ambassador's motorcade toward the hotel.
Blair laughed. "Technically, BS is a form of male bonding, remember?"
'Just as long as you don't bond too closely with him,' Jim thought then frowned. That sounded almost like jealousy. He'd have to keep an eye on that. Lustful feelings for his friend were one thing, but jealousy? That implied other emotions he still wasn't comfortable exploring. Aloud he replied, "Whatever," and left it at that.
The motorcade wound its way through Cascade to the hotel, and they were soon escorting the ambassador upstairs to the penthouse. Jim was careful to explain about the security measures the Cascade P.D. had set up. There would be six pairs of guards that would rotate four-hour watches; thereby guaranteeing alertness. He introduced the first watch, noting with relief that his men and the ambassador's own bodyguards took careful note of each other--that way everyone working together knew who the others were. The detective also left his and Simon's cell phone numbers, in case something went wrong with the guards.
"Is there anything else you need to know, sir?" Jim had dismissed the other men who'd acted as bodyguards during transport, and was now preparing to leave himself.
"Please, Detective Ellison," came the ambassador's softly accented voice, "have a seat. There is something I would very much like to discuss with you."
Jim raised an eyebrow and sat across from the ambassador in an overstuffed chair. Blair moved behind him, and placed a hand casually along the top of the chair. His fingers dangled slightly, barely touching the back of Jim's neck. To those present he resembled a lion standing watch over his territory, and when he shoved a hand through his mane of hair, the effect was heightened.
"What is it, sir?"
"Your captain," the ambassador indicated Simon, who was giving his own last minute instructions to the guards, "says that you recently had some trouble with the Egyptian exhibit at one of your museums."
Jim tightened his lips as he nodded. "We did have some trouble, sir. Someone broke in and vandalized the gallery. From symbols left at the scene we've come to the conclusion that it's directly related to the exhibit; specifically to the cult of Aten."
The ambassador frowned. "May I ask how you arrived at this conclusion?"
Jim explained that none of the artifacts had been present at the museum at the time of the break-in, and that no other part of the museum had been touched. "My partner," Jim indicated Blair behind him, "explained the meaning of the sun symbol that the vandals painted on the wall, and we've had other instances of since then. That led us to the cult of Aten."
The ambassador turned sharp eyes to Blair. "Ah yes, Mr. Sandburg. You are in charge of that great undertaking known as the exhibit. Dr. Hathaway and I have corresponded throughout these past months and he's quite impressed with your work. I'm looking forward to attending the opening next week."
Blair blushed with pleasure at the unexpected kudos. "Thank you, sir."
The ambassador turned his attention back to Jim. "I'm terribly sorry to hear about the misfortune that seems to have plagued the exhibit. The cult of Aten is an old religion, thought to be long forgotten. Unfortunately, it seems that with the discovery of the mummy of King Amen-hetep that has changed. Some of my people take the treasures of Egypt and their significance very seriously. They do not like seeing artifacts leave our country. I myself do not subscribe to that belief. Sharing one's culture increases one's awareness and tolerance. It is the only way world peace might be achieved."
When the ambassador addressed Jim again Blair allowed his attention to wander slightly. He'd decided to make a statement--even if just to himself--that Jim was his, and did that by claiming a place right behind him where he could stand and look down, observing. He laid his hand on the top of the chair-the backrest--allowing his fingers to dangle unobtrusively--hidden by Jim's head--and gently brush the short hairs on Jim's neck. He wiggled his fingers slightly, delighting in the feel of the soft bristles of Jim's hair. A grin threatened, and Blair tuned himself back into reality, trying to arrange his face in a neutral mask.
"I understand, sir, and I agree with you completely. The Cascade P.D. will do everything in its power to ensure the success of the exhibit." Jim leaned back in his chair, and a tremor of sensation raced down his spine. Was Blair caressing his neck? He drew in a deep breath and tried to school his features into something bland and presentable when what he really wanted to do was pull Blair over that chair, into his lap, and onto his--
"That is good to hear, detective. We must persevere. Unknown foes must not destroy the goal of peace."
"Very good, sir." Jim rose shakily to his feet, trying to quell the urges rising in him. He needed to get his mind back on track here. Of course, the visual images flashing through his brain were a lot more entertaining than the political doubletalk that was beginning to get on his nerves. "We need to be going now, sir, but we'll see you at the press conference tomorrow morning."
The ambassador nodded. "Yes, duty calls you, does it not?"
"Yes, sir. Have a good night." Jim headed for Simon, who'd been standing unobtrusively by the door, waiting for his detective to finish up.
"Nice meeting you, Ambassador," Blair nodded as he followed Jim.
"Be well, my friends," the ambassador called after them.
The three men rode the elevator to the ground in silence, each deep in their own thoughts about the ambassador, the artifacts, and the crime that seemed to be weaving itself in a tighter circle around them. They parted ways then; Simon to his car to return to the station, and Jim and Blair to the truck to continue on to the university to check on the dead king's remains.
Once inside the truck Jim turned the air conditioner on, trying to quell the heat that was flowing through his body like so much fire. Having the object of his desire sitting less than three feet away wasn't helping; neither had the tiny little touches that he *knew* he hadn't imagined. He shifted slightly to put his seat belt on, groaning silently as his hand passed over his over-heated, highly sensitized flesh. Thank god for loose pants that hid erections--he was worse than a teenager.
"Jim. Jim? Hey, man--are you trying to freeze me out here?"
He turned to Blair, the question dying on his lips when he realized he still had the A/C on full blast. "Sorry, Chief. Whataya say we go check on the king, make sure he arrived okay, then grab a bite to eat."
"Sounds good to me." Blair threw him another strange look, but didn't ask about the air conditioning.
Jim put the truck into drive, and they were off.
Chapter 8
Sunday, 5/4
"Let's get a move-on, Sandburg--I don't want to spend the entire day over there."
"Yeah, yeah...hang on."
Jim stood by the door of the loft, leaning impatiently against the wall. Actually, he wasn't really impatient, but he didn't want Blair to know that he was kind of looking forward to this. After all the hoopla over the last twenty-four hours, he was actually curious about getting a look at the exhibit and Aten artifacts.
*Especially* after yesterday. Jim sighed thankfully that Saturday was over. *That* had been nothing but a bunch of politicians and reporters and one big headache. After spending the day wading through media cameras and bodyguards; dealing with the security necessary to transport the Aten crates, and everything else that went along with it; Jim was looking forward to some time spent in the dusty, *quiet* basement of the anthropology building. Especially spending time alone with Blair. He didn't want to put a name to the feelings he'd been having, but he'd stopped fighting them--had actually grown accustomed to having them--and had accepted his attraction to his roommate.
Blair moved into his line of sight then and Jim sighed in relief. It was getting scary to be left alone with his thoughts for too long anymore.
"Ready, Chief?"
"Yeah, let's go."
They walked in silence to the Expedition, and made the short trip to the University in the same manner. Both men--even Blair, who generally could talk to *anyone* about anything--were tired of talking after yesterday. The silence was comfortable, and they left it.
There were armed guards at the entrance to the basement and the exhibit hall; part of the security detail for the artifacts that Jim had arranged over the last few days. He nodded pleasantly to the men, showed his ID badge, and pushed Blair through the doorway with a gentle hand to the small of his back.
Jim was really surprised by the number of minor artifacts that, combined with the mummy and sarcophagus, would make up the Aten portion of the exhibit. He walked around it, eyeing it critically while Blair began sorting through the various papers that accompanied the crates.
"You up to doing some moving for me, big guy?" Blair broke into his thoughts and he looked up, startled by the sound of his partner's voice after so much quiet.
"Yeah--whatcha need?"
"Well, this stuff," Blair began gesturing to some smaller boxes, "all needs to go upstairs to the exhibit hall. I just don't want to carry it all myself." The younger man flashed him a mischievous grin and Jim smiled back.
"Sure, Chief." Jim reached for the first box, then stopped. "It's gonna be okay? What about keeping this stuff guarded?"
"The only thing that needs to remain under guard is the actual mummy and sarcophagus. The rest are just 'setup' pieces-you know, to like set the scene so to speak."
"Ah. Okay." Jim crouched down and lifted one of the crates, grunting slightly as he did so. "Sandburg! What the hell is in this thing?"
Blair choked back a groan of frustrated desire at the sight of corded biceps bulging. "Umm...pottery, carvings. Stuff like that."
"Where's it go?"
"Upstairs, toward the center back of the exhibition hall." Blair grabbed his own box and headed out the door, Jim right behind him.
The elevator took forever, and Jim leaned the box against the wall to take some of the strain from his back and shoulders while he waited. He didn't notice Blair watching the play of muscles under the tight black tee-shirt, eyes heating as they roamed the broad expanse.
Blair sighed in relief when the elevator arrived. Much more time to look at Jim, and he'd have a serious problem on hand. Was getting one anyway, he thought ruefully as he shifted slightly, trying to compensate for the tightening of his jeans.
Jim heard Blair's heart rate increase and turned concerned eyes to his partner. "Okay Chief? The box too heavy?"
"Nah--was just getting tired of waiting for the elevator," Blair remarked casually, hoping that sounded plausible. It must have because Jim didn't question him any further.
Jim didn't question him any further because he was too busy watching Sandburg's ass as he led the way from the now-open elevator to the exhibit hall. 'Life isn't fair,' he thought as his eyes followed the curve of Blair's cheeks through the tight jeans. 'No one should have an ass that sexy. Or eyes that blue...a mouth that kissable...hands that incredibly sensual...' Jim suppressed a shudder as he remembered the barest of touches from those fingers on the back of his neck the other night. Accident or on purpose? He couldn't wait until this damned exhibit was done with, and their investigation wrapped up so he could talk to Blair about this.
Jim stopped in amazement when they walked into the Great Hall. He'd never seen an exhibition hall so large in a university building before. It seemed to spread out before him, easily covering ten thousand square feet, if not more. From where he stood he could see that there were two sets of double doors at the far end of the room, apparently leading in from the street, and also at the back of the hall where he and Blair were standing. There was a single set of double doors opposite of where they were, presumably leading to the stairwell and the basement.
"Cool, huh?" Blair watched his friend's eyes reflect awe at the hundreds of artifacts and miscellaneous items decorating the huge room.
"Man, you weren't kidding." Jim turned to Blair. "Did you know it was going to be this big?"
Blair laughed and led him further into the room. "Not at first--but it became pretty clear, pretty quick. That's why I chose this place--it's got the room to spread out. See that," the student gestured to a large open space in front of them, "that's gonna be where we put the sarcophagus. This stuff," he indicated the boxes they were still holding, "will go in a mini-exhibit around the sarcophagus--showcasing it, if you know what I mean."
Jim nodded, still looking around. Around the room, hung on all the walls were masks and charms; many of them reminded him of his time in Peru, and he shuddered slightly. There was a large concentration of South American art and artifacts at one end, and he moved toward it.
"Hey, Sandburg, what's this stuff?" He pointed to a gallery-style case near the setting labeled "Mayan Death Rituals".
"Um...just a sec...Oh, that. That's our exhibit of Ahz-hnaian Grave Figurines. The Ahz-hnaian are supposed to be an off-shoot of the Mayans, although it's never been proven conclusively."
"Grave figurines?"
"Mmhmm. Supposed to keep evil spirits away, that sort of thing."
"Great." Jim looked around, suddenly realizing how much of the contents of this room dealt with death. "What's that?" He switched gears and headed back in the opposite direction.
"What's what?" Blair hurried after him. The figurines had always given him the creeps, and he was glad to move on.
Jim was circling the mannequins wearing the Scotch and English battle-costumes, looking at them admiringly. He reached for one, noting the claymore, then his attention was snagged by the bayonet, and he pulled his hand back as if he'd been burned.
"It had that effect on me, too," Blair said quietly from behind him.
"What period?" There was an odd quality to his voice.
"Culloden. Charles Stuart's final bid for the throne."
Jim looked at the exhibit. Someone had arranged the mannequins so they stood opposite each other, arms reaching for the weapons at their sides. Two partitions had been set up and painted to give the illusion of countryside--presumably meant to be Scotland--and there was a third figure behind, carrying bagpipes that looked authentic. He noted distractedly that there was a breeze coming from somewhere, and moved behind the partitions.
"There's a door back here!"
"Yeah--we use it if the stairwell door is locked. It's a direct feed to the conference rooms that run next to the hall." Blair shook his head. "Hardly anyone knows it's here, Jim."
"Does Sarina?"
Blair paused. "I don't think so. *I* never told her...and Michael's not aware of it, either. Remember, I've been here a lot longer than either of them."
Jim shook his head, his face stern. "I should post a guard there."
"Look, man, the only way you can get in through that door is to go into the conference rooms--and you've got a guard covering the main entrance for that."
"I don't know, Sandburg."
"C'mon, big guy. Time's a-wasting, and I've got a lot more stuff for us to bring up."
Jim allowed himself to be led away, still uncomfortable with the unguarded door, but distracted by the feel of Blair's hand on his arm.
They worked steadily for most of the morning and afternoon, pausing briefly to eat some sandwiches Blair had brought for them. By the time five p.m. rolled around, nearly all of the minor artifacts that had accompanied Amen-hetep had been accounted for and shifted upstairs. They called it a day then; Blair effusive in his praise and thanks for Jim's help.
"No problem," Jim remarked as they headed for home. "I needed a good workout--haven't had many chances lately to do any exercising." He shifted in his seat and flexed his shoulders and back as he spoke.
"Your back bothering you?"
"A little," Jim admitted. "I think I pulled my shoulder again, too."
Blair frowned. "The same one?"
"Yeah." Jim was quiet for a minute. "Think you could rub it down again? It really helped that last time."
"Sure." Blair nodded emphatically. "Seems like the least I could do, man, after all the help you gave me today."
"Hey, how about Chinese for dinner? We can get carry-out, go home, watch a movie. You and I haven't had much chance to relax in a while."
Blair smiled. "You sure? I was ready to make dinner when we got home."
"Yeah, I'm sure. Let's go to Lee Wong's, okay? I want Cashew Chicken."
Blair shuddered. "Vegetable Lo-Mein for me, thanks. How can you eat that stuff?"
"What, the chicken or the cashews?"
Sunday evening, 5/4
"Ready for your rub-down?" Blair stopped in front of the couch where Jim was sitting, looking semi-comatose.
He shifted, rousing slightly. "Oh, yeah. Sure. You still up to it?"
'Boy, am I ever,' came the unbidden thought. Blair cleared his throat, hoping his Sentinel never learned how to read minds. "Yeah, I told you. It's like the least I can do." 'And I'd be happy to do way more than that...' God! Blair mentally threw his hands up in the air. "I'll do you--I'll do the massage on the couch, if you want. We'll just put a blanket under you, so nothing gets on it." Blair paused. "No, that's not gonna work--I'd have to straddle you." He took a deep breath against *that* imagery, and looked at Jim, who was watching him with an odd expression on his face.
"Mmm. Well, you need to be able to get to both sides, don't you?"
Blair nodded. "You want to sit up for it, instead?" Jim didn't seem to be noticing his slip a moment before, so he tried to put it from his mind as well.
"How about I lie on a blanket on the floor?"
"I'd still have to straddle you." 'Not that this would be a problem for *me*...'
"No you don't--you can reach both sides from one." 'God, I wish I had the nerve to just say go ahead, straddle me...I'd even turn over for you...'
"Okay, whatever. Strip off your shirt while I get the blanket and liniment."
"Do you have any oil instead?"
"What, like massage oil?"
Jim nodded.
"No--but I have baby oil. Would you rather have that?"
"Yeah--the liniment gave me a headache last time. Too strong-smelling."
"Okay, whatever works best for you."
Ten minutes later Blair was mentally kicking himself. A backrub with Jim sitting up in a chair would have been the best bet for him. The feel of strong muscles and warm skin slick with oil under his hands had him shifting uncomfortably as his erection grew. It was taking all of his self-control not to strip his own clothing off and rub his body along Jim's. He gasped, trying to stifle a hysterical giggle as he imagined what Jim's response to *that* would be.
Jim lifted his head from his arm and glanced back over his shoulder. "All right back there, Chief?"
Blair drew in a deep breath, trying to regain control. "Fine, man. Just had a weird thought...and a little too much stress lately. Never mind me."
'Right,' Jim thought, turning back to rest his head on his arm again. 'As if I could *not* mind you.' The feel of Blair's hands sliding all over his back and shoulders was about to drive him insane. He groaned silently and pressed his pelvis harder against the floor, trying to relieve some of the pressure from the hard-on he'd developed.
Blair hit a particularly sensitive spot, and Jim groaned out loud. It felt good to make some kind of noise, since he needed to release the tension somehow. God, those hands on his back... He wondered how they'd feel sliding against other parts of his body...and a mental image of Blair rubbing against him as he fucked him silly filled his mind. Oh, man, that was *not* the direction to take. Jim tried to think of sad things, morbid things...*anything*. Nothing helped. All he could see were images of him holding Blair, kissing Blair, stroking Blair...
He realized the hands had stopped, and he frowned against his forearm. Done already? He'd been hoping Blair wouldn't ever stop. He rolled over, intending to ask Blair if he could concentrate on his lower back. Blair had never removed his hands from Jim's slick back, and they followed the movement, coming to rest on Jim's chest, just below the nipples that had hardened already from Jim's thoughts and the touch of Blair's hands.
He glanced at his friend, noting the flushed face and increased breathing and heart rate. He ran his eyes up and down Blair's body quickly, and saw the large bulge covered by too-tight denim. Ass-hugging denim. His own cock throbbed uncomfortably at the sight, and he forced his eyes back up to Blair's face.
Blair had looked down when Jim rolled over, not realizing his hands were going with the motion. When Jim came to a rest he'd glanced down, intending to take a quick peek at the strong abs before moving away. The outline of Jim's hard cock caught his eye, and suddenly the focus of his world shifted. He raised his eyes then to meet Jim's, expecting to see...what? What was he expecting to see? Whatever it was, it wasn't the desire he saw burning there.
Their gazes locked and held for several long moments. Blair allowed his eyes to travel down the length of Jim's body again, lingering on the hard-on that was tenting the sweats his friend wore. His tongue darted out to lick at lips gone suddenly dry, and he watched Jim's eyes dilate further. A rush of heat moved through his system then, and heedless of the potential consequences, Blair gave into his longing and lowered his head to kiss Jim.
Rather than the rejection he expected, Jim's mouth opened willingly under his; a warm tongue slid aside to allow him in, then returned to caress his. Blair shivered at the feelings assailing him, and he shifted his body more onto Jim's to give himself an anchor.
Jim closed his eyes as soon as Blair's lips touched his own, and he gave in to the feelings and desires that had been haunting him for weeks now. His partner's mouth was warm and sweet, and gently demanding on his own, and Jim had never been so thoroughly kissed in his life.
They broke apart panting, bodies desperate for oxygen. No words were exchanged; just hot, charged looks that sent temperatures spiking further. Jim reached for Blair, pulling the soft cotton tee-shirt up over his head. His hands caressed the younger man's chest, combing through the soft curls there. Blair moaned softly at the sensation, and leaned in to kiss Jim once again.
Jim rolled over, pinning Blair beneath him then before holding his head steady for a deep, penetrating kiss. He thrust his tongue into the younger man's mouth hard and fast, at the same time grinding his pelvis against Blair's. Their arms and legs entangled as the kiss deepened further, until they were rubbing against each other frantically, desperate for each other and for release.
Blair twisted his head back, breaking the kiss, his hands scrambling with the waistband of Jim's sweats. The older man growled low in his throat as Blair's hands caressed him while pushing the pants down his hips. He pulled away from those hands and stood to pull the pants off, then knelt beside Blair and reached for his. Blair lifted his hips as Jim slid his jeans off, then pulled him back down, mouth searching for Jim's once again.
The kisses increased in heat and intensity as they began thrusting against each other; hard cocks weeping pre-ejaculate, providing a wet friction. Blair hung on to Jim's shoulders, groaning, when his partner brought one hand up to pinch lightly at nipples already tight and hard from excitement. Jim rolled the tender buds gently between thumb and forefinger, then pulled away from Blair's lips to take a taste. The younger man whimpered as warm lips encircled a sensitive nipple and suckled, sending tendrils of heat shooting through him. A large hand smoothed down his back to cup his ass, drawing him closer to the cock thrusting against his own. A finger probed his cleft, and Blair stiffened, throwing his head back to yell hoarsely as he came in hot spurts on their stomachs.
He pulled frantically at Jim's head, bringing his mouth back up for more kisses. Jim pulled him closer and rubbed hard against his body, the liquid heat from Blair's orgasm providing lubrication for movement. He pushed harder and faster, until his body tensed up and he spent himself with a low groan, body pulsing with the effort.
They lay together in a sweaty tangle on the living room floor, breath coming in harsh pants and heart rates still racing. Jim shifted so he was lying partly on his side, partly on his back. He gathered Blair in close to him, cuddling him into the crook of his arm. The younger man sighed and snuggled in, feeling safe within the circle of Jim's arms. His Sentinel wouldn't allow anything to happen to him, regardless of who wished him harm.
Jim exhaled in a rush as Blair curled into him, hand raising to rest against his chest, just over his heart. He could hear the steady thrum of Blair's heart, and knew his was beating in sync; echoing the rhythm. He began to gently stroke the sweaty curls, enjoying the quiet and the afterglow, content just to lie there with his Guide in his arms.
After a while Blair's breathing slowed and evened out, and Jim knew he was asleep. His own last waking thought was about how good this felt--Blair's arms around him, the warm weight of his Guide's leg pressing against his, the smell of their essences combined. This should ease him into sweet dreams...
Smoke surrounded him, and there were loud voices calling--both to him, and just calling out. He couldn't see very well at all, and his Sentinel abilities didn't seem to be working. Where was he? There was blood all around...blood on his hands, and on the large sword that appeared on the ground in front of him. With shock rippling through his brain he stepped back in horror from the sword, his mouth working in a soundless cry. A gasp of pain alerted him to the presence of another person and he whirled about, eyes widening in shock at the sight of Blair. He didn't look like *his* Blair, but he instinctively knew it was, and reacted accordingly. He held his arms out to him. Blair shook his head no, and spread his hands, showing what had been hidden from his sight at first--a large, bloody, gaping hole in his stomach. Jim fell to his knees then, turning his sight heavenward, pleading silently for someone to help him, let him know what he had to do. He turned back to Blair but the image was gone, just a puddle of blood where he'd stood...
The phone jarred them awake, and two pairs of startled eyes stared into one another's. Jim shook his head, trying to clear the fog from his brain and process why he was lying on the floor, naked, with his arms around Blair.
Blair closed his eyes, then opened them again, not quite believing that he was seeing what he was seeing. He and Jim were naked, lying in each other's arms.
And the phone kept ringing.
Jim untangled his legs from Blair's and rose to grab the phone. His nostrils flared as he caught the lingering scent of their pleasure, with a strong concentration of Blair on him. He snatched the phone up and growled, "Ellison!"
Blair sat up and put his arms around his knees, watching the other man's face grow stern, then grim. His heart sank as he realized there was no way it could be good news--not from Jim's expression, coming at two in the morning. Jim closed his eyes, then snapped them open, the blue startling in the dim light. "All right, Simon. We'll be there as quick as we can. Yeah, I gotta wake Sandburg up. Yeah. See you in a little bit."
Jim broke the connection and turned to look at Blair, unsure of what to say or do. Nothing had changed between them--except that they'd shared some very hot sex--he still didn't know how his friend felt about a relationship with him. Obviously he didn't have a problem with the sex part; the rest remained to be seen.
Blair climbed slowly to his feet. "I know that wasn't good news."
"No." Jim stood by the stairs, watching his--could he call him lover?--Guide. "The Ambassador and his assistant are both dead, as well as both of the ambassador's bodyguards."
Blair sucked his breath in. "What about the CPD guys?"
"No. They're fine." He moved a little closer to Blair. "We need to get dressed and get down there."
Blair nodded, then tipped his head to look at Jim, smoky-blue eyes serious. "We have to talk about this, man."
"I know. But not right now--we don't have time." Jim raised a hand as if to cup Blair's face, instead ran his thumb across a pouty lower lip that was still enticingly kiss-swollen, beckoning to him. "Definitely later." He turned and headed up the stairs.
Blair stood there for a minute watching him, his whole body tingling from just that tiny touch. He sighed and headed down the hallway to the bathroom.
"You know, this getting up in the middle of the night is really getting to be a drag," Blair commented as the Expedition sped down the deserted streets of Cascade.
Conversation between the two of them was a little forced, and he was trying to smooth the way, re-fuse the connections. He hadn't imagined it this way; the two of them dancing around each other. In the fantasies in his head, when he'd permitted himself anything more than a quick jerk-off fantasy, Blair had envisioned them waking up in *bed* together; comfortable with each other, happy, declarations of love from both. Not waking up on a blanket on the living room floor because a backrub got out of control, combined with the 'we-need-to-talk-but-can't-do-it-now' that they were having to deal with. He frowned to himself, and Jim interpreted that as disgust over being awakened in the middle of the night--again.
"Coming from the original bat that sounds pretty funny." Jim concentrated on the street in front of him, trying not to focus on the image of Blair writhing beneath him in pleasure.
"I can stay up working 'til all hours, but waking up is different." Blair's voice shifted on the word 'waking', and Jim felt his stomach clench. If only they'd had the chance to wake up--naturally--in the morning; they might be still lying there now, bodies pressed against each other, arms entwined--
"Jim!"
The panic in Blair's voice jarred him, and he shook his head to clear it. This was getting ridiculous--any deeper concentration, and he'd be zoning out. "What?"
"Man, you almost side-swiped that Escort back there! Pay attention, or let me drive." Blair was so shocked at their near miss his heart was pounding. Jim had nearly driven them into another car! What the hell was he thinking about?
They exited the elevator at penthouse level, and Jim's nose wrinkled in disgust. He'd scented the unique odor of blood the minute he'd walked through the doors of the hotel, and the closer they got to the source the stronger it became. He walked through the open door, swaying as the stench of blood hit him full on.
Blair was at his side in an instant, clutching his arm. "Jim! Are you okay? What's wrong?"
The Sentinel shook his head. "I'm fine. It's the blood..." A flash of his dream came back to him, and he shuddered. Blair tightened his grip for a moment, then let go of Jim's arm.
Jim gently pushed the younger man behind him as they walked further into the room. He knew it was bad; could tell that from the strength of the odor, and wanted to spare his partner as much as possible. "Stay close, Chief. You'll be okay," he whispered.
Simon walked up to them. "Jim. Sandburg. Sorry I had to drag you out of bed." He focused on the detective. "It's not good, Jim. The ME is in there now."
"Show me," Jim's face was set into a determined mask.
The captain glanced at Blair. "Maybe you should stay here, Sandburg. It's pretty messy."
Blair shook his head. "No, Simon. Jim needs me. He's already on edge from the smell--I don't want him zoning."
Jim gave him a look that was at once both amused and grateful, as Simon grunted and led the way.
The crime scene resembled a slaughterhouse. Jim shook his head, knowing yet finding it hard to believe that two bodies could hold so much blood. What the hell had happened here? He moved further into the room and spotted the medical examiner. Behind him he felt Blair clutch at his arm as the younger man got his first good look--and probably smell now, too--at the carnage.
"Oh, *man*," Blair gasped. He clutched at Jim briefly, then turned away, but not before he saw the crude drawing on the wall, done in blood.
Jim touched his arm gently in a sympathetic gesture; then knelt down between the two bodies to speak to the medical examiner who hovered next to them.
"Whatcha got, Cicely?"
The examiner spared him a brief glance before returning to her examination. "Murder weapon was that ceremonial dagger." She pointed to the knife which had already been bagged and labeled. "It was used to slice the ambassador's throat and stab his companion in the stomach. Boussard," she indicated the body with the stomach wound, "was clutching the dagger. Due to the angle of the entry wound, it's safe to say he killed himself."
Jim frowned. "So you're saying that Boussard probably killed El Ka'ab, then killed himself."
"It's a good bet, detective." Cicely picked up Boussard's left hand. "The index finger is bloodied. We think he used it to draw the symbol on the wall with the ambassador's blood. We won't know for sure until we type the blood and match the prints, but it's my opinion."
"Who discovered the bodies?"
Simon answered from his position behind the detective. "DeAngelo and Frasier, when they did their mid-watch tour of the area."
"Did the other team check with the ambassador before leaving?" Jim questioned, trying to pinpoint the time of death.
Simon nodded. "The two men were alone. No one came in or left during those four hours. The bodyguards were on the couch, watching TV, and Boussard and El Ka'ab were both in their rooms. Two hours later we have four DBs."
"It supports the murder/suicide theory," Jim stood up and brushed off his pants. "Damn it! Why do you suppose Boussard did it?"
"Boussard probably didn't feel the same way about Egyptian artifacts as the ambassador did. And you said it yourself before, Jim. Religious fanatics don't need a motive. It looks like he was a member of the cult of Aten, too." Blair's voice shook slightly.
Jim turned to see his Guide leaning against a wall; face pale, eyes closed. "You gonna make it, Chief?" he asked, concern evident in his voice.
"Yeah, man," Blair took a deep breath and opened his eyes. "Just a little hard to take, that's all."
Jim nodded, then looked toward the far wall where the bloody disk-worshipper's symbol had been placed. His eyes narrowed as he considered the connection between this murder and the exhibit, and the danger to his friend. "You're probably right, Chief. Boussard was probably a member. Why else paint the symbol?"
"But why would he kill himself, rather than make a run for it?" Simon had moved from his stoic position by the door to look at the bloody symbol. "That doesn't make any sense."
Blair shook his head. "Well yeah, it does, kind of."
Jim and Simon both turned to stare at him, Jim's eyebrow cocked in cynical curiosity. "Okay, teach, give us your theory."
The younger man shook his head again. "Not mine, Jim. Just a general opinion based on a lot of study of honor-based societies, like the Japanese for a start. You know, like Kamikaze warriors? Making the ultimate sacrifice for god or king--what's more ultimate than your life? It's like, given the choice between killing for your god and getting caught, or killing for your god then killing yourself, the choice becomes simple--death or dishonor."
Jim nodded. "Sound enough argument. But how could he be that close to the ambassador without someone finding him out?"
Blair rolled his eyes. "What, you think the members of the cult advertise? Get real, man. Think like, covert, okay? I doubt Boussard left notes to El Ka'ab telling him the times he was going to his secret cult meetings."
"Okay, Sandburg, you've made your point," Simon broke in. "But isn't it advertising by leaving the symbol for us?"
"Well, sure. But what's he got to lose now? He's dead, so he can't talk--no dishonor there. Just a little message from him to tell us how stupid we all are to have believed him--" Blair closed his mouth abruptly, and Jim threw him a sharp look. He knew his partner was beginning to question his judgment in people--that was twice in just over a week now.
"Take it easy, Chief--we were all fooled by Boussard. El Ka'ab most of all--and look at the price he paid." Jim sighed and looked down at the medical examiner who was busy ignoring them in favor of finishing up her preliminary exam. "Let's see what the forensics reports tell us before we make any definite conclusions. I want to make sure everything is covered."
Simon nodded, gesturing Jim and Blair toward the door to the living area of the penthouse. "There's not much more to do here, Jim. We've got to give our people time to work on this, and it's not like we have a suspect to chase. Why don't you and Sandburg go on home, get some rest, then come in early in the morning. You're gonna need the rest, since this will probably become an international incident. Once the news hits the press, things will become infinitely worse."
Jim gestured around the penthouse, the smell of blood hanging in a heavy cloud around it--around him. "It already has." He sighed heavily, then gestured toward the door with his head. "C'mon, Sandburg. We'll see you in the morning, sir."
Blair exchanged a concerned look with Simon before following his partner out the door.
The truck was parked a short distance away from the hotel entrance, and Blair took the opportunity to inhale deep lungfuls of cool, clean-smelling air in an attempt to wash the smell of blood from his memory. He climbed into the truck and leaned back, eyes closed; waited for Jim to start the engine. When several long minutes passed with nothing happening, Blair opened his eyes to gaze at his friend.
The older man was slumped forward, his head leaning against the steering wheel, arms blocking his face.
Blair reached over and laid a gentle hand on one arm, feeling the tense muscles beneath his fingers. "Jim? What is it? What's wrong?" The Sentinel was silent for so long that Blair thought at first he'd zoned, and hadn't heard him. He opened his mouth to speak again, and Jim's voice cut him off.
"The blood," he whispered, raising his head to look at Blair. "The smell...so much of it...I can't shake it."
Blair's heart flopped over at the anguish he heard in Jim's voice. He snagged Jim's eyes with his own, and held them; tightened his grip reassuringly on the arm he still held. "Take a few deep breaths, man. Open the window if you have to, but *breathe*. Clear your head, and concentrate."
Jim shook his head. "No, you don't understand. I can't shake it. It's too strong. I close my eyes, and all is see is *blood*, staining everything, covering everything. I'm drowning in it, and I can't stop it!" Jim's voice rose on the last note, an edge of hysteria to it.
Blair squeezed Jim's arm again, hoping the contact would help to bring his Sentinel back from the zone-out--since that's what this was rapidly beginning to look like. He took a deep breath to calm himself, then began speaking in a low monotone; words and cadence quiet and soothing. "It's okay, Jim. The blood is gone now. Hear my voice, listen to what it tells you. Take a few deep breaths...that's it, big guy...the blood is gone. There's no more, okay? Breathe again...in, out, that's right..." The young Guide's voice had dropped into a hypnotic rhythm, and he trailed off as Jim began the deep breathing on his own. Blair watched his partner for signs of relaxing, and was happy to feel the muscles under his hand loosen. He breathed out quietly, then began again, "Okay, Jim...a few more breaths, the smell is disappearing now. Notice how everything smells clean again. It's okay to smell again...that's it..."
When he sensed that Jim had recovered from the zone-out, and was now relaxed and more at ease Blair began a shift from hypnotic to cadenced again, drawing Jim back into the sphere of reality. He gave the now-relaxed arm a final squeeze, then sat back in his own space, watching. "You okay, big guy?"
Jim gave him a smile that Blair could only interpret as tender--and relieved. "Yeah...whew," he sighed again as he put the truck into drive. "God... I wouldn't have made it through that without you, Chief. I'm okay now, I think..."
"I'm glad. But I'm curious, too." Blair frowned, the scientist in him taking over, thinking back to the penthouse. "There wasn't any more blood there than some crime scenes we've worked--less than at some, in fact--so why did it bother you so bad? The enclosed area? The fact that this case is like the biggest pain in the ass we've had in a while, and you're totally focused? Outside distractions? Any ideas?"
Jim shook his head, a sense of uneasiness settling over him. Vague snatches of a blood-soaked dream flashed across his vision, and he shook his head to clear it. "I don't know. I can't explain it, but it was like there was this...*cloud* hanging around the scene--I could smell it so clearly I could almost see it. I don't know," he finished in a frustrated tone.
"It's okay, Jim. We're just gonna have to take it easy on the olfactory input for a few days. This is your second zone-out over smell in, what, a couple of weeks. Not good, buddy. Not good."
"I know. God, I know." Jim hesitated, then reached a hand over to lay it on Blair's knee for a minute, giving a brief squeeze before pulling away. "Thanks, Blair."
The younger man's smile was like a ray of sunshine shining down on him.
Tuesday morning, 5/6
Jim growled in disgust as he shifted the piles of paper around on the kitchen table. The lab reports from the ambassador's murder had come in yesterday, and seemed to confirm what they'd all hypothesized at the murder scene.
Fingerprints on the wall were a match to Boussard. Lab analysis of el Ka'ab's body detected minute traces of cyanide poisoning. Careful posthumous examination of the bodies backed up Cicely's initial hypothesis: Boussard had killed the ambassador, then turned the knife on himself. As for why he'd done it, all they had was conjecture; Blair's theory was sound, but without having a live body to back it up, they'd never know for sure.
What was the connection to the strange happenings at the museum and the university, though? Jim had been through the paperwork for both cases so many times now he'd nearly memorized it. He'd tried to concentrate at his desk yesterday, but half-formed images kept coming back to haunt him: he and Blair locked in a passionate embrace, loving each other; then Blair bathed in blood, screaming in agony. Smoke-filled air surrounding him, and the scent of blood hanging over him in a cloud of death. Jim shuddered and shifted the papers again. Even here at home he couldn't completely quell the images--although he was doing a little better than he had yesterday.
The common denominator to all of this was the cult of Aten, but *how* it became the denominator was eluding him. He'd spent most of the morning so far trying to tie Boussard to Sarina and Sethos, but couldn't find the linking piece. They *had* to have been working together toward their common goal--preserving the cult of Aten, and the artifacts connected to it. What Jim wanted--needed--to know was what kind of contact the pair here had had with Boussard, how they connected with each other, and what the next move would be.
Jim pushed the lab reports aside and picked up the file report he'd typed up last night. The search warrant for Sarina's apartment had finally come through, and he'd managed a thorough search yesterday. Blair had had another TA administer his beginning anthro final so he could accompany Jim--fearful enough that the older man would have another zone-out to challenge university policies and skip the last day of classes.
It'd been, in some ways, an enlightening search. They'd turned up a bottle of Tea Rose perfume on her vanity, which, upon examination, had matched the scent he remembered from the museum. They had also found private papers and photographs that indicated that Sarina's father was of Egyptian descent. The man in question had been a history professor at Oxford University for a number of years, before retiring recently.
Jim tapped the report against the table, knowing there was something in it that could connect everything. He read through it again, trying to figure it out. Oxford. What was it...something Blair had said...Keb Boussard had *attended* *Oxford*. He pulled out the dossiers on the now-deceased Egyptian ambassador and advisor, and began scanning Boussard's, eyes lighting up at the confirmation. Boussard had attended the distinguished university at the same time Sarina's father had been a professor there. Both men had been active in Egyptian politics, and very vocal about their feelings on policies and religious matters. Boussard's degree was in political science; Professor Collins was a history teacher. Given the circles they attended, it was likely they knew each other. Jim wasn't sure what the actual connection was between Sarina's father, Boussard and Sethos, and the role Sarina played in the connection, but he figured it would surface soon. Certainly the groundwork had been laid for Sarina to have exposure to the cult of Aten...and the fact that she was still absent was highly damning.
Jim groaned silently when he realized that he was going to have to share this information with Blair. The kid had gone to a lot of trouble to arrange to go with him yesterday, and Jim was going to slap him in the face with the results of it.
As if responding to the unspoken thoughts about him, the door to the small room where Blair slept opened, and his Guide strolled out, backpack slung over his shoulder.
"Hey, man. I gotta run--but I'll be back in time to fix dinner." Blair smiled at Jim; a tentative smile that suddenly turned seductive. "We still need to talk, big guy. Wanna set aside a block of time tonight?"
Jim nodded, the smile doing odd things to his pulse and his breathing. He began to return the smile when Blair's words sank in. "Where're you going?"
"Don't you remember? I told you yesterday--I've got some last minute stuff to do for the exhibit. Mostly PR stuff, but a few things still need to be arranged. And since Sarina hasn't been around..." Blair's voice trailed off, and he shrugged. "Anyway, murders notwithstanding, I've got a shitload of work waiting to be done, and now I have finals to grade as well." There was a pause, then Blair looked at Jim, a frown on his face. "You're not going to give me trouble over this, are you? We *did* discuss it--you said it was okay since there're armed guards there now."
"No... no problem. I remember what I said. And yeah, as far as talking...I agree. We shouldn't put it off any longer." Jim's stomach flipped over thinking about *why* they had to talk, and he rose from the table and headed for Blair, who was standing by the door.
The younger man turned questioningly when Jim laid a hand on his shoulder. The desire--and something else--shining in Jim's eyes took his breath away, and Blair opened his mouth to speak. Jim lowered his head and captured that mouth, like he'd been aching to do for nearly two days now, thrusting his tongue deep inside the moist cavern. He held Blair tightly, and kissed him until both of them needed to breathe or risk passing out. Then Jim pulled away, the whisper of a caress traced along Blair's cheek.
"Be careful," the bigger man said softly, watching his Guide.
Blair nodded mutely and left the loft.
Oh, my God. Oh. My. God. *Oh* *My* *God*. Blair leaned against the Corvair, his lips still tingling--hell, his whole *body* still tingling--from that kiss. What the hell was up with that? What was up with Jim, come to that. He shivered at the thought of there being any kind of chance that his Sentinel had feelings for him--beyond friendship. 'Gods, please. I don't ask very often...but you know this man and I belong together. Please...'
Impromptu prayer over with, Blair put himself into hustle-mode. He was already running late, and there were too many things he needed to accomplish today to risk running any later. Not if he wanted to get home early so he and Jim could talk. Another shiver tripped up and down his nervous system at that thought, and Blair grinned. It was gonna be a good day.
Jim sat back down at the table, retrieving the papers he'd pushed out of his way when he'd stood up. He picked up the report he'd been studying, and began reading it for the third or fourth time, looking for that elusive something that could tie all the pieces together.
The phone rang a little while later, startling him out of possible theories. "Ellison," he answered, absently scanning the sheets in front of him.
Simon's voice on the other end pulled him to full alert with his words. "Jim, we just got a report in from campus security over at Rainier. There's a group of protestors--probably triple the number from yesterday--and they're more hostile than the others have been."
Jim felt his heart leap into his throat. "Shit. Sandburg just left for there maybe half an hour ago. Damn it, I *knew* this would happen when they got wind of the ambassador's murder. Damned exhibit..." Jim let his voice trail off.
"Jim?"
"Yeah, sorry. Look, Simon, I gotta warn Blair. Meet you over there in about fifteen?"
"Sounds good."
Jim broke the connection with Simon, then dialed Sandburg's cell phone. The phone rang in Blair's bedroom, where he'd left it when he repacked his backpack that morning.
Smothering a curse, the Sentinel hung up the phone and reached for his holster, hands suddenly shaking at the potential danger facing his Guide.
"Simon!" Jim spotted his captain as he jogged the short distance from the parking area to where the protestors had been virtually camped out in front of the Anthropology building. He could see roughly twenty protestors milling about, signs bobbing in the air. They looked peaceful enough for the moment, but there was definitely an undercurrent of hostility that hadn't been present before now.
Simon turned away from the man he was speaking with and addressed his detective. "Jim." He nodded to the man, and turned back again. This is Captain Jerome Wylie. He's in charge of campus security. Wylie, Jim Ellison, one of my senior detectives."
"Nice to meet you, Detective," Wylie stuck his hand out and Jim grasped it.
"Likewise. What's the situation here?" Jim indicated the protestors with a nod of his head.
Wylie brushed at his buzz cut and grimaced. "Your captain told me that you're in charge of the security for that thrice-damned exhibit, so I figured you'd want to know that things are on the verge of getting ugly here."
Jim nodded, smiling slightly. 'Thrice-damned? Blair's gonna love to hear *that*.' "They look pretty quiet to me," he said cautiously.
"Yeah, but I got this, this morning, too." Wylie handed Jim a note, and the other man felt his heart sink as he opened it and scanned the words. It warned that 'those who persist in desecration earn eternal wrath and damnation, and to expect more in the way of retribution.'
"Expect more? More of what?" Jim felt a weariness toward the whole thing sweep through him, and he turned toward the building, half expecting to see it blow up in front of him.
The answer to his question came in the form of a shout, then a scream. Jim whirled around in time to see a protestor slam his sign on top of the head of one of the campus policemen. That had been the signal, and pandemonium broke loose as fists began to fly.
Jim stepped forward to try and calm the crowd when a flash of yellow caught his eye. He turned and followed the movement, and saw Sarina Collins enter the anthropology building. His heart stopped for a moment as an icy fist of fear clenched around it. Shit! Blair was in there. "Simon! Sarina Collins just entered the building--I'm going after her. Sandburg's in there," he finished, when it looked like Simon was going to protest.
Without waiting for a reply, Jim began shoving his way through the protestors, running toward the entrance of the building. He hesitated only briefly before *knowing* that Blair would be in the exhibit hall, and headed for the closest access: the outside doors.
He paused in the entryway when his sentinel hearing caught whisper-faint voices.
"So you dare challenge the authority of the Aten? Who do you think you are? You're nobody--a miserable peasant in the eyes of my God. You're not strong enough to challenge *me*, much less the God Amen-hetep."
"Amen-hetep wasn't a god; he was a man just like you and me, Sethos," Blair shot back, and Jim could hear the anger and uncertainty in his voice.
"Ah, so you know who I am," the dangerous voice continued. "That's good. I like for my sacrifices to know who set them free of the physical bonds of life; who committed them to the God with a knife stroke."
The last few words set Jim running to the entry doors in a near-mindless panic, horror sweeping through him. He could still hear the last syllables of Sethos' speech hissing through the quiet when he reached the double doors and pushed through, taking care not to let the door bang shut.
Shock and impotence flash through him as he realized his mistake; in coming through the outer doors, he was at the end of the hall--Blair and Sethos were hundreds of feet in front of him, with cases of artifacts in between, creating a maze--much too far to neutralize the threat to Blair without warning the terrorist in advance. He pulled his gun from its holster, and ducked behind an exhibit case, not wanting Sethos to see him before he could reach the man.
His Guide was facing partially toward him, staring the other man down, defiance written all over his stance. Jim could almost feel the waves of anger coming off Blair, directed toward the former priest-turned-terrorist.
"You'd better leave, Sethos," Blair was saying. "The guards will be here any minute. I don't care if you worship to Amen-hetep, just get the fuck out of my life to do it." The anthropologist hadn't noticed Jim's entrance.
Sethos laughed, a harsh, ugly sound. "There won't be any guards or police, pretty boy. They're too busy with the protestors. It's just you and I, and a ritual that needs finishing." The terrorist punctuated his statement with several menacing steps forward, and Blair began moving--further away, Jim noted with rising concern.
"You set the protestors up." Blair suddenly realized what was going on. "You've been behind the protest movement all along."
"Partially. Some of them are here because they really are protesting the exhibit--but most of them I hired, to cause a distraction."
Blair shook his head. "You won't get away with it, man. I have a good friend who's a cop--he'll hunt you to the ends of the earth if anything happens to me."
Another harsh sound, masquerading as a laugh. "You mean Ellison, right? He's not a threat to me." Sethos took a few more steps, and Blair moved backward to keep the distance between them.
Jim could hear Blair's heart thundering in his chest, and began to stealthily pick his was forward, maintaining his cover behind the cases scattered throughout the room.
"He's more of a threat than you're giving him credit for."
"Nothing can--"
Sethos didn't get to finish whatever it was he was going to say, because at that moment the noise of a door banging shut reverberated through the hushed room. Blair caught movement out of the corner of his eye, and twisted slightly to see Sarina coming around the partition that was part of the Culloden tableau.
Sethos took that opportunity to draw his dagger and advance on Blair, whose attention was now divided.
Jim saw Sarina come from behind the partition, and cursed himself for his stupidity. He should have placed a guard on that door the minute he found it Sunday. A flash of light spiraling off the ceiling caught his eye, and he pulled his attention back to Sethos who had drawn a dagger--Christ, it was like the ceremonial dagger Boussard had killed El Ka'ab with--and was now moving toward Blair. Shit! He ducked out from behind the case, gun already cocked and ready.
"Sethos! Freeze!"
Sethos ignored him, and reached for Blair, who darted away from him.
Sarina grabbed the bayonet from the display.
Ellison ran full tilt toward the three figures, watching as if in slow motion. Blair whipped his head between the two armed people, then swung his gaze forward to connect with Jim's.
Jim had a sudden flash from his dream a couple nights before of his Guide standing before him, bleeding from a fatal wound to the stomach.
Sethos lunged for Blair, dagger flashing.
The detective dropped to one knee and aimed, squeezing the trigger a split second after.
Sarina moved toward Blair, the bayonet arcing.
Jim saw the movement and swung the gun around, just as his finger completed the squeezing motion.
She jabbed Blair sharply in the stomach just a few seconds before the bullets impacted, crying out, "You should have loved me...you should have...I could have made you happy..."
Three bullets found their mark, slamming Sarina backward, blood rushing from the wounds in her chest.
"No! BLAIR!" Jim's shout was a roar of fury and fear as he ran the remaining distance to his partner.
Sethos ran past Jim, fleeing through the double doors.
Jim noted his departure in a distant portion of his brain, but his entire focus was on Blair.
The young man looked up at him in confusion, hands clutching at the wound in his mid-section. Dazedly he fell to his knees, a whimper rising from him. He held his hands out, red with blood, and Jim felt the dream he'd had a few days ago crash into him.
"Jim," Blair whispered, the sound harsh in the silence. "The blood...I'm sorry, I tried..." He slumped forward into Jim's waiting arms.
Jim clutched his partner to him, trying to send him his own strength. He looked around wildly when he realized that Sethos had indeed disappeared during the confusion.
"JIM!" Simon's voice carried across the great room. Jim raised his eyes from Blair's face to see his captain and a dozen armed men running toward him.
"Simon--we need an ambulance. Blair's hurt." Jim looked back down at the younger man cradled in his arms; blood turning both their clothing red. "Hang on, buddy. Be strong, you can do it..."
Dimly, as background noise, Jim heard Simon shouting commands to the uniforms, calling for the EMTs. He tuned most of it out, focusing his attention on the man he held against his chest. He placed his own hands over the wound, trying to contain the lifeforce that had become more precious to him than his own existence. He rocked them slowly, trying to calm himself as much as impart strength to Blair. He whispered to Blair, trying to focus so he didn't zone out. "Please, Chief... You can't leave me, Blair--I just found you. Keep breathing, baby, keep working...I know it hurts," Jim paused and flinched when Blair whimpered, a small cry of pain escaping the pale lips. "I know it hurts, but focus on me...listen to my voice, okay? I'm here with you..."
A very brief nod told him Blair was listening, and Jim tightened his arms around him.
The hypnotic quality of his voice calmed both men, and put Jim into a light trance-like state. He heard no one, saw no one, was aware of nothing other than Blair; wasn't aware when the medics arrived. He was shocked back into awareness when one of the medics reached to pull Blair from Jim's arms.
"No!"
"Jim," Blair whispered weakly. His stomach felt like it was on fire, and the heat was rising; racing through his veins, consuming him. It was an effort to speak, to remain conscious, but he was going to do his best for Jim's sake. "Jim, come on... No...Ungh..." he gasped as a another wave of pain washed over him. He tugged at the hands covering his wound with what little strength remained, aware on some level that Simon had knelt next to them, and was trying as well to disengage Jim. "Jim, don't...zone. I'll...be okay. We'll work...through this... Not alone...anymore...Jim, c'mon..."
Blair was gasping with the effort by the time his words sank in and reached the Sentinel.
Jim looked around as he realized where he was and what was happening. He glanced down at the man he held in his embrace. "Blair?" he questioned in a harsh whisper.
The younger man managed a weak smile. "Glad you're back with us, buddy..." he rasped before closing his eyes.
"Jim," Simon placed a hand on the Sentinel's shoulder. "He needs medical attention. The medics need to get him transported. You have to let go, and let them do their job."
'Never,' Jim thought fiercely. 'I'll never let you go, Chief.' He stood up with Blair cradled against him, then laid the man gently onto the stretcher, never letting go of his hand.
'Never,' he thought again as he followed the stretcher and EMTs to the ambulance and climbed in for the ride to hospital.
Chapter 9
Tuesday afternoon, 5/6
The ambulance hit a pothole and Blair groaned as he was jostled slightly. Jim tightened his grip on the clammy hand held in his, and whispered, "Hang on, Blair--we're almost there."
The fingers squeezed back, and a pair of startlingly blue eyes opened to stare at him. "Hurts," Blair said quietly, in a plaintive tone.
Jim smoothed sweaty curls back from the pale face. "I know, Chief. We're almost to the hospital...just hold on, okay? I'm here for you. Squeeze as hard as you need to."
Blair nodded and closed his eyes against the next wave of pain. Flashing through his mind were images of past lives: Ky, Bran and Andrew. He *wasn't* going to die this time, dammit! Jim loved him, he could sense it. Had known it for, well, days now. You just didn't end up on the floor kissing and touching someone you didn't care about, and definitely didn't just randomly kiss someone goodbye the way Jim had kissed him this morning. Oh, god...just this morning? So much had happened...so much pain and betrayal; he groaned low in his throat, and Jim leaned over him again.
"Blair?"
He shook his head, not ready to talk. All he could see now was Sarina's shocked face, and the look in her eyes as she stumbled forward, most likely dead before she hit the floor. He felt a tear slide down his face at the thought of the wasted life.
"Blair...what is it? Do you need something?"
"Sarina..." he managed to gasp, his stomach clenching involuntarily and sending tremors of pain shooting through him.
"What about her?" Jim's lips tightened. What a little bitch! It wasn't enough that she had to go and resurrect the hideous cult; she had to try and murder Blair--someone she'd cared about, called friend--on top of it. His free hand shook slightly, and he clenched it.
"Is she...dead?"
Jim took a deep breath. "Yeah. I'm sorry, Chief. It was her, or you...and I couldn't let it be you."
"Don't be sorry, Jim," was the raspy whisper. "Don't be sorry."
Blair closed his eyes and lay back again on the stretcher. Jim watched him, an incredible feeling of tenderness flowing through him; tempered by a fierceness that took him by surprise. All he could remember now of the whole incident was the fury that overtook him when he watched the bayonet raise to pierce Blair. No! He'd lost him enough...
Huh? Where'd *that* thought come from?
"Heads up, Detective. We're here," one of the EMTs called from the front of the ambulance.
Jim left that thought alone and focused on the flurry of activity that was taking place now to transport his partner from the ambulance to the emergency room. He followed alongside the gurney, still hanging on to Blair's hand.
They stopped outside a treatment room, and tall young man dressed in green surgical scrubs placed a hand against Jim's chest, stopping him. "I'm sorry, but you're not allowed in with him."
"That's my partner, doc--"
"I'm sorry, sir. Hospital policy."
Jim looked down when he felt a squeeze on his hand. He leaned in close to Blair and heard him whisper, "Give it up, big guy, and let 'em fix me up, okay? I'm not going anywhere--we still have to have that talk."
Jim closed his eyes briefly before returning the squeeze and nodding.
Blair squeezed one more time, then whispered very low so only sentinel ears could hear, "I love you, Jim." Then his hand slipped from Jim's, and he was gone, moved into the triage room.
Jim stood outside the room, listening to the doctors and nurses moving around Blair, issuing orders and giving information. His mind whirled with the last words Blair had said to him; 'I love you', rang over and over, echoed by his own heart. "I love you too, Blair."
He stumbled to a chair in the waiting area just beyond the treatment rooms and buried his head in his hands, shaking with the effort to control himself.
A seemingly endless time later, although he learned afterward it hadn't been more than half an hour, a doctor--the same one who'd refused him entry--came to talk to him, shaking his shoulder gently to get his attention when it couldn't be gained in the conventional manner.
Ellison focused on the doctor, positive that they'd come to tell him Blair was dead. "Yeah?"
"I'm Doctor McCann. You Detective Ellison?" At Jim's nod the man continued, "Mr. Sandburg's injury is serious, but not potentially life-threatening. He needs surgery to repair the damage--there is some internal bleeding--but the entry point of the wound is well away from internal organs. Well, we believe his large intestine has been nicked, but nothing was perforated."
"Can I see him now?" Jim's heart was beating triple-time at the thought of Blair having surgery.
"Not now, I'm sorry. He's already being prepped for surgery; in fact, they should be starting shortly. He signed the permission forms for us, although he did say you're his emergency contact?"
"Yeah." Jim sighed loudly. "How long for the surgery?"
"Let me introduce you to the surgeon, and you can talk to him about it."
"That'd be good. And can you have one of the nurses keep an eye out for my captain? Simon Banks--big, tall, African-American guy, wears glasses. He should be here shortly."
"Yeah, I'll have the admissions desk keep a watch for him. Come on, and I'll introduce you to the surgeon."
"Jim?"
Ellison started from his light doze, and looked around in a panic. He settled down when he saw Simon standing in the doorway to the tiny waiting room.
"How's the kid?" his captain continued, sitting down across from him.
"In surgery," Jim said shortly. "Jesus, Simon--she *stabbed* him. I can't believe she stabbed him." He looked down at his hands, then back up at his friend. "Did you get Sethos?"
Simon shook his head. "We've got the airport covered, and the ports, and all major routes in and out of the city, but, Jim...the man's an international terrorist. Interpol's been trying for years to get him. We may never catch him."
Jim growled, "He's scum, and he'll get caught one of these days. Maybe just not by us."
"You're probably right. Now tell me what's going on with Sandburg. You said he's in surgery?"
Jim nodded and rubbed a hand absently over his face. He needed to shave--hadn't done it that morning, hadn't figured on going out. Dammit! He should be at home right now, getting ready to have that talk with Blair. 'I love you,' he heard again, and turned to look behind him. It sounded so *close*.
"Jim?"
He focused back on his captain. "Sorry, Simon. Just gathering my thoughts. Yeah, Blair's in surgery--he has a nicked large intestine, and a lot of what they call 'bleeders', little blood vessels and whatnot, to tie off. The surgeon said four to six hours; it's been a little over one. Prognosis is good--it's not a life-threatening wound."
"Why don't you go home and get cleaned up, then? If it's going to be a while...Christ Almighty, man, you look like hell," Simon asserted when Jim continued to shake his head.
"I can't leave yet, Simon. I need to be here, in case--" he broke off, unable to make himself form the words. 'If thought be deed,' he remembered his mother saying when he was small. 'No, I'm not going to think it, because if I don't think it, it can't happen.'
"Jim," his captain began in a gentle voice, "what's going on here? I know you like the kid and all, but..."
Jim jerked his head up and stared at the other man. "Nothing's going on, sir. I just need to be here. When he's out of surgery, I'll go home. Not before then." He gestured to himself--dirty, unshaven, with blood-stained clothing--and smiled ruefully. "I realize I'd scare the hell out of anyone I met right now. But I'm not looking to win any beauty contests at the moment, either."
Simon nodded and stood up. "I'm gonna get some coffee. Want some?"
Jim shook his head. "I'm too wired already. Thanks, though."
Banks smiled at Jim and left the room, leaving the detective alone again with his thoughts. Jim sighed and leaned his head back against the wall, deciding that some sleep might not be a bad thing right now.
Ian woke in the pale, thin light of early morning, with a deep sense of foreboding in his heart. Something was wrong here--something was going to happen.
He rolled over and propped himself onto his elbow to gaze down at the face of the person he loved more than life itself-his lover, Ky.
Oh, he knew it was wrong to love another man--in fact, many said that those who did were bound to go straight to hell, but he and Ky laughed and said that at least they'd be there together. Still, he couldn't suppress a private shudder at the thought of being damned to an eternity of hell just because the person he loved--who loved him back in return--was a man, same as he. It wasn't fair, it wasn't right...and therefore they didn't tell a soul.
Ky had begged him once or twice to go away; maybe they could find somewhere where they could be together, openly, freely, without prejudice marring the beauty of what they had between them. He'd said no, it was wrong to skulk off like that.
He ran a hand down the smooth, muscled chest before him, and Ky twitched in his sleep. It would be full dawn soon, and they'd have to rise and part. He wanted to love Ky one last time before then, to have something sweet to take into battle. He moved closer to the sleeping man and began gently kissing him, lips moving in slow, seductive circles around Ky's face, tongue tracing the outline of Ky's mouth, until it opened beneath his with a sleepy groan from its owner.
"Ian..."
"Mo cridh," Ian muttered as he placed tiny kisses across Ky's brow, moving downward, kissing every inch of skin. He ran a hand down Ky's body, and felt the other man arch into his touch. "I love ye, Ky MacKenzie. Ne'er forget, d'ye hear? I love ye."
"Aye, I...l-love ye too, Ian. Oh-h-h!"
Ian smiled against Ky's chest as he took first the right, then left nipple into his mouth, sucking until the flat nubs were standing up stiff, begging for further attention. Ky's hands threaded their way into his long hair, and held Ian prisoner against the broad chest. Ky's moans were continuous now, and his body was undulating against Ian's.
"That's it, love...aye, I make ye feel good, don't I?" Ian moved further down Ky's body, loving every inch of it with lips, tongue, teeth and fingers. The bigger man shook beneath him with want and need, begging softly for the release that Ian could give him.
"Ian, please...I need ye, mi dhu. Come in to me...take me..."
His lover was gasping and trembling beneath him, and Ian didn't want to wait any longer, didn't want to tease. He spat into his hand several times and coated his cock, then spooned up behind Ky, entering him slowly.
Ian gasped as Ky's body stretched around him to accommodate, then slowly tightened again. He was engulfed in the hot channel, deep inside his lover. They were joined physically now as they were joined spiritually always. He grasped Ky's hand, twining their fingers together, and began to gently move within him, loving him.
They shuddered through their release together, then lay there, panting and shaking. Ian raised a hand and smoothed Ky's golden curls from his forehead. "I love ye, mo cridh. Ye're everything to me, ye know."
"Aye, Ian. Ye're my life, mi dhu. Mine forever, through eternity."
Ian smiled at the thought, then moved away from Ky. "We've got to hurry, love. Himself will be doing roll call soon. We canna be late." He stood and headed for the tree not far from the little hole they'd slept and loved in, feeling Ky's eyes on him the whole way.
Jim opened his eyes, startled, looking around. What the hell was that? Had he been dreaming, or imagining it? His body had certainly thought it was real, and reacted accordingly; he was hard and aching, with an ache in his heart as well at the tenderness he'd seen between the two men. He glanced across the tiny room and was startled to note that it had been only an hour or so since he'd closed his eyes--it seemed as though much more time had passed. Simon was sitting across from him, an open magazine on his lap, eyes closed tightly. Jim sighed. It had been a long couple of months for both of them. For all of them. He opened up his hearing and concentrated, listening for Blair's heartbeat. He thought he heard it, swooshing reassuringly, if oddly--probably the anesthesia.
Suddenly filled with nervous energy, Jim bounded from the chair and began pacing. Five steps to the right, turn; five steps back, turn again. He moved back and forth, listening as best he could for the reassuring sound of his Guide's heart, and puzzling over the dream--or whatever--he'd had. Those men were hauntingly familiar--especially the one called Ky. For some reason, Ky reminded him a lot of Blair. Not physically--Ky was even bigger than he was. No, it was the inner-self...the same calm, quiet...*ancient*...spirit that he knew today. Today? Didn't he mean now? Or just at all? Jim shook his head and sat back down. He'd try napping again. They still had about three hours to go.
"Ky! No!" He charged the soldier, now standing over his friend, who was kneeling and clutching his stomach. "Ye murderin' bastard--" He knocked the soldier to the ground, pulled his head back by his hair and drew his dirk across the soldier's throat. The soldier was dead before his head hit the ground. Ian turned around and knelt beside the wounded man. "Oh, god, Ky..." He clutched his friend around the shoulders. "How bad is it, mo cridh?"
"Bad," Ky gasped out. "I dinna think I can walk, Ian." He brought his hands away from his stomach, and Ian's mouth gaped in disbelief at the blood he saw there. So much of it. Ian could feel Ky's trembling in his protective embrace.
"We need to get awa' from here. I hae to lay ye down to look at ye." He stood up and looked around. "There's a small hollow just a bit away, but I'm goin' to need yer help, Ky--I canna carry ye alone, ye're too big. Can ye help me?"
Ky groaned as Ian helped him shift into a standing position. "I'll...try...ahhhhhh." He ended the short reply with a hiss when Ian brushed his hand against the wound. "Christ, man! Dinna touch it!"
"Och, sorry--I need to bind ye up, though, Ky. Ye're bleedin' something fierce."
"Aye--but we havena got time. Let's get goin'. I'll do for now." Ky wobbled, and Ian put the larger man's arm over his shoulders, supporting his weight, holding him up with an arm around his waist. They managed maybe a dozen steps or so before Ky's legs gave out, and they both tumbled to the ground. Ian watched Ky curl into a fetal position, as if trying to block out the pain.
"Ky? Hold on, mo cridh. I just have to think..." Ian broke off, looking around at the battle and carnage surrounding them.
"Ian." Ky's voice, tense with pain, broke into his thoughts. "It's no use, mi dhu, I'm dyin'. Gie up, man, and get yerself gone from here."
"No! I'm no goin' to leave ye alone, Ky." He grabbed Ky under the arms and began dragging him. How could Ky think he'd just go and leave him? Ky hissed with the pain but made no other sounds. He dragged him over to the tree he'd seen and into the hollow where they were slightly sheltered. Ian looked down when Ky touched his arm and saw the pain reflected in the brilliant green eyes. He gazed into those eyes, seeing the silent entreaty there.
"Ian. Listen to me, mi dhu. I'm dyin'--there's nothing goin' to save me now. Ye need to leave. Don't let them catch ye." Ky stumbled over the words, his breath coming in little gasps now.
Ian swallowed, trying to hold back a sob. He'd be brave for his lover, or die himself for trying. "Ye're no dyin', mo cridh. Ye can't die. What in hell will I do wi'out ye? I love ye, Ky...dinna leave me, please!" Ian couldn't hold the sobs in any longer, and bent his head to the wounded man's chest, crying against him.
Ky brought his arms up around the slighter man and held him lightly. Ian could feel the gentle fingertips stroking his hair, and heard the softly murmured words, "Shhh...dinna fash, love. Ye'll manage without me. It wasna meant for us to be together in this life. We hae to accept that."
He brought his head up to look at Ky, grey eyes cloudy with tears. "What d'ye mean, 'no meant for us to be together in this life'? What other is there?"
Ky shook his head. "I love ye, mi dhu. I'll love ye forever--ye're my heart, soul, breath and life."
Tears flooded his eyes again and he snuffled, trying to bring it under control. Ky's voice sounded noticeably weaker now, and his skin under Ian's hands felt cold and clammy. Ky was dying...it was just a matter of minutes now. Ian bent his head to Ky's and gently kissed him. "An' I love ye, Kythe Cameron MacKenzie. Ye've only been my lover for a few months, but they were the best months of my life. And the years ye've been my friend..." he broke off, determined not to cry again.
Ian shifted them around, so that Ky's head and shoulders lay in his lap, and he could hold him a little easier. Ky's breathing was becoming more labored and irregular, and there were pauses now and again between breaths where there'd not been before. His lips were beginning to take on a bluish tinge, and under his hand the beating heart that was so dear to him began to falter.
Ian held him for what seemed like hours, although he knew realistically it wasn't that long. When he closed his eyes and concentrated, he could almost imagine that they'd just made love and he was simply holding Ky, waiting for sleep to claim them like so many times before. Ian choked back a quiet sob, not wanting to disturb his lover. There would be plenty of time to cry later; this would be his last chance to hold Ky, quietly loving him.
Ky shifted minutely, and a faint groan fell from his lips. Ian watched his mouth open, and leaned in closer to hear the weak voice.
"I love ye, Ian Patrick MacKenzie. Now, forever, for always. We'll be together again...We're meant to be. I promise ye, mi dhu--I'll forever watch for ye, and I will find ye again, no matter how many years or lifetimes it takes."
"Oh, god, Ky...please...I canna bear it...dinna leave me...take me wi' ye..." Ian could feel the wave of pain building in his chest; it was as if someone was cutting his heart out.
"Ye're no meant to go yet, Ian. I hae to do this alone--as ye're meant to go on your journey alone. Now kiss me again, mi dhu...send me on my way wi' the taste of ye on my lips."
Ian complied, bending to kiss Ky, his tears mingling with the kiss, wetting their lips. He pulled away from Ky to find the other man staring sightlessly up at the sky, the life gone from his body.
He stared for a long moment, just looking at Ky's lifeless body. Sobs racked him then, great heart-wrenching sobs that spoke of deep grief. He gathered Ky to his chest and sat there, rocking back and forth, mindless of the carnage around him...
Jim's eyes flew open with a gasp and a half-stifled cry, startling Simon who'd been dozing.
"Jim? You okay, man?"
Jim shook his head, then answered, "Yeah, I guess so. Weird dream though..." *Weird* didn't even *begin* to describe it! "Guess I'm just too wired to sleep well. I'm gonna go walk around for a few minutes."
Simon nodded, and the detective left the room, hearing behind him the sounds of his captain settling back into his nap.
'What the *hell* was that? Has Blair's past lives shit been fermenting in my brain, or what? It felt so *real* though...I was there. That was me holding Ky, watching him die, feeling the pain. Oh, god, that was me holding *Blair*, watching him die.' Jim jerked to a stop, and raised his hands in front of his face. He'd washed them--several times--since arriving at the hospital, but in his mind's eye he could see another man, smaller than he, hands covered in blood from a lover's stomach wound--*just like the one Blair had now*. Made by the same weapon.
Ellison shuddered and leaned against the wall for support as his knees weakened, threatening to spill him to the floor.
As he stood there shaking, scared to death of the implications of that dream and those thoughts, more images flashed in front of his eyes. They moved at rapid-fire speed--too fast to really comprehend as more than pictures--but enough to glean an understanding of sorts. He saw a tall, golden man struggling in the grasp of soldiers, watching another man--this one younger--gasp in pain as a sword was driven into his belly. Another image of rolling around in the wet grass of a long-since gone glade, trees blowing gently in the spring breeze; that same young man straddling him--him?--and bending to kiss him. More images of Civil War uniforms and a young man falling in front of him as he stabbed the bayonet into him from behind. The fallen man bore the face of the one he loved, and he sank to his knees crying because he'd never said it, and now his friend was dying...
And Jim Ellison sank to his knees, there in the Cascade Mercy Hospital, crying for the men that he, as other men in other lives, had loved and lost.
Simon found him sitting on a bench in the hallway, thirty feet from the waiting room, dried tear tracks evident on his face.
He allowed himself to be tugged to his feet and escorted back to the waiting room where Simon sat him down.
"Want to tell me what's going on?"
Jim shook his head. He didn't even truly understand it himself. How would he explain it to anyone else? There did seem to be one important thing though, he knew it in the depths of his soul and it was necessary that he say it. "I love him, Simon."
"Who? Sandburg?" Bank's face was blank with shock, his voice carefully controlled.
"Yes."
"Are you sure of what you're saying, Jim? Do you *know* what you're saying?"
The detective raised a hand to wipe at his eyes. They hurt now from crying. "Yes, I know what I'm saying. Believe me, it's not easy." He paused, then added softly, too low for Simon to hear, "I should know."
Simon sat stiffly next to him and Jim shook his head inwardly. This would likely get harder before it got easier, but he had to do it. That was why they'd been parted so many times before; he'd been unable to admit--to anyone other than his lover-that he loved him.
Too much had passed between Jim Ellison and Simon Banks for the older man to pass judgment on his friend, and Jim sagged with relief when he felt Simon's hand on his shoulder in a comforting gesture.
"Thank you," Jim said softly.
"Want to talk about it?"
"I don't think I can, coherently, Simon. There's so much jumbled in my mind right now, and over everything is a fear for...Blair. Can I have a raincheck?"
"Anytime, Jim." The bigger man stood and stretched before continuing, "I need to eat something. Want to come with me to the cafeteria?"
Jim shook his head. "I need to stay here."
"Want me to bring you back something?"
"No, thanks."
"Jim--you can't shut down."
"I'm not shutting down; merely waiting. When Blair's out of surgery and safe, then I'll go home and clean up, eat, and probably pass out from exhaustion. Not until then."
Simon sighed. "No arguing with you when you're in this frame of mind, is there?"
"No, sir."
"Fine. I'll be back in a little while."
Jim nodded