Control Issues
Rated ADULT
Angst Ahead!

Chapters 21-25
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TWENTY ONE
***
"Home sweet home," Blair said as he unlocked the loft's door. "Oh god. The takeout food," he immediately apologized. The loft smelled of sour Chinese noodles, probably because he'd dumped some in the trash on Saturday planning to take it to the curb that night. Instead, here they were on Wednesday morning.

"God, Sandburg, whose body did you hide in here?" Jim complained, his voice strained, and Blair flinched. Yeah, great guardian he was turning out to be.

"Let me just take the garbage out," he hurried to offer. "In fact, I'm taking the whole garbage can out. We can buy a new one."

"You can buy a new one. It's your place," Jim corrected him as he headed for the windows, pushing them open to let in a fresh breeze. Blair didn't answer. If he did, he'd feel the need to snap at Jim about the fact that it was their place now, but Jim was too busy being a standoffish asshole to care. Instead Blair grabbed the garbage can from under the sink and headed back out the door.

"Sentinel-safe air freshener's by the sink," he called before he slammed the door shut. Rather than wait for the elevator, Blair trotted down the three flights and chucked the garbage in the dumpster, plastic bin and all. Damn it. He still had his shit in the Sentinel-safe room too. Well, there was one more excuse for Jim to look at him like he was some sort of screw up.

Blair leaned against the building. Who was he kidding? Jim didn't look at him like a screw up; Jim looked at him like a jailer. Even worse, Blair felt like one. Taking a deep breath, Blair tried to push aside thoughts of the Zimbardo experiment where normal college students got a nice push toward sadism just because they played guards in an experiment on prison life and got a little too addicted to the power.

Funny, the system was supposed to prevent the guardian from feeling powerful or feeling like a jailer. After all, the judge and the social worker and the laws that protected Sentinel rights all limited the guardian's authority. And most of the time, a Sentinel's requests carried a lot of weight in the court, but Jim still acted like everyone was out to get him. And considering that Jim's ultimate goal was still to be free--Blair had no illusions about that--the system was kinda out to get him. Blair just wished Jim would stop seeing him as part of that whole problem.

Yep, after years of Naomi making subtle little comments about Blair becoming part of the system, Blair finally felt like he had. And the system sucked. Except that it was the only system they had, and Blair had seen too many out of control Sentinels to believe they could just storm the tower and open the gates. Blair had seen Sentinels in so much pain that they struck out at anyone trying to help. The system was there to protect Sentinels from other people and other people from Sentinels.

But Simon had still lost his brother to a Sentinel... a Sentinel who was in the system. And considering the control Jim had shown after breaking the one gunman's arm, Blair had to wonder whether the Sentinel who had killed Simon's brother could have made a different choice.

Realizing that he was only succeeding in confusing himself, Blair gave up and headed back upstairs. "Honey, I'm home," he joked as he opened the door. When he didn't see Jim, his heart jumped into his throat at the idea that Jim had run. Ironically, when he finally did spot Jim, standing on the second floor with his arms crossed, glaring, Blair was disappointed he hadn't.

"I don't plan on playing the housewife, Junior," Jim said as he started back down the stairs.

"What? Hey, that was just a joke... a bad joke, obviously," Blair muttered as he turned toward the kitchen, checking the refrigerator. "I don't really spend much time here, so no promises about there being any edible food. You want to order out?" Blair asked. When Jim didn't answer he turned around to find Jim staring out the open window toward the water.

"Nice view," he commented.

"Yeah. It's one of the reasons I bought the place even though I never really intended to settle down. I mean, I was raised to sort of live a nomadic life, detach with love, to not get trapped by material possessions. But I was renting a place in a really seedy part of town, and these places were going up for sale, and Rick brought me over here." Blair hadn't found anything edible in the fridge, so he stood playing with the limp celery stalk he'd found on the top shelf.

"It only has one bedroom," Jim commented quietly, his voice a little too quiet, and Blair was starting to learn to watch out for that voice. That was the voice that had come right before Jim put him face down on the couch and tied him up all those months back. That was the voice Jim used on Aldo.

"It has a second bedroom under the stairs; I know it's small..."

"That's a Sentinel-safe room," Jim interrupted.

"I had to have one to qualify for custody. I put it in when I filled out the paperwork to request..."

"Sandburg," Jim cut him off as he turned around and faced Blair. "If I sleep in a Sentinel-safe room, I wouldn't be able to hear anyone coming. I would start having the same problems I had coming out of the Institute. Take away the world," Jim opened his arms, "and I can't function in it when I need to."

Blair stood, his mouth open and silent as he considered that. Okay, he really should have been able to figure that one out on his own.

"Man, the upstairs..."

"Share *your* bed?"

Even though the words, said with supreme disgust, cut pretty damn deep, Blair was proud of the fact he avoided flinching away from that disgust. "I'll stay in the downstairs room," Blair shrugged as he turned to throw the celery away. Half way to the sink he realized that he had gotten rid of his trash can. Standing in the middle of the kitchen with wilted celery, he suddenly didn't know what to do. Behind him, Jim sighed.

"Chief, I'm not kicking you out of your bed. I'll take the sofa."

"No biggie," Blair said, throwing the celery on the counter. "Man, I don't make it up the stairs half the time anyway."

"I'm not kicking you out of your own bed," Jim insisted, a mulish expression on his face.

"Look," Blair snapped as he spun around. "I don't sleep up there any more than I sleep down here. Use your precious nose and sniff around and check up on the truth of that statement for all I care, but I can and have slept in the Sentinel safe room, so I'll sleep there tonight. You can sleep wherever the fuck you want."

Blair headed for the bathroom, slamming the door behind him as he slowly slid down to the floor. Shit. He couldn't handle this. He could almost hear his mother's voice condemning him. And who the hell was he kidding. He wasn't saving Jim, he was just part of the system that trapped him. Like the fucking pay... that was Jim's pay that Jim had earned before the senses came on line. Okay, he'd been on-line with the Chopec, but the law was clear. He'd earned the money before he'd been legally declared a Sentinel. And yet, the military insisted on speaking with Blair. Yep. This was a great foundation for a relationship, as Jim had already pointed out.

Blair couldn't hear Jim, but he had no doubt that Jim could hear every bit of what Blair was doing. Why hadn't it ever occurred to him that having a Sentinel in the house pretty much ruled out any privacy?

With a cold determination to figure some way out of this, Blair turned on the shower and started stripping. After three days in a hospital bed with bed baths because he was chained to the rail, the water washing over his skin felt sinful... refreshing. He just needed a new way of looking at this.

Blair finished his shower and pulled on a robe before he headed out in a cloud of steam and padded upstairs in bare feet, ignoring the silent Sentinel still staring out on the water like a wild animal staring at the world outside the cage. Blair reached in his closet and grabbed all the clothes, pulling the hangers off the rod before he headed back downstairs with the whole armful.

"What are you doing?" Jim asked when Blair came back out of the room.

"I told you. I'm sleeping in there. With my late hours, I sleep in there sometimes anyway because the guy in 202 plays his music way too loud." Blair dumped the clothes on the bed and headed back up the stairs and started pulling stuff out of drawers. Rather than carry loads of underwear and socks, he just dumped it over the rail.

"I'm not taking your bedroom, Sandburg," Jim yelled up.

"Good for you. I'm sleeping downstairs, so you take the couch or the bed up here or the bench in the park down the street. Whatever floats your boat, Ellison," Blair yelled, inviting the man to leave. Blair paused in the middle of throwing a pile of sweats over the rail. Fuck, he should not care that much about Jim leaving. He finished his throw and went to the side tables. Simon had brought his recovered service weapon back here and put it back in the drawer. Blair pulled it and the ammo clips out of the drawer.

The collar and the gun, two serious symbols of power. Blair fingered the cold metal. He'd thought long and hard before he'd picked one up the first time. He remembered Naomi talking to him about the sacredness of life and the need to not damage those delicate threads that connected the world. Blair had countered by pointing out that he was saving people, saving Sentinels. Blair wasn't sure he could say that now.

He headed downstairs and put his gun and the ammo clips on the table before he started wandering the living room and picking up fallen underwear. The heavy door to the Sentinel safe room stood open, and Blair aimed his underwear at the opening with a single-minded determination as he worked his way from one side of the room to the other. He could feel Jim's eyes on him, and he ignored it as Jim slowly moved from the window, around to the door, and finally near the table.

When the last sock had landed in a disorderly pile inside the Sentinel safe room, now Blair's room, Blair stopped and leaned against the over sized chair so that he could stare back at Jim.

"What game are you playing?" Jim asked coldly.

"I'm not playing," Blair answered truthfully. Jim stood next to the gun, and Blair had on nothing but his robe, and even though he'd put himself in this position, he could feel the unease settle in his bones.

"Is this your way of placating my instincts? I seem pissed, so make yourself less of a threat by disarming yourself?"

"Is that what you think?" Blair laughed. "No, that wasn't the plan."

Jim picked up the gun, and Blair could feel his heart accelerate. He concentrated on breathing in through the nose and out through the mouth, visualizing a circle of ice and imagining himself balancing on it.

"What is the plan?" Jim moved forward, the gun pointed at the ground by his leg. Blair forced himself to look up from the gun and focus on Jim's face.

"I don't know. What is the plan?" Blair shrugged and held himself still as Jim moved closer. God, how could anyone miss noticing that the man was a predator, a hunter? He'd been trained as a Ranger, and Blair could see that in the easy way he moved, his joints fluid as he stalked a half circle around Blair, studying him. Blair spent the time reminding himself that Sentinels really didn't attack unless they perceived some threat. Usually.

"So, is this your way of offering me my freedom?" Jim asked as he twitched the gun.

"If you want it."

"IF?" Jim stopped, his full attention on Blair now. "If I want it? Do you have any idea what it means to have your government decide after 15 years of service that you're not competent enough to sign your own check?"

"No, I don't," Blair answered truthfully. "But I told you before, man, I'm not stopping you again."

"And you'd just sit here, not call anyone?"

"Yeah. The Sentinel safe room locks from the outside, so if you'd rather I go in there, I will," Blair offered.

"Oh Chief, we still have a problem. I've bonded with you. I couldn't leave you behind any easier than I could cut off my own arm and leave it behind."

"So you can do it, but it would involve a lot of pain and bleeding?" Blair asked. Jim opened his mouth and seemed to promptly lose his words. After a few seconds of silence, he started shaking his head.

"Let me edit that. I could cut off my own arm *easier* than I could leave you behind. I don't think I could leave you at all, not without someone forcing me."

Blair nodded. He'd known this was a possibility too, but he wasn't sure exactly how Jim would handle it. Hugging his arms around his waist, he nodded. "Okaaaay," he agreed. "So, how are we doing this?"

"How are we?" Jim blinked at him.

"I mean, I'd prefer to be dressed for this." Blair didn't bother adding that clothes would make him feel a whole lot more comfortable around someone who was clearly disgusted at the idea of a physical relationship with him. He stood and waited for some sort of permission.

"You expect me to kidnap you," Jim said, taking up the pacing again, but this time with a tight-lipped expression that made Blair focus a little harder on that circle of ice.

"I expect you to do what it takes to escape," Blair agreed. Jim took two large steps, closing the distance between them. Blair instinctively brought his hands up, and Jim grabbed his wrist, holding on with enough strength that Blair knew he couldn't physically free himself, even if it weren't for the gun Jim still held to his side.

"And when we get to Canada? I can't just snap my fingers and end the bond."

Blair took a deep breath. This was getting into territory he didn't want to think about. "Let's deal with that bridge when we get there," he suggested.

"And if I don't want to let you go? Are you going to be this complaisant if I decide I need you to keep my senses balanced and sharp? Are you going to accept it if I decide to keep you the way the legal system has given you the right to keep me?"

Blair thought about that answer while Jim's grip on his wrist tightened until Blair grimaced. "Man, I've screwed up enough that whatever happens is karma," he finally answered, but no amount of visualization could keep his heart from pounding dangerously fast.

"And if I put you on your knees? These tamed Sentinels of yours... they think it's their duty to spread their legs for whoever the court decides. Are you going to spread your legs for me the way the Sentinels who you captured are expected to? Is that karma?" Jim demanded, using his grip on Blair's wrist to pull him close.

Blair couldn't answer, fear drying his mouth out as he tried to not fight, not struggle away from that grip. Fighting an angry Sentinel wasn't smart, and Blair could see so much rage in Jim, more than the night of his capture. And if Blair hadn't captured him, Jim wouldn't have been around for Kincaid to rape.

Jim's lips thinned into a furious line. "I tell you that I have a problem with being a slave, so you think I'm going to turn around and enslave someone else?" Jim demanded, his face so close that Blair could feel the warm breath. "Is that what you think of me?"

Jim pushed Blair back and away before he stormed back to the kitchen table and put Blair's gun down. "*I'm* not the slaver here," Jim snapped, and that hurt worse than Blair's bruised wrist.

"Man, I am getting tired of telling you that you're not a slave."

"Then why do you think offering up yourself as a slave is fair compensation?" Jim demanded as he turned back around and closed the distance, standing so they were chest to chest and Blair had to look awkwardly up.

"I'm trying to find a way to make this work so you don't feel like a slave and I don't feel like a fucking jailer," Blair shouted right in Jim's face. "Everything I do, you take it like I'm trying to personally emasculate you. I'm sorry the army is made up of assholes who wouldn't give you back pay without talking to me. I'm sorry that the system strips you of your rights. I just don't need you blaming me for all of this. And if it comes down to a choice of being the slave or the fucking slaver, I'll cast myself as the slave first."

"But that's it--you'd cast *yourself* as the slave," Jim said, his voice sounding smug in victory. "I didn't get that choice."

Blair collapsed into the chair, his own frustration rising with every arrogant, self-righteous comment that fell out of Jim's mouth. "Fine. Do whatever the hell you want, Jim Ellison. I'm not your fucking jailer, and right now, I don't even like you enough to care whether you believe me." Blair immediately stood up again, but Jim didn't move back so Blair had to push his way past, his arm brushing by Jim's chest as he headed for his new room and slammed the door behind him. With the door closed, the sound proofing made his hearing feel muffled--the constant flow of the city silenced.

Shit. Why hadn't he thought about that? Two (Blair came in here for naps in the silence) plus two (Jim already said the sensory shelter of the Institute damaged his control) clearly equaled four. Only Blair had come up with 57. Sitting on the low bed in the padded, beige room, Blair tried to figure out exactly what he was supposed to do now. He kicked over a pile of clothes just for spite. Yeah, like that spited anyone.

"Screwed this one up proper, Sandburg," he said to the ceiling with its squares of acoustic tile. Even the window and door had been bricked over to make the perfect sensory cocoon. Yep, that should have been clue one. Ellison wasn't the sort you could wrap up and protect without getting painfully gutted for your trouble. Blair scratched his stomach.

Blair dug through the pile of shit from his end table until he found his phone. It took three phone numbers and a fifteen minute wait on long distance before he heard the voice he wanted on the other end.

"Sweetie? What's wrong?" Naomi was breathy and just a little shrill, panic bleeding through the phone.

"Nothing!" Blair quickly assured her. "I just wanted to see what you were up to," he obfuscated. The silence on the other end suggested he hadn't done it well. He waited for Naomi to say something that would give him a chance to cover his pain with words, but the phone remained silent.

"Mom?"

"I'm listening, Sweetie," she answered before falling silent again. Blair sighed.

"Mom, have you ever really, really screwed something up?"

Naomi sighed and fell silent, but this time Blair waited.

"Oh, Blair," she eventually answered. "Being human means making mistakes, and I've made huge ones. I try to learn from them, forgive myself, and move on."

"But what if you just keep screwing up over and over and you just can't seem to stop?"

"Honey, why don't you take some time off and come over here to France? You have to be done with your classwork by now, and even the police give vacation time."

"I have two classes I'm taking."

"Do you need them?"

Blair thought about that. "Not so much," he admitted. Really he just needed to write his damn dissertation.

"You need to process why you aren't finishing your PhD, Sweetie. Come out here. It will help you clear your mind and get some perspective on this mistake of yours."

"I have a Sentinel." Blair didn't say any more, but that did explain everything. Out of the country travel would now include hearings and permission and explanations. Either that, or Blair would have to request a secondary guardian be appointed or just leave Jim to the Institute. There was screwing up, and then there was unforgivable, and he didn't want to cross that line.

"Oh, honey." Naomi's voice had gone flat. "Is this the mistake?"

"Jim totally isn't a mistake. I just... I keep saying the wrong thing."

"What's the wrong thing?"

"Oh, anything that implies that he's one ounce less capable than Superman," Blair laughed roughly. "And I'm the one who brought him in as a runner, so he's not exactly predisposed to like me much."

"Blair, are you safe?" Naomi immediately asked.

"No, hey, he's not dangerous, at least not in a going out of control way. If I were a criminal, I'd so totally be buying a little extra insurance, but there is zero chance of him hurting me. I think there's more chance for me to hurt him. Either hurt him or just really piss him off--I don't know him well enough to say for sure which he's feeling."

"Being responsible for someone else like that..." Nomi's words trailed off, but Blair remembered her arguments from his childhood even if she had stopped repeating them once he took the job with the Sentinel division.

"Bad for the karma."

"You're an adult, and I respect your choices," she hurried to say.

"I quit the Sentinel division."

"Thank the powers," Naomi exhaled.

"I still work for the police," Blair added.

"But...?"

"Major Crimes. Mom, I helped take down a child pornography ring last month. I do good work."

"Honey, I hear you. I know you're a healer at heart and that you want to make the world better because you have a good soul."

I'm so hearing a 'but' in that."

"You can't save everyone. You need to take care of yourself first. Please, Sweetie, just come out here for a little bit. Get your balance back. How can you have any relationship with this Jim if you can't center yourself?"

"I guess that's why I called you, you know, just to talk things through." God, he was thirty, and he didn't have any friends close enough to talk through a crisis. How sad was that? Blair sighed.

"What's he like?" Naomi asked quietly.

"Before I helped bring him in, he had this wicked sense of humor, and he still has this totally centered morality where he'll put himself in danger just to save some guy he doesn't even seem to like very much. Only now, every time I say anything I just seem to piss him off."

"You're frustrated."

"Well, yeah. I'm only trying to help the guy. Hell, I even offered to go to Canada with him, to help him get away and break the bond up there, and he turned into this total asshole. Okay, turned might be the wrong word since he's been flirting with assholiness for the last few days."

"Honey, you know I love you, but no one is perfect."

"Okay," Blair said slowly. "That's sounding like you're leading up to something I really don't want to hear."

"Sweetie, sometimes you are a little manipulative. I totally understand that you want to make the world better, and I am so proud of how many wonderful things you have accomplished in your life. I brag to my friends all the time about what an incredibly moral, strong son I raised, but you have this legal power over Jim now and..." Naomi didn't finish, but Blair could see the dots laid out in a line.

"I have legal power over him, so me trying to manipulate him is probably not the way to make him feel less stripped of his power."

"I don't know that you've done anything like that, Sweetie. I'm not saying this is your fault because if he can't see that you have nothing but good intentions in your heart, then the man is blind, Sentinel or no Sentinel. I'm just making a general observation. You know I love you."

Blair could hear the desperate need for reassurance. "I love you, too, Mom," he offered. "And I might have manipulated him a little." Blair thought about the gun still sitting out on the table. "Okay, possibly more than a little. Shit, how do I fix this now?"

"Blair, you just make different choices. Life is just choice."

"Thanks, Mom," Blair said. "And I really do want to know how your retreat is going."

"Oh, it's wonderful," Naomi exclaimed, taking up the subject change immediately. "There's this guru here who teaches an Eastern meditation technique..."

Blair pushed the stacks of clothes off his bed and settled back on the pillows, listening to his mother's descriptions of all she was learning about herself and the universe. He let the familiar voice chase away the fear that he didn't know how to make different choices.

TWENTY TWO
***
Jim came down the stairs for the second time that morning, this time buttoning his shirt over shower-clean skin. Unlike Blair, he'd been given access to the shower, but chains made getting fully clean difficult.

Before heading for the kitchen, Jim pulled the door to the Sentinel-safe room open so he could hear Blair more easily. The kid had gone cheap on the room, and should probably demand some sort of refund since Jim could hear a good eighty percent of last night's phone conversation, but Jim didn't want to have to stretch his hearing past the muffling walls. Soft snores and a steady heartbeat reassured Jim that Blair was safely asleep, giving him some time to think.

Shit. If he'd been reassigned to some asshole like Aldo or even Keith, Jim would have kept control. Instead, he'd completely blown. Yeah, Blair deserved to get his ears boxed for the stunt with the gun, but Jim shouldn't have let himself do the boxing. Jim tried to suppress the guilt as he foraged for breakfast. After opening the last cupboard, Jim decided that Blair must not actually eat here much. Other than cans of tuna, granola, and algae shake powder, there wasn't anything edible. And calling those three edible was questionable; during survival training, Jim had seen bugs that looked more appetizing. He quietly closed the cupboard and looked around the loft.

Last night, Blair had dropped his wallet on the table next to the door. Even though it felt slightly wrong, Jim went and pulled a few bills out of it. The kid could take some money from Jim's account to cover it. Folding them in his hand, he grabbed the door keys and headed down to the bakery, still tracking Blair's steady breathing above him.

Jim settled in at a small table. The cashier had given his collar a furtive look before smiling and delivering his coffee and rolls, but Jim had grown used to those expressions. Luckily, the bakery was busy so she didn't have time to worry about him. And the customers hurrying in for coffee and donuts before work didn't stay long enough to notice the collar. Only one other customer sat down: an older man who was so buried in his paper that Jim could have grown a second head and he wouldn't have noticed.

Taking a deep breath, Jim savored the smells and the normalcy of it all as he considered his next step. Maybe he should have taken Blair up on the offer to run, but having the little shit disarm himself as though Jim weren't capable of taking that power if he wanted it... it was just too damn close to what Kincaid had done. Whether people had good or bad intentions, they saw the fucking collar, and they made huge sweeping assumptions about Jim's abilities.

And the longer Jim found himself in this role, the harder it was getting to remember that he was the soldier who had held the Chopec pass for eighteen months. He led the team inserted into Libya for those three days. He had laid on a rocky outcropping for nearly sixty hours, covered with brush, lying in his own waste as he held a sniper's rifle on a terrorist camp. When everyone else had failed, his bullet had ended one more dream of world domination. He'd done things that probably made the government shake every time they considered the fact that, as a Sentinel, Jim was immune to prosecution, so they could no longer legally enforce his confidentiality clause.

And as much as the assumption that Jim was helpless had rankled, he was even more annoyed at the sheer stupidity of Blair making himself a target. Jim had always felt the Sentinel instincts that everyone so feared, and he'd turned that into a fierce protectiveness of his whole unit. But now, all those emotions and instincts were concentrated into Blair, and the thought of Blair vulnerable just inspired rage. And all of that combined was still secondary to the cold fury at the idea that Jim would ever hurt Blair like that.

However, that left him some interesting choices. Ruby was probably still the best bet. If he could get to the underground, they would have resources for breaking the bond without Jim having to do something drastic... like indulging in a little fantasy of what life could have been like if he had ordered Blair into the trunk and just driven for the border. Sooner or later, Blair would have turned on him. Despite his offer, Blair was no more cut out to be a prisoner than Jim. And once they got to Canada, Jim knew he wouldn't have the control to break the bond without help. And help meant trusting someone. If he had to have help breaking the bond, he would rather trust the American underground with its long tradition of trying to screw the system.

Jim took a drink of his coffee and watched the city rush by. He had no idea what their schedule was for the day. Hell, Blair might be late for work right now, but he hadn't shared his plans with Jim, so if he was, too damn bad.

Almost like a fairy tale where saying a name made a person appear, a car pulled up to the curb and Simon Banks stepped out. He parked on the far side of the street and walked to the crosswalk, so Jim had time to finish his coffee before stepping out into the foggy morning air and leaning on the side of the building near the door up to the apartment.

"Simon," he offered when Banks came near.

"Jim. I just thought I'd stop by and talk to Blair." Simon stopped, but his eyes darted to the door.

"I didn't think you'd come to talk to me," he answered dryly. "But the kid's still asleep."

"Maybe we could go check," Simon suggested.

"I can hear him from here. He's still asleep," Jim repeated.

Simon studied Jim for a second, brown eyes searching him intently. "He isn't a morning person." Simon admitted after a second. "However, I need to talk to both of you before you come in to the station."

"I'm here, talk away," Jim suggested with a shrug without much hope that Simon would take him up on it. Simon hesitated, and Jim focused on the morning traffic.

"Fine, let's get some coffee." Simon headed back toward the bakery, and Jim followed, curious about why Blair's captain would talk to him without Blair around. It was against the rules. This time Simon bought the coffee, bringing it over to Jim who had taken the same chair that let him sit with his back to the wall and a view of the street out the window.

"I assume you're coming to work in Major Crimes."

"Not my choice to make," Jim pointed out as he concentrated on his cup. Not his choice. He'd said those words in his mind so often they should be easier to say out loud.

"Haven't you and Blair talked about this?"

"Blair talked." Jim shrugged and took a drink of coffee. Blair actually talked quite a lot. "I assume from what he's said that I'm coming to work with him, but he hasn't definitely told me. Of course, you assumed I was going to work with you when you asked me to call you Simon," Jim pointed out. That made Simon hesitate.

"I saw your file. I just assumed you would jump at a chance at Major Crimes after being stuck investigating stolen bikes." Simon sounded annoyed, not that Jim cared.

"Lots of assumptions." Jim nodded knowingly.

"Damn it. I'm not playing whatever little martyr game you have going here, Ellison. You want to work in my department or you don't. It's pretty simple." Simon brought his hand down on the tabletop with a slap.

"I don't have that choice. It *is* pretty simple," Jim countered.

"Oh, trust me, if you say you don't want to work cases, I will make sure you get your wish, no matter what Sandburg says," Banks threatened, narrowing his eyes. Jim put his coffee down and studied the captain. Rather than the carefully neutral or paternalistic, Simon just looked pissed. Jim could work with that.

"I want to work cases. I just don't like being collared when I do it," Jim finally said. Simon's eyes flicked to the collar before he focused on something on the wall behind Jim's head.

"I don't like this Sentinel crap. It's one reason why Rick sent Blair my way... because Blair was questioning whether all these Sentinel laws were justified or if they were just a giant load of shit."

"I think you know how I feel," Jim said quietly. Simon's eyes found his.

"I do. That's the only reason I'm letting you in my department. I've seen a lot of cops do things with Sentinels, get them all worked up over how some suspect is a danger to the community and then step back while the Sentinel does what the cop can't. And I've been on scene when Sentinels have lost control and thrown fits like spoiled five year olds."

"What are you saying?" Jim demanded. He'd started to relax around the captain, and now he could feel his anger rise at being compared to a child.

"I'm saying you have control, but not everyone does. Sometimes the guardians are the one to abuse their control, and sometimes a Sentinel abuses the fact that they can get away with anything. I don't like either. If you're in my department, I expect you to act like any other detective in my department. You do so much as slam one suspect's face into a wall, and I will personally fill out the paperwork to transfer you to Traffic. You go farther... well, if you go farther, I would recommend that you find another city. If you're going to take advantage of the Sentinel laws to turn vigilante, I don't want you inside Cascade city limits."

Jim sat, his hands around the cooling cup while he looked at the determination on Simon's face. "Understood. And I want to be treated like any other detective. You have a problem with the way I handle something, you come to me, not Sandburg."

Slowly, Simon nodded. "That's fair. Just as long as we understand each other."

"I never wanted a free pass," Jim pointed out.

"Funny how you get one anyway," Simon said, his voice dark. "Sandburg shoots some guy on the street, and he has to face the consequences of that. You snap some guy's neck, and you literally get a ride home and sent to time out."

Jim glared at Simon, but it didn't change the fact that the captain was right. "I wouldn't," he said softly.

"I don't think you would, but you understand this: I won't take anything from you that I wouldn't take from my other officers. I may not have any official right to discipline you, so I will transfer you out, no matter how good your scores or your closure rate." Simon leaned forward, glaring through his gold-rimmed glasses.

Jim nodded. "I have no problem with you running your department," he said slowly, understanding Simon's position. He'd led his own unit in the Rangers, and the commander needed authority over the men. "Normally you write a detective up or suspend them, right?" he asked.

"Yeah, I would."

"I fuck up, and I'll accept whatever discipline you think is appropriate," Jim offered. "I hate having to walk away from a job, but if I screw up bad enough to earn a suspension, you say the word and I'll take the time off. I'll sit home and curse your name, but I'll take it."

Simon studied him again, his fingers twitching around the coffee cup before he brought them up to his chin, scratching idly. "Legally, that should go through Blair," he said slowly, and Jim focused his gaze on the table-top, the control yanked away from him once again. "So, just don't let anyone know about this little understanding," Simon finished his thought. "And don't think I won't use it. You screw up, and you'll be home sitting on your hands. You screw up bad enough, and I'll still send you to Traffic."

"That won't happen," Jim promised. "Blair is starting to stir if you want to talk to him," Jim said as he heard Blair wake with some mumbled nonsense. He got out of bed and promptly either stubbed his toe or tripped on something because a thump was followed by colorful curses citing gods Jim didn't know.

"I probably should. Look, Jim, I realize that Blair and I have made some assumptions. You playing martyr isn't going to change the fact that we all need to learn to deal with each other professionally. You hear me?" Simon asked as he stood up.

Jim looked up at the man and nodded. "Yes, sir. I'm going to head down to that park a few blocks down, give you and Sandburg a little privacy." Jim stood up, and he half expected Simon to ask if he had permission from his guardian. Instead the man turned toward the door and headed out of the coffee shop.

Heading down the street in the opposite direction, Jim found the park and sat on the bench Blair had invited him to sleep on last night. Watching the joggers on the path, Jim let himself just feel the sun on his face as he tried to figure out how he would have reacted to Blair if he'd met the man before Peru. He imagined Blair showing up as a recruit, getting off the bus with all that hair. Jim could just imagine Sergeant Levkoff's face. The thought made Jim smile as he watched the people come and go.

The sun was playing peekaboo with dark clouds straight above him when Jim finally decided to head back to the loft. When he put his keys in the lock, he could hear a book fall to the ground with a thud. Opening the door, he found Blair scrambling to gather yellow papers scattered across the floor.

"Hey. I just, you know, dropped all my shit," Blair explained as he dropped a heavy book on the couch and started grabbing at his papers. "I was just writing," he explained, not that Jim needed the explanation. He could read the scrawling handwriting from across the room. Jim dropped the keys on the table.

"Your paper on Sentinels?" he asked.

"Yeah," Blair paused, looking at Jim curiously for a second. "The one on the way the Institute's sheltered environment damages long-term control. Man, I've written a shit-load of papers over the years, but Dr. Stoddard thinks this one could really get me noticed."

"Good for you," Jim said without enthusiasm. Blair's smile faded, and Jim mentally kicked himself as he headed for the kitchen. Control, Ellison, he ordered himself. It was just too damn easy to kick at Blair, but then the damn instincts made him hate himself every time that expressive face flinched away from the anger.

"It could really make a difference," Blair said, his voice unsure now.

"That's good." Jim offered the olive branch, biting his tongue to prevent himself from saying something cold and biting, like asking why Blair hadn't done something to help him when he needed it.

"Oh man, if you have a problem, just fucking say it. I can't do this!" Blair stood up, scattering the yellow pages again as he faced Jim.

"I didn't say anything." Jim used his tone of voice to warn Blair off.

"No, you don't. You just look at me like I'm shit. You just use that tone of voice that makes it clear I'm one step below a worm."

"I'm not using any tone of voice."

"Bullshit. Save that for someone who didn't know you before--" Blair cut himself off suddenly. "Forget it," he finished as he headed for the door.

"Before you captured me? Before you lied to me?" Jim offered. If they were going to look at the elephant in the room, it was a good place to start.

"I've apologized for that. If you can't just let this go, maybe this isn't the best partnership for either one of us."

Jim felt a flare of panic at the idea of Blair wanting out. He stepped forward so that he stood between the door and Blair, and Blair fell back a step instinctively.

"So, if I'm angry, you'll just call up the Institute and tell them this isn't working out, that they should come and pick up their defective Sentinel?" Jim demanded.

"No!" Blair just about yelled the word as he stepped forward into Jim's personal space. "God, you are the most frustrating asshole on the face of the planet. I just want you to forgive me for capturing you, for lying and for being a fucking idiot and for getting you raped." Blair's voice broke as his eyes shone with tears, and Jim's anger evaporated at the raw pain he could see there.

"Blair," Jim breathed, but Blair had turned and charged off toward the Sentinel room. Jim followed.

"Man, just give me some space here," Blair asked without looking at Jim when he found Jim's hand keeping the door from closing. Jim stood in the open door holding it open, refusing to move.

"No. Chief, we're talking this out right now. You are not to blame for the rape."

"I fucking drew you there. I was an idiot. My first time out there trying to make things right, and I got captured. It is my fault." Blair continued to stare at the far wall, but Jim could see the shivers that went through Blair's frame. He reached up to put a hand on a trembling shoulder, but he stopped, not sure that touch would be welcome right now.

"I made a choice. It was the same choice I made when I slept with Keith. I traded sex for some advantage I wanted, and I don't feel particularly sorry I did it."

Blair slowly looked at him. "Kincaid raped you," Blair whispered, tears brightening his blue eyes.

"Yes, he did. And I've lived my life since I was twelve years old knowing that sooner or later I was probably going to be raped." The words brought back that old memory: his father kneeling on the football field in front of him, shaking him by his arms as he told him what a Sentinel could expect. Before that, Jim had only vague, schoolyard descriptions of sex--a locker room fantasy of girls with big boobs that the boys would whisper when coach wasn't around. But what his father had described hadn't been fantasy or vague. It had been a vicious, cold description of a terrifying act.

"What?" Blair asked, clearly confused, but at least the confusion was driving away the horror and guilt that made Jim's guts twist.

"Chief, I wasn't a dormant Sentinel," Jim admitted. "And that is not to appear in any of those damn articles you write," he quickly added.

"Hey, anthropological standards don't differentiate between Sentinels and non-Sentinels. As a researcher, I can't ethically use any information without a subject's express permission. I promise, Jim, this is just us here."

Jim listened to the heartbeat, weighing his belief that Blair was telling the truth against the fact that Blair had successfully lied to him in the past. He made a choice. "I started showing heightened senses at twelve. Vision first, then hearing. I had developed all five by the time I hit fifteen," Jim admitted.

"But that's--" Blair started, and Jim glared.

"That's what happened. My father was very clear about a Sentinel's life, about how their sexual natures would be turned against them. He would describe in great detail how anyone who knew about my senses would either abuse me by raping me and then forcing me to protect them, or they'd just turn me in. And he made it very clear that if I was turned in, I would have to have sex with whoever the courts gave me to."

Blair's shoulder's sagged, and the room was silent for a minute as he walked to the bed and sat down heavily. "Oh man," he breathed. "That fucking bastard."

"He was trying to protect me," Jim growled, despite the fact that he had the same thoughts about his father on a regular basis.

"But Sentinels don't have to have sex or bond with their guardians. They can work their whole lives without bonding."

"Only if they want to be celibate, Chief. That's not a choice most teens will make."

"But Jamal, down at work. He had his brother as a guardian for five or six years until he met his wife. And yeah, his wife has guardianship now, but he still works with his brother over in Homicide. His life isn't all that different from anyone else's. He grew up, got a job, met a girl, got married."

"He doesn't have the legal right to divorce her without a court approving of it, he doesn't control his own money, his salary is still attached to whoever he works with. He doesn't have equality." Jim ticked off the differences on his fingers.

"Yeah, but he wasn't raped. God, no wonder you ran. Oh geez, you went through Ranger training with your senses." Blair's voice turned to dismay.

"Stop! Stop thinking that because I am a Sentinel I am less capable of doing my job. Damn it, Sandburg, I'm not pissed because you brought me in. I'm fucking furious every time you do something like this."

"What?" Blair demanded, sitting up straight on the bed and crossing his arms.

"Acting like you're surprised I'm competent."

"Man, you are totally competent, and I've never said otherwise, but Ranger training would have included things that should have disabled your senses."

"You assume," Jim snapped.

"Yes, I assume based on hundreds of studies, years of research, and documented case studies."

"That are wrong."

"Oh shit." Blair fell silent, blinking up at Jim. "What if they're all wrong? What if they didn't control for some variable? Okay, we already know that the whole Institute approach damages the control, but what if the rest is wrong?" Blair exploded off the bed so suddenly that Jim stepped back just out of surprise, and Blair was out the door before they could finish their discussion. Jim followed out into the living room, and Blair was pulling seemingly random books off the huge bookcase that covered one wall.

"Can we finish the first can of worms before we open the second?" Jim asked, wondering if maybe he should find Blair the name of a good psychiatrist specializing in adult ADHD.

"Oh," Blair said as he stopped in the middle of the room, three books hugged in his arms. "Yeah, we can do that."

"First, I do not blame you for what Kincaid did. I chose to go in the building knowing full well what would happen, and as an adult, I resent you implying that I didn't have a right to make that choice. And I am still angry that you captured me, but I'm not angry at you."

"That doesn't even make any sense," Blair cut in.

"I know. However, I'm probably going to be cranky about that for a while anyway. But I understand that you did what you thought was right, and I do respect the fact that you're an ethical man, even if your moral compass was a little rusty." Jim watched Blair blush.

"Okay, I'm okay with this part of the talk, so I'm wondering where the worms are in this can." Blair hugged the books to his chest even harder.

Jim sighed. "The part that just pisses me off is all the little stuff."

"Little stuff?" Blair asked when Jim paused.

"Where am I going to be working?" Jim raised an eyebrow and waited.

"With.... Oh," Blair interrupted himself. "Okay, I guess I never actually did ask, and with all that back pay, you can pretty much afford to sit home, or go to college, or pretty much do whatever you want."

"Exactly," Jim agreed. "Let's play a little game, Chief. Your mom's friend, Jim, who just left the Army Rangers after a twenty year career as an officer, comes to crash at your place. Keep in mind that this is a man with a college degree who has lived his whole life without needing you and who has been entrusted to protect national security on any number of occasions. What would you say to him about working?"

"Okay, man, I get the point. Hey, if you don't want to work with me, you can work with someone else without having to change guardianship. I told you about Jamal down at... and that's a slightly intimidating expression there, big guy."

"Think your mom's friend, the Army Ranger," Jim suggested. He could see the moment when it struck Blair, he physically flinched and blushed.

" I totally would not ever try to tell my mom's friend, the big bad Army Ranger officer, what to do about work because that would be a little..."

"Patronizing, emasculating, condescending...."

"Got it," Blair interrupted. "Shit, this is harder than I thought, and I so would have thought I would be better at shifting paradigms. But Jim, you gotta help me out here. I'm really trying, so when I go making assumptions, you need to give me a hand. Let me know. Maybe we can use some signal." Blair stepped toward Jim, dropping the books on the couch as he focused, and Jim could feel the sincerity.

"Maybe I could smack you upside the back of the head every time you do it," Jim suggested slowly as he leaned on the back of the couch.

"Funny," Blair complained. "Very funny. However, you'd probably give me a concussion, and after sharing a hospital bed with you for three days, let me tell you, you're no fun as a patient."

"Oh yeah, and you're a real joy," Jim said sarcastically. "The nurses were ready to drop you out a third story window, Mr. Hyper."

"Okay, let me try this again," Blair said. "Hey, I'd really like it if you wanted to work with me down at the station."

"I don't know," Jim shrugged. "Any interesting cases?"

Blair glared at him for a second and then took a step closer and leaned against the couch so that they stood shoulder to shoulder... or at least shoulder to neck. Jim hadn't realized just how much shorter Blair was until then.

"I have a case in the cold files I was going to reopen. A vice case with a slime ball named Dessy that got bumped up to Major Crimes after the harbor patrol found a key witness floating face down in the Sound."

"New evidence?"

"Kinda. Recently I was in the company of some criminals, and someone mentioned his name."

Jim turned and studied Blair. The kid had on an innocent expression that made him look anything except innocent. "Kincaid mentioned him?"

"One of his goons, yeah."

"You're going after Kincaid?"

"Oh, hell yeah. I'm totally going after Kincaid," Blair agreed. "Just, don't tell Banks I'm going after Kincaid. So, are you in?" Blair looked up at Jim and waited.

"Hell, yeah," Jim answered. The plan could wait; the underground would be there later. But if he had a chance to nail Kincaid before taking off, that would be the icing on the cake. "I want a piece of that." Jim smiled down at Blair, reaching over to rest a hand on his shoulder. "I definitely want a piece of that."

TWENTY THREE
***
"Hey guys," Blair called when he walked in the bull pen. Jim walked slightly behind him, but the minute they were through the door, he stepped forward. Even with a new button-up shirt with a collar, he knew his silver Sentinel collar shone below his chin, and he waited for the inevitable reactions.

"Hairboy," a middle-aged black man called out. "We just can't trust you to go anywhere on your own, can we?" Jim recognized him from his brief visit to Major Crimes, but they'd never been introduced. He'd been the one who'd gone with them to the warehouse: Brown. The other detective, Rafe, stood near his desk a few feet away.

"Hey, I'm not the one whose girlfriend tried to run a gambling ring off his cell phone," Blair shot back. Brown gripped his chest as though shot through the heart.

"Wounded. You wound me!" he laughed. "But if we want to get into girlfriends, I have one word for you: Sam."

"Hey, Sam never committed a felony on my phone," Blair defended himself.

"Girl tried to set your eyebrows on fire is all." Brown gave Jim a conspiratorial grin. "That girl is trouble, but when Blair sees trouble, he just charges right at it like a cat going for catnip, every time. And if it's trouble with long legs, well, the boy's got about as much self control as a stray dog going after a bitch in heat."

Jim could feel his guts tighten at the thought of someone physically endangering his guide, even though he knew from the tone that the men were joking about it. No one joked about a serious assault with fire, but all that logic frayed in the face of Jim's sudden need to push Blair behind him and find Sam so that he would know who to keep as far away from his companion as possible. And the part that really infuriated Jim was that Blair might still be dating the woman. He clenched his jaw and forced himself to stand still with a neutral expression as he casually looked around the room.

"I just appreciate the female form… or the male form for that matter," Blair pointed out. "But once again, because no one seems to be listening to me, my phone is felony-free."

Brown snorted.

"Henri, this is Jim Ellison. Jim, this is Henri Brown," Blair finally introduced them. "He just likes me because with me around, he doesn't get voted worst dressed anymore," Blair joked. Jim eyed the Hawaiian themed shirt the other detective wore. Given a choice, he'd take Blair's colorful vest and ethnic jewelry over green orchids on yellow any day of the week.

"Nice to meet you," Brown said as he stuck out his hand. Jim took it.

"We met at the warehouse. Thank you for that."

"Hey, Hairboy's like our mascot around here. With all that hair, we don't even need to get a costume," Brown joked, but then his face turned serious. "You gave up a lot to help one of our own. That carries a lot of weight around here."

Brown had stopped shaking Jim's hand but he held on for a second. Jim nodded; he'd gotten the message.

When Brown let go of his hand, his crooked smile returned as he gave Jim a wink. "Just one word of advice: don't let Hairboy near your computer. Him and hard drives have this whole hate-hate thing going on."

"Very funny," Blair deadpanned. "Next time you get a disk stuck in your computer, remind me not to help."

"Is that what you were trying to do when you got the paper clip jammed in my computer? No problem, refuse to help away, my man."

"And we've met," the well-dressed detective stepped forward, his eyes going from Brown to Blair. Jim knew from listening to Simon and Blair talk that Blair was the new man in Major Crimes, but Rafe seemed like the new guy—not quite sure how to fit into the war of insults. "Brian Rafe," he introduced himself unnecessarily.

"Nice to see you again," Jim said. Unlike Brown, Rafe's eyes did dart to the collar. Jim resisted an urge to button up his shirt over it, especially since the awkward bulk would just make him look very strange without actually hiding that he was wearing a collar. The first thing he'd done after getting back from shopping for non-Sentinel clothing was to try it. The best he could do was wear a shirt that made the silver difficult to see unless someone looked at him straight on.

"So you're... working with Blair," Rafe nodded, covering his momentary pause quickly, but not quickly enough to keep Brown from looking at him a little strangely. Jim just tightened his jaw.

"Yeah." Jim kept his voice neutral, but he crossed his arms as he waited for something definitive enough to take offense at. The insults that flowed just under the surface annoyed him worse than the open discrimination and hateful comments.

Rafe blushed, his olive tone skin turning a shade darker as his heart sped a little. Jim raised an eyebrow at him.

"Rafe and me have some interviewing to do. Some of us don't take four-day vacations in the middle of the busy season," Brown interrupted the silent war as he pulled at his partner's arm.

"When's it not busy season around here?" Blair asked with a laugh, but he sounded a little off-balance and nervous as well. He'd caught the near slip.

"Damned if I know. But watch your back, Blair. Aldo is still sniffing around," Brown called as he pulled Rafe out into the hall.

Even though they were gone, Jim could still clearly hear them as they waited for the elevator. He tilted his head and listened.

"What is your problem?" Rafe demanded angrily once the doors fell shut.

"So you're... working with Blair?" Brown mimicked, emphasizing the pause. "Bri, buddy, could you be any less subtle?"

"What?"

"He's a Sentinel, not a moron."

"I just... okay, I almost slipped there for a second."

"Oh, I know exactly what word you were thinking, and so did Jim, so let's just not mention it again," Brown advised at the elevator doors dinged open.

Jim did know what word popped into Rafe's mind; he'd ordered his own men not to use it often enough. But Jim had expected more derision, so having only one of Blair's co-workers act like an ass was actually not bad odds. He looked down, and Blair was watching him with wide eyes, waiting.

"Man, that was so not cool. Brian's normally a good guy, Jim, and I am really sorry," Blair said, and Jim realized that Blair had been waiting until Jim stopped listening to the other conversation.

"Don't apologize for someone else's stupidity," Jim said as he looked at the various desks. "Which one is yours?"

Blair wandered over to his desk in the back corner, the messiest in the room, and sat down. Right next to his desk was one that had been just brought in, and it was the only completely clean desk in the room.

"Mine?" Jim asked.

"Yeah," Blair agreed. "Simon doesn't put up with shit like that, and Henri will call Brian on that. He shouldn't say shit like that."

"He didn't say it," Jim pointed out.

"Yeah, but he all *but* said it, and when you think something out loud that loud, that's as good as saying it."

Jim turned a confused look toward Blair. "Look, Junior, a lot of people call it subbing. You're going to hear the term, and God knows I've heard the term."

Blair flinched when Jim said the word. "I get the whole borrowing of terms from one subculture to another, and yeah, people who are into the dom-sub thing use collars too, but this partnership is not about subbing. You don't sub for me," Blair assured him.

Jim looked down at the kid. "No, I don't," he said quietly. Blair looked up, his heart skipping faster for a few beats before it settled into its natural pattern.

"I know." Blair didn't say anything else as he idly chewed on his lip for a second. He blinked, and then he slid into one of his topic changes, his mood shifting as fast as a summer thunderstorm. "Okay, I'm the first to admit that my filing system is a little eccentric," Blair shrugged as he gestured toward the mountain. "I put any personal notes, you know, the kind of things you don't want accidentally ending up in the official record, in the yellow folders. The newer the case, the higher up it is in the stack, and I try to always work on at least one old file a week," Blair said as he craned his head to read the tabs on the various folders.

"One slip, and every file on your desk is going to end up on the floor," Jim observed, allowing Blair to change the topic now that he'd made his point.

"Oh man, don't remind me. Ricardo brought in this drunk guy, and he was staggering all over the place, and when Ricardo went to grab him, to keep him from falling on the floor, he like rebounded or something, and just plowed right into my desk. I was finding lab reports under floor mats for like a month." Blair gave a shiver of horror.

"And that didn't convince you to maybe change your filing system?" Jim asked, crossing his arms as he considered the mess. Putting the most recent on top wasn't the best system, but it was at least a system, and as long as the tabs were clear, it was a workable system. Leaving the files flat on the desk wasn't.

"It's not like I have room in the desk with all my project shit. I only work at the department part time because of my college schedule. Besides, if they're all right here, then I don't have to worry about putting them away, which so won't happen," Blair shrugged. "That's why Simon moved me back into the corner of the room... less chance of drunken filing disasters."

Sitting down in his own chair, Jim started pulling out desk drawers. His own desk was empty of anything except a paper clip caught in the joint of the top drawer. Jim pulled open the large bottom drawer. "Let's use my drawer for filing. You can keep two or three on your desk, and the rest will fit in here. When your stack gets too high, I'll just snag them off your desk and use the same system you use by putting the most recently accessed files in front."

Blair didn't answer. Jim sat back and studied Blair as he opened his mouth to say something and then closed it again.

"If you don't like the system, just say so. It's your job," Jim said tightly. That got a glare from Blair.

"Man, I'm trying to figure out how my mom's friend Jim would react to doing my filing for me," Blair finally said.

"Your mom's friend Jim would be fine with it if he offered. Since he was an officer, he's probably quite familiar with reports because you do not get promoted up the ranks without being well versed in filing forms in triplicate. Now, if you asked him to do your filing, he'd probably tell you to shove it up your ass," Jim commented mildly.

"Yeah, I knew that last part." Blair rolled his eyes. "And yeah, that sounds good. We don't have anything too urgent right now. Simon had Ricardo and Brown take my most recent cases. I need to follow up on the Taylor case, but Dessy's our top of the pile file." Blair finally found what he wanted in the stack. Holding the tower steady with one hand, he slowly pulled out two files from near the bottom. Jim waited for a disaster, but he somehow pulled them free without sending any files flying. He held out the two folders, one manila with an official sticker on the tab labeled 'Vice 55091-MC 3409' and a second, yellow one with a tab that read 'Dessy.'

"That's Kincaid's partner?" Jim asked quietly as he took the files.

"I don't know if partner's the right word. Kincaid is big time--huge time even. Until the witness ended up dead, Dessy was just one of those second level criminals that was just more annoying than most because we couldn't catch him. Case after case just sort of fizzled because no one could get a wire close to him and his people were way more loyal than the normal 'stab you in the back for a buck' sort that usually work prostitution and drugs. But if he's hooking up with Kincaid, he's looking to move up in the world."

Jim flipped open the official file and skimmed through summaries of phone tap transcripts and reports on a suspected prostitution and drug distribution operation that reached from 3rd street all the way over to Holgate Street. "With this many people involved, there has to be a weak link somewhere."

"Yeah, you'd think so. I mean, hookers and dealers are not well known for their loyalty, but man, vice never got anything to stick until they brought in Roberta Sanchez. She offered to turn if they found her a new home and helped her keep custody of her two kids."

"And she turned up in the river," Jim finished quietly as he turned over a report and found a crime scene photo underneath.

"Kincaid's more national that local. He deals guns and Sentinels to finance his counter-revolution against the government, but he doesn't have a solid base of operations anywhere. There's Camp Freedom that we hear rumors of, but the word on the internet is that it bounces between Idaho and Montana and western Oregon."

"What exactly did you hear in the warehouse?" Jim asked.

Blair's heart rate accelerated, and sour-sweat smell drifted into the air. Jim waited to see if this would be the moment where Blair finally really thought about what Kincaid had done to him, but then the heart slowed as he focused on the case. "One of his men said Dessy was waiting. Kincaid commented that they couldn't afford to keep him waiting too long. It was weird because Kincaid is the big fish there, so he obviously wants something from Dessy. And what Dessy is known for is having an entrenched network in Cascade."

"Most of Dessy's network are African Americans and Latinos," Jim commented. "Kincaid won't consider them real people. If something happens, he'll burn whoever he needs to in order to protect his own end of the business." In the hospital, Jim had finally amused himself by reading background on the man who had raped him and nearly killed Blair. Kincaid's political beliefs made this an awkward partnership at best.

"Dessy's African American, so I can't imagine what is going through his mind that he's willing to do business with a white supremist like Kincaid."

"Money," Jim answered simply. He looked at the crime scene photos from Roberta Sanchez's death. The woman lay sprawled on the shore, one arm obviously broken and her Latino-dark skin mottled with bruises. "They worked on her for a while before killing her if those bruises had time to form."

"Yeah, that's what the M.E. said," Blair answered. The distant tone made Jim look at him over the top of his file. Despite the fact that the kid was a cop, a Major Crimes cop for God's sake, he looked a little green. Jim tried to decide if Blair always reacted this way to death or if his own brush with it had made him more sensitive, but the simple fact remained that he didn't know Blair well enough to even hazard a guess.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, hey, I'm fine," Blair insisted as he swung his chair toward his computer, booting the system up. "And totally ignore what Brown said about me and computers. I do great with computers, but when I first got transferred, I downloaded this neat new program off the internet, and it had a virus in it. I couldn't get the thing turned off before it ate through my whole hard drive and tech support was like furious for days." Blair gave an exaggerated shudder. "You do not want tech nerds mad at you."

Ignoring the sudden shift of topic, Jim rolled his chair closer and reached for the Taylor case file. The sudden scent of panic filled the air, and Blair's hand darted out, but not before Jim could pluck the file away.

"Hey, you know, we should really focus on Dessy."

"You said we should look at the Taylor case," Jim said mildly as he opened the file. Blair's eyes were big as they watched him. It didn't take Jim long to figure out why Blair didn't want him looking at the file: Kari Taylor lay in a pink dress, her tiny hands curled around the fabric of the skirt, even in death. He read through the reports.

"I could do that one on my own," Blair offered softly. Considering the gaunt shade of white the man had turned, no way was Jim letting him wander anywhere alone.

"I served in Honduras before Peru," Jim started, thinking through what to tell Blair and what should remain confidential, not that he had any obligation at this point. "This one guerrilla 'general' was furious that a village helped the Americans, so he slaughtered their children as punishment. I remember this one little girl. She had this long black hair, but unusually pale skin, and she lay with her arms thrown over her face like she just didn't want to see the killing blow." Jim looked over at Blair who stared at him in horror. "Two months later, we were ordered to work with that same general because he'd decided that cooperating with the Americans on some projects was more advantageous."

"Did you kill him?" Blair asked, his voice barely even a whisper.

Jim rolled his eyes. "I wanted to, but if I had, I would have been in prison, not on a mission in Peru a year later. Just because I hate shit like this," Jim tapped the folder with Kari Taylor's autopsy photos, "does not mean that I'm going to go out of control." Blair opened his mouth to argue, but Jim pointed at the blinking box on the computer screen. "Log in," he said.

Blair swiveled his chair toward the computer, and Jim took the opportunity to give Blair's head a sharp smack.

"HEY!" Blair yelped as he jerked around.

Jim smirked. "You're the one who wanted a signal," he reminded Blair sweetly.

"Yeah, and I said hitting was probably a bad idea."

"You said concussions were a bad idea," Jim corrected him. "Something about how you're a bad, bad patient. I don't think I gave you a concussion, but if you want, I can check your pupils."

"Smart ass."

"I have more than one smart part."

"Yeah, your alec is pretty smart, too," Blair grumbled.

Jim laughed, until he spotted the Taylor file on the desk again. "You never had a Sentinel go over the scene," he said as he flipped open the file and looked at the cemetery where the child's body had been found under an oak.

"Sentinels and dead, abused children. Not generally a good mix," Blair shrugged. "Department policy is to make sure that never the twain shall meet, but I guess Simon just didn't think about that."

Jim liked to think that Simon had thought about that, but Blair might be right. "Let's go over there. I'm sure it's rained once or twice, but with a crime scene that large, something might have survived."

"If you're..." Blair started. Jim reached over and smacked the back of his head hard enough to send his head bobbing forward and make his hair flop around.

"Stop it," Blair growled as he struck out with an elbow. Jim caught the elbow only to have a foot kick him in the shin.

"Feisty little shit," Jim complained as he let go and backed away. Blair pushed his hair back and glared.

"Geez, I liked you better when you were cranky. You in a good mood is just dangerous."

"Only if you forget about your mom's friend, Jim. You keep your head screwed on straight, and we'll be fine."

"Right, screwing," Blair muttered as he stood up and grabbed the file. Jim had been ready with a smart alec comment, but his tongue tangled so badly that he didn't come up with anything until Blair was already to the door. Pushing away thoughts of Blair and screwing, Jim got up to follow. It was time to start earning his pay and showing that months of FBI training with his senses, added onto years of Ranger training, could do the impossible.

TWENTY FOUR
***
"So, how do we handle this?" Jim asked as Blair pulled in through the rusty gates of the cemetery where Kari Taylor had been found, large finger bruises around her throat and her hands clutching the dress that had been pushed up around her waist. Jim could feel the silent rage that everyone so feared in Sentinels, but he pushed it to the side. Losing his cool wouldn't help Kari.

Blair parked the car and stepped out onto the gravel, looking around before he focused on the oak sitting just back from the exit. "I want everything. Man, I want to know if a bee has been walking over the grass," Blair answered.

"Blair," Jim started slowly as he got out of the car and slammed the door behind him. He struggled for the words to explain. "I don't think you have any idea how much I can see and smell. You can't possibly want all of it."

Blair turned and gave him an impish grin. "Oh, I totally do. I want every clue, and if I have to, I'll chase down every single one until I find the one clue that no one can explain. Simon calls my detective work the 'rabbit down the hole' approach because he tells me I spend too much time trying to chase every rabbit down every hole, but it works for me."

"Rabbit down the hole?" Jim asked. "I hate to break it to you, Chief, but that doesn't sound complimentary."

"Yeah, whatever." Blair shrugged. "But I have a closure record that's neck and neck with Brown, and he's been at this a lot longer than me. Good months, my stats beat him." Blair bounced a bit on his toes and winked at Jim. "They may call me a miniature poodle every now and then, but this poodle is beating the big dogs."

Jim rolled his eyes. The kid was definitely unique, and given just *how* unique he was, it was a good thing he never had gone into the army. Jim had visions of some poor sergeant trying to drill the weirdness out of the kid. "So, you want everything. You're about to be sorry," Jim warned.

"No way. This is simple scientific method, man, just science and logic. Make observations, form a hypothesis that would explain the observations, make a prediction about how the various elements would work if the hypothesis is right and test. Lather, rinse, repeat."

"It works?" Jim didn't normally do investigating. As a soldier, he was the hand that acted after other people investigated and determined the best place for action. They said that a pass had to remain clear of drug runners or a man had to die or a scientist had to be evacuated, and Jim got the job done. And with Keith, Jim had pretty much just shuffled after the man picking up the paperwork debris that trailed after him wherever he went.

Now he followed Blair across the lawn toward the place of death. The police tape was gone, but Jim could still see a bit of yellow caught on the edge of the nearby statue where Jesus sat watching them.

"Yep," Blair agreed. "Like on the Hall case. I noticed that she had these gorgeous rose beds with perfect bushes and vines, I mean, not a leaf out of place. Mom and I stayed at this commune once, a place where all these activists would come together once a year, like a holy conclave of counter-culture, and they had a rose garden like that. This one old guy just about lived in the yard. He'd take a giant umbrella, and stick it in the ground, and then sit on a stool as he plucked each sucker off by hand and pulled bugs off each leaf and smashed them between his calloused fingers." Blair held up his hand and mimicked crushing a bug.

"So, anyway, I figure Debbie Hall must spend a lot of time outside, which leads to the question of why. Hypothesis: her marriage was in trouble and she didn't want to spent time with her husband. Prediction: her husband would explode if I accused him of hiding their marital problems. I tested it, and her husband was just confused."

"So, you weren't right," Jim pointed out. "That's not sounding like a successful plan to me."

"You're forgetting the lather, rinse, repeat step, man," Blair winked.

"So, back to square one, the observation. She wants to be outside. So I sit outside her house for two days, and what I notice is the neighbor kids are always playing right there by the roses because of a tree on their property." Blair's hands started to move quicker as he got excited.

"And that's important because…"

"Turns out, she was talking to those kids, trying to get them to come forward about the fact their father was sexually abusing them. She almost had them willing to talk to the police, and that's why her neighbor murdered her."

"You nailed him," Jim finished with satisfaction.

"Oh man, I nailed him big time. He went down for murder, 36 years and nearly got the death penalty because he'd done it to hide the commission of another crime, the rape of his own kids. And pedophiles are not well liked in jail man. At best, he's going to get out when he's in his late seventies." Blair brought up his fist in a gesture of victory, and Jim laughed as he let his hand rest on his companion's shoulder. He was a good man.

"Chief, I can see where your method has merit, but you're asking me to share everything. That's…" Jim paused. "That's a lot," he finished.

"I totally get that." Blair's hands came up, brushing Jim's chest as they gestured. "And I know that most of the details are like big old red herrings, but if we don't have all the information, how can we make a hypothesis that might describe the observable phenomenon?"

"You asked for it, kid." Jim shook his head as they approached the area Jim recognized from the crime scene photos. A few items had been added to the small hill under the tree where the body had lain. "Those are new," Jim commented as he studied the small display. Two pots of marigolds flanked a small ceramic dog statue, a teddy bear leaning against his side.

"Oh man. That's—" Blair started forward, but Jim put an arm across his chest to block him, and Blair fell silent as he turned a puzzled expression toward Jim.

"Slow down there, Speedy. If you want to know everything that a Sentinel can know about this place, I don't need one more set of footprints across the scene, not considering how many people have already gone traipsing through here," Jim complained as he knelt down onto the grass and studied the ground.

"What do you need me to do?" Blair asked as he crouched down about two inches away. Jim could feel Blair's body heat warming the air between them.

"Be quiet," Jim suggested. Blair's mouth closed with an audible click of teeth.

Jim lowered himself so that he had an ant's eye view of the ground, his hand braced on the cool ground. A twig pricked him. "Lots of people have been walking here. Most from the path behind us. I see at least two different women's feet."

"Women?" Blair breathed. Jim blinked and looked over at Blair. Well, the kid had managed to be quiet for maybe fifteen seconds. Now he knelt next to Jim, notepad in hand.

"Either women or cross dressers with abnormally small feet. There are indentations from heels," Jim said as he shook his head and then went back to studying the scene. Light reflected off the individual blades of grass, and Jim tracked the changes as footsteps created tilts that he could barely see like a holographic image that appeared only when you tilted it just right.

Jim slid a few inches to the left and studied the ground more. "Lots of children's feet, six or seven maybe. There were officers all over here, lots of old tracks, barely visible," Jim commented and then he pointed to a spot on the ground. "Wheels rolled through here, probably the stretcher. The children's feet and the two women are fresher. One or two people in work boots walked through recently. One person in dress shoes, big feet."

Jim slowly crab-walked a few feet left in pursuit of the trail. Near the statue of Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane, Jim found what he wanted. Right and left prints right next to each other in the ground. The edges were blurred by rain, but Jim could still see what he'd been searching for.

"I'm guessing a man from the shape of the sole, and he has a heavy limp. He isn't walking well on his left leg," Jim said as he reached out and ran fingertips over the ground, judging the depth of the two steps.

"Oh, man! That's Kari's father. He has a prosthetic leg because of a car accident two years ago, but the question is why he's out here and not at her grave or sitting in her room. Oh yeah, that's a clue!" Blair stood up, and Jim immediately felt the loss of the man's heat.

"He stood here for a long time, facing away from the hill," Jim said as he leaned back on his heels and looked toward where the man must have been staring. He could just see the tall wall that surrounded the old cemetery. A fringe of weeds hid the bottom of the wall, and the mortar between the bricks was crumbling. Someone had mowed the cemetery a few weeks ago, but the grass had the uneven look of a lawn that needed more care. Dandelions stuck yellow heads out here and there, and one had already gone to seed, the white fluff nearly gone from the flower stalk. This was not a view Jim would want to stare at for very long.

He turned around and Blair was staring at him with open eyes. "You see something?" he asked, his eyes darting behind Jim.

"Yeah, a pretty sad place for anyone to die," Jim answered as he stood up and walked to the spot where some visitor had left Kari the gifts. Jim studied them from every angle, but he could only see the obvious: yellow pom-pom flowers tinged with orange, fern-like leaves, the synthetic hairs of the teddy bear magnified until they became a forest of dirty white stained with smudges, the uneven paint strokes under the varnish on the ceramic dog. A few peppermint candies lay on the ground near the base of one flowerpot.

"Nothing here," Jim said as he blinked, a headache just starting to gnaw at the edges of his awareness.

Blair stepped close, his hand resting on Jim's arm. "No way. Man, there's everything here. A dog put out for the dead, marigolds—this is classic Day of the Dead decorations, or since Kari was just a baby, really it would be Día de los Angelitos. But this isn't the commercial crap you see in Walmart with plastic skulls."

Bending down, Blair fingered a marigold leaf. "Traditional belief says that the dead can smell marigolds and will follow that scent to find what people have left for them. On the actual Day of the Dead, some families put marigolds on the grave and then wait for the spirits to return and others leave a trail of marigold leaves from the grave to the house so the dead can follow. Someone wanted Kari to know that they left something for her."

"The bear," Jim said. He crouched down close to the bear without touching it, bracing his hands on the ground as he opened his sense of smell: human sweat and salt and peanut butter and dirt. "Someone's carried it around for a long time," Jim said when he stood up. "The dog is new, but the bear has been washed multiple times, and it still smells like peanut butter and sweat. And the bear hasn't been out here long, it wasn't rained on, but the father's footprints have been."

"The dog is to protect her. Whoever left this is from Mexico, and they believe that you send a dog with the dead to help them across the river. Ancient tribes in Mexico would cremate a dog and bury it with the dead to help them navigate the afterlife."

"Charming," Jim said dryly.

"Hey, it's just as valid a belief as putting coins on the eyes or leaving flowers on the grave."

"Whatever," Jim said as he walked around the scene.

"Yeah, well it means there's something about Kari I don't know because none of her family would have any of these beliefs."

"No Mexicans in her family tree?" Jim asked, studying the display again.

"No way. I'm sorry, but if her name were Maria or even Letisha, do you really think this case would have come to Major Crimes?"

"I'm surprised you're okay with that." Jim watched while Blair flushed white and then slowly blushed with anger.

"No fucking way am I alright with that." Blair spit the words out, his hand jabbing the air in front of him, and Jim wondered just which of them was more likely to emotionally explode first. Sentinel instincts or no, he was betting on Sandburg. "I mean, Simon's great about trying to get a case if I go in there and raise a fuss, but a little white girl gets killed, and no one has to fight to get the case transferred; that's a major crime. Sometimes I really do hate the system, but that doesn't mean that Kari deserves less of my attention."

So Sandburg wasn't the total idealist. "The system isn't perfect," Jim agreed, and as one of the cogs in the system, he had a fairly unique view of its imperfections.

"It's not fair. Two little black girls were strangled and left in alleys, and Simon had to go all the way to the commissioner to get that case transferred. I never said the system was perfect, but all I can do is try to make it work. I found the junkie who killed Felisha and Natalie, and I'll find the asshole who killed Kari," Blair vowed as he got an expression Jim had learned to label the kid's stubborn face.

"We should bag the dog and take it in for fingerprinting. Maybe the wrappers on the outside of the flowerpots too," Blair said, his voice all business now as he focused on the case. Oh yeah, no sublimating emotions there at all, Jim thought as he watched one more sudden shift. He'd seen plenty of guys do that in the army. The kid might be quick to show some feelings, like frustration or awe, but he buried the truly dark ones just as deep as any covert ops sniper Jim had ever met. No wonder the kid shrugged off every mention of his own torture at Kincaid's hands.

"Not the bear?" Jim asked, squinting as the sun finally slid out from behind the ragged blanket of clouds covering the sky.

Jim glanced over and Blair was staring at the bear, the sorrow radiating from him so strongly that Jim felt an urge to go slip an arm around the man and offer some empty words of comfort. That emotional dam of his wasn't going to last for much longer.

"It was hers. Let her keep it," Blair eventually said. He blinked, and next thing Jim knew, the man was trotting across the lawn toward their parked car. "I'm just going to get an evidence bag, I'll be right back," Blair yelled over his shoulder.

Shaking his head, Jim stretched his neck and then focused on relaxing so that he could open his sense of smell to the whole scene. This was the hardest for him to control. When he sniffed an object, he could control the strength of the input, but opening himself to the environment would sometimes lead to him waking up in the Institute infirmary with Sam hovering over him, asking if he wanted to talk about what had triggered the zone. Now he had to take several breaths before he could slowly open it.

The marigolds struck him first, their pungent odor sending him stumbling back a step. A warm hand rested on his back, and Jim found his balance again as he reached out blindly, his eyes still closed. He found a strong shoulder and focused on the scents. Stale coffee, Jojoba shampoo, cream conditioner, spicy musk—in some corner of his mind, Jim realized he was smelling his companion. He took a deep breath to chase the more subtle scents. Traces of incense clung to Blair, a hint of something cinnamon, the remains of yesterday's garlic bread under the salt of his sweat. Jim catalogued it and then focused on the larger scene.

The marigold smell returned, but this time, Jim easily pushed it aside. Immediately, he noticed ammonium nitrate. His eyes opened, and he looked the direction of the potential explosive. A row of apple trees on the far side of the cemetery told him why there were traces of that fertilizer in the air. Jim closed his eyes again and focused on the other scents.

Flowers, dirt, the warm smell of the oak, water somewhere near that was gathering slime mold. Jim could faintly smell a number of human traces as well, the salty scent of people ghosting through his awareness.

Sighing, Jim opened his eyes. "Nothing important, Chief. Some fertilizer for the apple trees, people's sweat, dirt, water turning slimy, you. That's all I'm getting."

"That's okay, man. We have some new clues here."

"So, any hypotheses?" Jim asked as he walked away from Blair and leaned against the tree. The rough bark distracted him from his still open sense of smell.

"Okay, let's work with the father's prints for a second. He comes here, so he wants some privacy with Kari."

"Maybe a little inappropriate privacy," Jim commented as he considered the idea that a man could rape and kill his own child, but it happened more than he liked to think about.

"Yeah. Man, it's going to be ugly if that's true. That's okay, I have another job if this investigation blows up in my face," Blair shrugged. "Okay, so we need to make a prediction and test it. I'm thinking I'm just going to ask him outright why he was here. If he has to struggle to come up with an answer, then it's time to do the kind of digging that can pretty much end my career."

"He's that powerful?" Jim asked.

"Golf buddies with the mayor," Blair said sadly. "But if he did it, he's going to be bed buddies with some guy with prison tats."

"I'll be able to tell you if he's lying, well, unless he's as good at lying as you."

"No way," Blair quickly said as he held up his hands and backed away as though horrified. "No way can we get a warrant for a Sentinel-observed interrogation."

"So, just ask him to consent. Even if he doesn't, it tells you something important," Jim pointed out as he struggled to shut down his sense of smell which seemed locked onto the musk of Blair's sweat. He was working with the kid until he could get Kincaid and bury the son of a bitch under the jail, but he couldn't allow his senses to get carried away. The closer he got to Blair, the harder it would be to break the bond, and right now, his dick wanted to get a whole lot closer. He focused on the case, using his anger at Kari's father to divert his own recalcitrant reactions. "He refuses to let me stay, and we'll know he's hiding something," Jim finished.

"Yeah, great idea," Blair snorted. "Jim, no *way* am I going to ask him to have a Sentinel observe considering that police policy is that Sentinels don't work pedophile cases. Man, that would get back to the mayor's office so fast that it would break the sound barrier. Simon would hear the sonic boom downtown in his office. I mean, this is so far outside the regs that if you did go postal and snap Mr. Taylor's neck, I would get arrested for manslaughter."

Jim reached over and bopped Blair on the head.

"Hey!" Blair complained, his arm coming up to defend himself from a second smack.

"I'm going to go postal?" Jim demanded.

"I didn't say that, you dork. I said IF. IF you went postal, which you are so not going to do, but you may give me a concussion if you don't stop hitting me," Blair protested.

Jim stopped and mentally rewound the conversation. "How the hell am I supposed to help you with the investigation if I have to hide in the shadow every time there's work to do?" Jim demanded instead, ignoring the fact that he might have slightly over reacted. From the glare Blair gave him as he rubbed his head, he noticed the change of topic.

"How are we supposed to work if we get our asses thrown off the case?" Blair countered. "Man, I don't like this, but there's a system that will only flex just so much."

"So I wait at the car," Jim said in frustration.

"Man, I don't see another way to play this. But I'm good at spotting a liar, so if Mr. Taylor gives me a line, it might be enough to get Simon to do something."

"Something," Jim echoed. "Simon might do something while Taylor has time to erase any evidence that might still be left."

"I don't know how else to work it! I have interviewed every member of the family, and this is the first crack in the shield. I just can't have any possible conviction ruined because I had a Sentinel illegally monitor the conversation. What is your conversational range, anyway?" Blair asked.

"The Institute lists it as 103 yards," Jim said, taking a page from Blair's book of obfuscation.

"Wow. That's amazing. Okay, I'll park down the street, and go ask the father why he's coming out here."

Jim clenched his jaw and nodded, not like he had any other choice. Of course, there would still be a chance for him to listen in on the conversation if he could control the zone out factor. It wasn't easy for him to hear past his official limit, but he certainly could. It never paid to give the enemy too much information. "Fine," he snapped.

Jim turned and started back toward the car. He hadn't gotten far before a leggy blonde came around the wall, practically running through the open gate, and Jim instinctively moved back so that he was between her and his companion, his hands curling into fists since he had no better weapon.

A man came running after her, camera bouncing on his shoulder as he flicked the light on so that it shone in Jim's eyes so that he had to throw up an arm to keep from being blinded.

"Detective Sandburg. Would you care to comment about why the department has brought a Sentinel in on this case despite departmental policy?" the reporter called, breathless as she reached them with the microphone. Jim could smell Blair's panic, but the man stood his ground.

"Wendy. Come on, you know I'm not going to comment on a case," he said as he detoured around Jim's back and headed for the car. The camera man got between Blair and the car before Jim got between the camera man and Blair, crossing his arms over his chest. The camera backed off.

"So, that's a 'no comment' from Detective Sandburg, but as the viewers can see, he has brought a Sentinel to the site of the Kari Taylor murder, suggesting that the department is taking desperate steps to solve this brutal homicide," Wendy announced to the camera.

"Wendy, come on, I've done right by you. Don't do this." Blair sounded almost desperate now.

"So, treat me right now, and I won't use the footage," she suggested as she turned her back to the camera. The red light kept flashing.

"Wendy." Blair ran his hand through his hair as he looked from her to the cameraman.

"Take five, Danny. I'll be right back," Wendy said as she moved forward and slipped her arm through Blair's. The cameraman turned the camera and light off as Wendy pulled Blair away from Jim and farther into the cemetery. "Let's talk, just the two of us," she almost purred, but the stink of Blair's panic just intensified.

Ignoring her none-too-subtle hint, Jim stepped to Blair's other side and put his hand on Blair's shoulder. "If you don't get your hands off him, I might come to the conclusion you are assaulting an officer," Jim commented mildly as he walked beside them. Wendy faltered, and dropped Blair's arm.

"Wendy, this is Jim Ellison," Blair introduced them. "Jim was an Army Ranger before his senses came on line. Jim, this is Wendy Hawthorne, the most annoying, persistent, pain in the ass reporter at KCDE."

Wendy almost preened at the description. "But not for long. I'm going national, and you know I can get things done. I can make things happen for you." Jim could hear the conspiratorial tones, and he looked at Blair curiously.

"Okay, don't spread this around, to like *anybody*, including Simon, but I might have been a source for her once or twice," Blair whispered, his eyes darting toward the cameraman who had retreated all the way to the gate. Unless he was a Sentinel, he wasn't hearing anything.

"Chief, you just have all kinds of surprises."

"I always protect your identity, and you know that my coverage of the Robertson case is the only thing that kept it from going right under the rug. I've helped you, Blair. Don't shut me out now," Wendy pleaded, her hand reaching up to briefly touch Blair before she pulled it back again.

"Robertson, that's the IA case," Jim said, remembering that name from a conversation between Blair and Simon at the hospital. Blair nodded.

"He was Internal Affairs. He had a sweet racket going by skimming off all the other dirty cops and keeping IA running in circles, only I caught wind of his operation when an informer told me that Robertson threatened him."

"That's why Aldo hates you," Jim said, putting the pieces together.

Blair laughed. "Oh, yeah. And Wendy turning it into the six o'clock lead didn't make me any more popular with the IA guys."

"You're the one who said that it was better than letting him retire without paying for what he did," Wendy reminded him. "Blair, we have always worked together before because we're after the same thing, the truth."

"No, you're after a career." Blair angled his body to face Wendy, moving back just a little so that his back leaned into Jim's side, and Jim tightened his fingers around Blair's shoulder, letting him know he was staying right there. Blair took a deep breath. "Wendy, if you put that footage on the news, you're going to blow our best chance of catching Kari's killer."

"Who's your prime suspect?" Wendy asked, excitement making her voice tight.

"We don't have one… we only have theories. But this investigation was cold before Jim, and we can't afford to get kicked off the case."

"So, you're confirming that you don't have official sanction for bringing a Sentinel in on the case?" Wendy leaned forward with an expression of triumph.

"Man, come ON! Give me a break here," Blair begged, and Jim could feel tension curling in his stomach.

"It's a story, Blair. Look, I'll hold this for two days. If you can give me something better to air, I will, but the public is demanding answers, and this is news."

"Two days? Wendy, this case is nearly two weeks old, cut me some slack."

"I am. My producer would kill me if he knew I was sitting on this for two minutes. He would break into the afternoon shows and call this breaking news. Blair, I can't just give you a pass on this one because sooner or later, someone else is going to notice your Sentinel. He's not exactly small."

"Two days. Two days, and I'll give you something better," Blair promised weakly.

"I know you will. I'll do what I can to cover for you, Blair, you know that."

"You just won't give up a chance to advance your career, even if it risks an entire investigation," Jim commented as he studied the woman. For the first time, she really studied his face, and Jim resisted the urge to slap the woman who had so completely ignored him up to this point.

"Blair knows I'll do what I can for him," she shrugged before she turned away. Clearly, Jim's opinion of her didn't matter at all. Jim might have gone after her, he might have grabbed her arm and swung her around before telling her a truth or two she didn't want to hear, except Blair chose that moment to lean back, his eyes closed as he let his head fall back against Jim's shoulder.

"Oh man, we are so screwed. Two days. Fuck."

"We'll find something," Jim promised. Okay, so now he had two cases to solve before he started pursuing his plan again. That was okay. He just needed to make sure he didn't let the kid get too close to him. Jim stood with Blair's weight resting on him, the heat of his body soaking in, the scent of Blair's sweat in his nose, and he blinked as the world grayed out for just a second, as though he didn't have enough oxygen. "Let's get moving," Jim said as he shook his head and pushed Blair gently away, forcing him to stand on his own two feet.

"Moving, right," Blair agreed, smelling of misery as he started back toward his car. "Moving is good. God, we are so screwed."

TWENTY FIVE
***

"Okay, I'm going to go talk to the father. Ask him point blank why he would want to go to the place where his daughter was raped and murdered."

"You're going to put it like that?" Jim asked as Blair parked the car quite a ways from the actual house. The Taylors had a large property on the edge of the city, so that left them near the back wall of their land.

"I think I can put it a little more diplomatically," Blair said as he opened the door. Jim got out his side. "No offense, but you cannot come."

"I'm just stretching my legs," Jim assured him. "And we're outside my official range."

Blair looked at him suspiciously and Jim just gazed back with his best poker-face. It worked because Blair shook his head and then started down the sidewalk. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do," he called over his shoulder.

"Too late, I already have, many times over," Jim answered as he leaned back against the sedan they'd checked out from the police garage. Blair didn't answer, but Jim focused on his heartbeat, watching the back vanish around the corner and then closing his eyes as he let his hearing follow Blair to the front door.

Doorbell. Wind through tree branches. Door opening.

"Yes?" A woman's voice, thready… an old woman.

"I'm Detective Sandburg. I needed to speak with Mr. Taylor." Feet shuffling. Movement inside the house. Jim took just a second to marvel at how clearly he could hear at a distance that would have been a struggle just a month ago. He was definitely recovering from the damage the Institute had inflicted with their misguided attempt to protect him.

"Come in. Alan's upstairs. If you'll just wait…"

"Yes, ma'am," Blair agreed. Door closing. Footsteps over tile, dragging like the person was too tired to pick the feet up. A truck rumbled past, and Jim blinked in surprise, the distraction breaking him away from the house.

"Fuck," he cursed as he focused his hearing on where Blair had been just a moment ago. Struggling to filter out all the various noises between, Jim finally heard Blair speaking, although now Jim had to struggle to hear past the sounds of children's laughter and a distant lawn mower, and a television turned up way too far in one of the nearby houses.

"… talk in private?" Blair was asking. Jim missed the next bit, and then they obviously moved because when he heard Blair's voice again, the echoes were different.

He strained, ignoring the warbling sound at the edges that warned that he was on the cusp of a spike. "… at the cemetery. I'm just wondering why you would want to visit that place, in particular."

"I just wanted to see." Jim focused on the voices, filtering out the closer sounds and firmly ignoring the uneven warbles of his own distorted hearing.

"See what?" Blair prompted, his voice sharp. If the man had something to hide, he'd react to that tone. Hell, Jim had snapped back when confronted with a tone half as confrontational as that.

"I had to see where. I just… I don't know. I didn't disturb anything at the scene," Mr. Taylor answered weakly. Jim couldn't hear any stressors of lying, but at this distance he didn't trust his judgment either.

"Did you touch anything?"

"The tree. The bench near the statue. I just needed to see…"

"Mr. Taylor, did you see anyone at the cemetery?" Blair asked, his tone much more neutral. Jim didn't hear an answer. "How long ago did—"

"Ollie, ollie oxen free," a girl's voice scattered his focus and Jim stumbled back, nearly going to one knee as the sounds of the neighborhood boomed in his head, echoing off the inside of his skull.

"Not now, Lal," an older girl sighed.

"Kari would have played with me. You're just… aburrido," the girl said. The voice sounded eight or nine.

"Aburrida," the older girl corrected her. Jim shook his head free of the clinging strands of sounds he didn't want and wandered to the fence. Walking away from the direction Blair had gone, Jim followed it until he reached a wide gate set back into a recessed alcove.

Even though he reached for the handle, he expected the gate to be locked. It wasn't. Jim found himself in the shade of an old tree, a gardener's shack to his left, and the view to the main house blocked by row of trees. A weed-eater leaned against the side of the windowless building and six children played in the area. He watched a girl of about nine throw herself to the ground next to a sister who looked pretty much the same age.

Their jeans and t-shirts were neat, well, except for the littlest boy who had mud handprints streaked across the yellow, but Jim guessed they weren't the Taylors'.

"Hey, guys," Jim said without moving away from the gate. He didn't need to send them running, screaming about a renegade Sentinel. That probably wasn't what Blair had in mind.

The kids froze, the little boy's fingers still clutching a captured worm.

An older boy, even darker than the others stepped forward. "Wow. You're a Sentinel." He looked like he was maybe thirteen.

"Yeah, I'm a Sentinel," Jim agreed without much enthusiasm as he scanned the group. "You guys sound like you're having fun back here." Having fun and talking about Kari, but he didn't add that. A plastic tea cup was half buried in the ground, the mud dried to dirt around it, and the grass was worn and yellow from overuse. They played back here a lot.

"We're playing train," a little girl with dark pigtails offered as she left her two older sisters. One of the girls, maybe ten, made a grab for the small arm, but the little one danced away. She must have been five or six, and Jim remembered Stevie at that age; he wouldn't be told what to do either. She was the youngest, the little boy with the worm probably a year older and then two middle girls and two older ones, one boy and one girl who stayed in the shadows and watched, a book in her lap.

"Raul has a collar looks just like that," the little girl added as she pointed to Jim's neck and then looked at the older boy, the one who had stepped forward. Jim self-consciously reached up and touched the warm metal locked around his neck. Glancing over, Jim could see Raul blush.

"It was… It's just something that the guys sometimes…" Raul stumbled into silence and shrugged.

"I don't understand why you'd want to, but it's not like it bothers me," Jim reassured the boy.

"You don't understand?" Raul's accent thickened as he raised his voice. "You're a Sentinel. You have these amazing abilities and everyone looks up to you and respects you, and maybe even has a little fear of you. How can you not understand why we'd…" He stopped and blushed even darker.

Jim struggled as he considered just how to answer that, how to deal with adolescent worship when being a Sentinel was really more about slavery than respect. Just because most people never saw the chains didn't mean they weren't always there… in a guardian's closet, waiting in every ambulance, stored in the hospital which would pull them out and chain any Sentinel who came in just because he might lose control.

"Raul," Jim said quietly. "A Sentinel shouldn't get any more respect or any less respect than any other man. Every man should earn respect by what he does."

Raul looked at him solemnly, but Jim was distracted by a pull on his arm. The little girl had his hand, or his fingers rather. Jim knelt down. "Hi, I'm Jim," he offered.

"Maria," she immediately answered with a smile. "I never touch a Sentinel." She reached up, and Jim tensed, expecting her to touch the collar. Instead she touched his cheek and then laughed. "Prickly!" she announced.

Jim rubbed his whiskers. "My partner is a bathroom hog and I didn't have much time to shave," Jim admitted as he found the small patch he'd missed. "Do you play out here much?"

"Mama works in the house," one of the middle girls said as she stood up, it was the one who had complained that Kari would have played with her.

"And Mama says to not talk to strangers," said the oldest girl who jumped off the tree branch where she'd been sitting. She looked fourteen or fifteen, but her voice had the decisive authority of an adult.

"He's not a stranger; he's a Sentinel," Raul argued.

"You're mother's a smart woman," Jim interrupted before the kids could get into a real argument. "But I'm just looking for some help trying to find who hurt Kari." All the kids went silent. Jim was still crouching beside the littlest, so he could see her eyes shine with tears.

"Mama said Kari's in heaven," she whispered.

"Maria, hush," the oldest girl hissed as she came forward and pulled Maria away by the shoulder. Jim stood up and faced her.

"You left her presents," Jim guessed as he looked at the girl.

"He already knows, Carmen, so we ain't telling things he don't already know," Raul said, the voice that had been full of awe before was now as snotty as a little brother could be. Jim remembered that tone all too well, even if the words were different. Raul turned to Jim. "They wouldn't let us into the cemetery where they buried her, so we went out to where she was—we left some stuff," he agreed.

"Raul," the oldest, Carmen, threatened with a killer glare, but then Maria started to cry, and she crouched down so the little girl could put her arms around her sister and hide her face in Carmen's shoulder.

"My partner and I found the dog and the bear. It was nice of you to leave that for her," Jim said quietly.

"Roo." Maria whispered. She turned her tear-streaked face to Jim. "I left her Roo because her mama said she couldn't bring her toys out with her 'cause they get dirty and I wanted her to have someone to play with."

"That was special, sharing your Roo with her," Jim said softly, but it only made the little girl cry harder so that she turned back to her sister's shoulder. Jim stood immobilized, not sure how to handle the crying Maria or the two middle sisters, one of whom took ragged breaths while the other stared at the ground. The little boy sat jabbing a stick into the dry ground over and over, chipping away at a tiny hole. There wasn't anything he *could* do to make any of them feel better.

"Raul, take the others down to the corner," Carmen said as she picked Maria up and delivered her to a brother who could barely hold her weight. "Get them a soda to share." She reached in her pocket and pulled out two dollars.

"And maybe some ice cream," Jim added as he reached for his wallet. He pulled out a ten.

"We don't need your money," Carmen said, stepping between her brother's outreached hand and Jim's offering.

"No, you don't. But I said things in front of them that I shouldn't have, and I didn't mean to make them cry. I figure I owe them something to fix that," Jim said quietly. "If you don't want the money, you can give it to whoever you like." Jim kept the money out and the whole scene froze.

"I want ice cream." The boy on the ground scrambled up and flung himself at Carmen's legs. "Helado!"

"Great," she sighed as she glared at Jim and then yanked the ten dollar bill from his hand. Jim resisted the urge to smile. "Fine, ice cream."

The offer didn't exactly cheer up anyone except for the youngest boy who raced for the back gate, but at least the tears had stopped. Jim waited until the younger ones were gone.

"You knew Kari," he said gently. Carmen sighed.

"Yeah. She would play back here. Her parents… they didn't really know what to do with a kid." Carmen turned her back and headed into the shadow of the trees, back to the branch where she originally sat.

"Have you talked to the police?"

"Aren't you the police?" she countered.

Jim considered that. He hadn't ever joined or given his oath or filled out an application. If anything, he still thought of himself as a soldier, but one without a country to serve because Jim would never again defend a country that did the things America did to its Sentinels. In the back of his head, he had always hoped that his father had exaggerated, but after months in the Institute, he wasn't sure the old man had even scratched the surface.

"Not really," he shrugged. "My partner is a cop, but I'm just sorta the ride-along."

"I didn't think Sentinels were supposed to lie."

"They can lie as well as anyone else," Jim corrected her, "but I’m not. In fact, I'd appreciate you not mentioning to the Taylors that I was out here because the police don't think a Sentinel should be investigating this kind of crime."

"They think you'll kill the bastard that did this," Carmen said, her voice suddenly hard, and Jim understood that she wanted him to kill the murderer. She was queen and caretaker over her little covey, and Kari had been part of group, by choice if not by blood.

"He doesn't deserve to die; it'd be too quick, and killing another person is not something to ever do lightly. He deserves to go to jail."

Carmen nodded, but with the younger ones gone, he could see her struggle against her own tears.

"Did Kari ever have bruises or complain about someone touching her?"

"You mean Mr. Taylor," Carmen said, but she shook her head. "He wasn't home much. He'd see her in the morning, sometimes he'd just lean out the back door and wave when she was on her swings. But he wouldn't come home until Kari was asleep. And I would have known if anyone hurt her. She would have told me or I would have seen the bruises."

"You're sure?"

"Look, I shouldn't be talking to you," Carmen said as she jumped off the branch again, and this time she headed for the back gate. "I'm not supposed to talk to strangers."

"I'm a Sentinel, not a stranger," Jim repeated her brother's words, and she scowled at him.

"You're a cop. The first rule is don't talk to strangers, and the second is don't talk to cops." With that, Carmen ran out of maturity. She turned and ran for the back gate, her hair flying and Jim could hear the sobs start.

"Nice, Ellison," Jim told himself as he slowly followed. He wanted to give Carmen a chance to get far enough away that she wouldn't have to see him. Fuck. He really didn't like this job right now.

Jim pushed out the wood gate and closed it behind him. It was a horrible security breach, but that was the soldier in him; most people didn't think about things like that. They worried about how to bring manure in without leaving tire marks on the lawn. Jim sighed. He wished the Taylors didn't have anything better to worry about than tire treads. And he wished he had something to show for making a bunch of kids cry.

"Jim!" Blair nearly shouted the minute he spotted him. Blair stood next to the car, his hands caught mid-flutter.

"Blair," Jim said calmly as he walked toward the passenger side.

"Where were you?" Blair asked as he walked to the back of the car. Jim detoured just enough to get within arm's reach. He casually reached over and bopped Blair on the side of the head.

"Man, you are just too into hitting me! You are so totally showing a sadistic side." Blair danced away a step and rubbed the spot on his head.

"That would imply it actually hurt. Does it?" Jim asked as he stopped and studied Blair. His stomach tightened at the idea.

"That is not the point," Blair huffed as he turned toward the driver's side.

"That's exactly the point, Sandburg. I'm just reminding you that I don't need a keeper; you aren't some abused wife, although with that hair you could play the part."

"Very funny. And you are obviously missing the point here. I would have asked my mom's friend Jim that same question because we're working a case together."

"And your mom's friend Jim would have caught you upside the back of the head for that tone you used when you first saw me and called my name," Jim argued. "So, how'd it go with the father?" Jim asked even though he already had a good idea. He hadn't been able to see the man, so Blair might have spotted something he couldn't know from out here.

Blair got in the car, and Jim followed. Rather than start the car, Blair leaned back against the seat and stared at the car's roof.

"Nadasville. This case is just one frustration after another. Mr. Taylor said he went out there to get away from his family and the reporters and just be with his little girl's memory."

"You believed him?"

"No way. He went out there to poke his own guilt." Blair made a strange face and poked the steering wheel a couple of times to emphasize his point. God the kid was weird.

"But you don't think he's the killer."

"If he is, he's the best actor I've ever met. The absolute best. But I really don't think this is going anywhere." Blair rolled his head to the side and looked at Jim.

"I think you're right," Jim agreed. "I went in his backyard."

"Oh man. We are so far out on a limb here," Blair grimaced.

"You're out on a limb, Chief; I'm just a Sentinel," Jim said with a nasty smirk. Blair poked him in the stomach, and Jim reached out and pulled a curl.

"Nice, leave me hanging out to dry," Blair said, but he had enough laughter in his voice that Jim knew he wasn't serious. The hand Jim had used to pull Blair's hair ended up on Blair's thigh, and neither of them moved for a second. Jim could feel a familiar need twist around his spine, and he coughed and focused on the case.

"There were six children out back by the gardener's shed. I made them cry," Jim admitted and Blair flinched.

"Yeah, interviewing kids always sucks."

"They said that Mr. Taylor was gone a lot and that the Taylors didn't really know what to do with a kid. Apparently Mrs. Taylor wouldn't even let Kari take toys outside because they might get dirty."

"Nice," Blair said sarcastically.

"Yeah, but Kari would play with these Hispanic kids whose mom works in the house. Carmen, the oldest girl, insists that she would know if someone hurt Kari, and no one did."

"The M.E. said there wasn't any evidence of long-term abuse which is why I didn't press the father at first, but I'm getting desperate enough to clutch at straws."

"Here's one last straw to clutch at: the display at the cemetery was from the kids Kari played with. The littlest girl even left her bear because Mrs. Taylor wouldn't let Kari have toys outside and she wanted Kari to have someone to play with."

Blair took a deep breath. "I hate cases with kids. They just always break your fucking heart," Blair said weakly, and Jim tightened his hand on Blair's thigh.

"But that means we're out of leads."

"No way. I didn't know that Kari played out there. I investigated her pre-school and her dance class and her church, and now I have one more place to investigate. Their mom must be Luella Palma; she informally runs the house."

"Just watch out for rule number two: don't talk to cops," Jim offered. "And you may want to wait because her kids went to the corner store for ice cream after I made the five year old collapse into open sobs."

Blair flinched. "Ouch."

"Yeah. Gotta love this job. I think I preferred lying under a bush for two days to shoot some guy."

Blair stammered a bit at that.

"And I gave them a ten, so I'm going to need some money." Jim kept his voice neutral, but the irritation scraped over his nerves and he pulled his hand back.

"I know Walker set up a Sentinel account, but