The Observer 1
Chapters 1-5
Rated: Adult
Warning: Puppy Play, Dom/sub, bondage

Written for the Moonridge Auction, Beta'ed by Kitty_Poker1 and Slashpuppy and Jane Davitt (Thanks ladies!)

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Jim flipped the television off, leaving the kitchen the only source of light in the dim loft. It was unseasonably warm or he would have lit a fire. Blair sat up and pushed against his leg, and Jim let his hand wander down to the curled hair where he stroked it, letting go of his own frustrations.

When Blair had first asked for this, Jim had hesitated, but seeing Blair finally relaxed, the manic energy drained, Jim let himself smile down at his lover. Blair looked up at him, clearly asking what was next on the agenda even without words.

"Just want some quiet," Jim said as he got up from the couch and opened the balcony doors. Living in this area meant few neighbors and none with a view of the balcony. Of course, Jim wasn't sure Blair would hesitate, even if someone could see him. He leaned against the railing, and Blair crawled to his feet, kneeling down and leaning his weight into Jim's leg.

"Beautiful night," Jim said, not really expecting an answer. He still got one in the form of a heavy sigh and more weight pressing against his leg.

Jim glanced down at his lover—naked, gagged, knee pads on, his hands cocooned in mitts, his ankles attached to his thighs with a short chain, and that puppy tail plug holding him open, the tail part curling up toward his back.

"Don't you think so, Chief?" Jim asked as he reached down and gave a naked side a friendly thump. The puppy tail bobbed a bit as Blair tightened his inner muscles. Feeling a little evil, Jim reached down and caught the tail, tugging at it gently as Blair squirmed and moaned behind his gag.

"Puppy's about to make a mess on the floor," Jim commented as he considered the drop of precum gathering at the end of Blair's hard cock. The sight made Jim start to harden.

Rubbing his own erection, Jim eased up on his own control and allowed himself to really study the body at his feet, to feel the heat grow in his cock. All night he'd focused his eyes on the television and not the curve of Blair's ass or the play of muscle across his shoulders. Now Jim let himself feast on the sight.

Jim groaned, and Blair pressed against his leg in silent encouragement before looking up with wide eyes. Yep, the kid knew that if he could just get Jim hard, he'd get an end to the game. Jim didn't enjoy self-denial the way Blair did. He'd be beyond frustration by now, but he'd learned not to judge Blair by his own preferences. He liked to tie Blair up, and Blair loved to be tied. And Blair loved to be hard.

Jim gave a curl a little tug and Blair dropped his eyes back down submissively. Jim would decide when to end the sensual torture, and Blair's pleading gaze wouldn't change that. Especially since the man needed to let go so badly. The mayor had put Blair on display, ambushing the two of them on the courthouse steps with a horde of reporters as he announced a new push to make the police department more adaptable and responsive to the needs of minorities. In public, Blair had put on the perfect show, dazzling the reporters with discussions of group dynamics and power and rising expectations and cultural respect.

But once they got home, that façade had fallen, and Blair had panicked at the thought of having to deliver on the pretty words, of having to produce papers that actually helped officers change their ways of thinking. He'd spun nearly out of control at the thought of having to give up his work on Sentinels because of this new life with the police that seemed to be sucking him in, but then he'd turned around and nearly hyperventilated at the idea that he wouldn't be able to do enough with the police.

Blair had only settled once Jim opened the wooden chest that now sat in the living room, an antique lock making it look like a piece of art. The command to strip had made Blair drop his clothes and his worries as he focused on following orders. He'd knelt while Jim had first fitted the collar. That one piece of leather defined the edges of their play. Put it on, and Blair dropped the aggression that he carried through the rest of his life, and he became Jim's. When Jim had pulled out the puppy hardware, Blair's heart began to thump as Jim buckled on each item, carefully testing each bond, tightening the straps to avoid rubbing while avoiding making any too tight.

Jim had saved the gag, flipping on a soccer game and ordering Blair to put his clothes into the basket in the bathroom where they belonged. He'd sat on the couch, pulled off his shoes with a sigh, and watched as Blair had traveled between the living room and the bathroom. Crawling with the clink of chain against the floor, he'd grabbed each item in his teeth before crawling down the hallway to drop it in the hamper. And with each trip, Jim had seen him grow harder.

Finally, Blair had come to kneel by Jim's side, unable to really sit with the puppy tail tucked into place, and Jim had held out the gag. Blair had opened immediately, and Jim had pressed the rubber into place. For a second, he'd hesitated, wanting Blair in his arms but also wanting to give Blair the chance to sink into the role and hand over the power. Finally, Jim had ordered Blair to lie down. Jim had felt Blair settle in, his head resting on one of Jim's feet as he watched the game.

Jim had reached down, teasing Blair with a few strokes to his cock that made Blair whimper, and then Jim had spent the rest of the game letting his bare foot travel over Blair's helpless body.

And now, the tension of earlier had vanished under the contentment Blair always got when Jim tied him. Jim gave the puppy tail another tug, and Blair wiggled his ass.

"You know, when I was married, I had some fantasies, but they never went this far," Jim said as he crouched down. Blair looked at him, his eyebrows lowering in concern.

"Oh, don't get so paranoid," Jim admonished him as he draped an arm around Blair's back and ruffled his hair. Blair huffed through his nose and shook his head to try to get the hair out of his face. "I'm not doing this for you, or not *just* for you. I can't believe how much I love seeing you like this," Jim confessed, and Blair's expression relaxed.

"Last week, when that idiot on the scene gave you shit and you ripped him a new one, I was thinking how much I wanted to bring you home and tie you down. You're so strong, Chief, one of the strongest men I know, and to know that you'll lay down that strength for me is incredibly sexy," Jim whispered. He'd quickly learned that words would torture Blair into a state of sexual need about as quickly as a hand around his cock, and he loved watching as Blair's body twisted and humped just from Jim's words.

"Do you need to go to the bathroom before bed?" Jim asked. The kid would never be able to pee with a hard-on like that, but he could offer. Blair shook his head.

"Hungry?" Jim asked. Blair hesitated a second after that question, but then shook his head.

"Thirsty?"

Blair nodded for that one, and Jim stood up, heading into the kitchen. He grabbed a glass and filled it with water before dropping in a straw. Since Blair had hesitated, he grabbed a banana and peeled it, breaking it into chunks and putting it on a saucer. He put them both on the floor and then walked over to Blair, who knelt by the table.

"Hurry up, then," Jim said as he unbuckled the gag.

Blair took a second to rub against Jim's leg like a large cat before he crawled into the kitchen to see what Jim had put down. "When you're done, I'll be upstairs," Jim said before he made a quick detour to the bathroom. When he came out, Blair was already attempting the stairs, slowly inching his way up, and Jim watched the view from the rear.

He moved easily enough, but with each stair, Jim could see the movement make the plug shift, and Blair hesitate as his cock twitched in response. Jim still had the gag in hand, and he kept waiting for Blair to say something, but Blair controlled his mouth all the way to the top of the stairs, at which time he promptly went to the corner of the bed and started humping.

"Bad dog," Jim said as he caught the collar and pulled Blair back from the bed. Blair opened his mouth, and Jim waited for an excuse to put the gag back on, but then he just whined his frustration.

"Up you go," Jim said, lifting Blair and putting him on the bed. "Someone's getting a little big there," Jim joked, and Blair glared over his shoulder.

Jim laughed and gave the raised ass a smack. Blair gave a wiggle and clenched his ass so that the tail bobbed. Jim grabbed it and pulled straight out. For a second, Blair held on to the plug so that Jim had to pull harder until finally it popped out.

Blair let out a low moan, and Jim hurried to shed his own clothing. He still remembered his nervousness the first time he'd done this, half afraid that he wouldn't fit in Blair, no matter what the Internet said. He crawled on the bed behind Blair, and Blair let his shoulders sink to the bed so that his back arched and his ass stuck up into the air.

Oh yeah, that was his little hedonist, Jim thought as he let his hands run over the muscles of Blair's ass. Taking his erection in hand, Jim grabbed a lubed condom and tore open the package, rolling it on before he lined up and pressed slowly forward; he watched Blair's arms slide over the sheets as he twitched in need. Jim knew that Blair wanted it harder and faster; he needed that to come. But right now, Jim enjoyed slowly torturing Blair as he leisurely pressed in and Blair made a keening sound that ended with a harsh panting.

Once Jim was fully in, he let himself lean forward, resting his hands on Blair's shoulders, further pinning him to the bed.

"I could take you slow and easy, and come just from knowing you were submitting to me. I could do it so gently that I left you hard and aching when I finished," Jim threatened, and Blair started grunting, arching his back in clear desperation. And yet, he lay submissive under Jim's hands.

Taking pity on his lover, Jim pulled out and then slammed back in, making Blair throw his head back and struggle back up to all fours. Jim moved faster and faster, letting go of his own control as he felt his orgasm rush up through him. He yelled as he came, and then Blair was there, cursing colorfully as he arched and shook and orgasmed onto the covers.

Jim sagged onto Blair, still holding the base of the condom as he withdrew. He'd barely pulled free when Blair collapsed, and they both fell to the bed in an exhausted heap.

"Fuck," Blair said softly, and Jim smiled. The man had a foul mouth when he was horny, but then he spent so much time gagged that it didn't really matter that much. Jim stretched out and dropped the condom into the wastebasket beside the bed.

"I'm in the wet spot," Blair complained tiredly as Jim unhooked his legs, unbuckling the straps around his ankles and thighs.

"You made it," Jim pointed out.

"You made me make it."

"You loved it."

"I'm too tired to have this fight right now," Blair conceded.

"Funny, I feel like that a lot," Jim laughed. He slipped the kneepads off Blair's legs and then slid up into the bed. Blair still had on the collar and the mitts that kept his fingers curled into a little ball, but Jim wasn't in any hurry to take those off.

"Feeling better?" Jim asked as he lay next to Blair. Blair rolled so that his back pressed into Jim's chest, spooning.

"Still freaking a little," Blair confessed. "I mean, I know I can do good work at the department, but the ride-along is only for a month. Man, the way he talked in front of those reporters, I'm going to single-handedly redefine race and gender for the entire fucking station."

"Don't sell yourself short. I think you're already well on your way to that goal," Jim said as he reached for the smaller toy box from under the bed. He pulled out a length of chain and leather traces. Blair sighed.

"Frankenstein's monster," he said dramatically, putting on a long-suffering expression as Jim started buckling satin-lined restraints around his wrists.

"I have it on good authority that Frankenstein was very fond of his monster," Jim said with a smile, not even pausing as he locked the long leash to the railing. Blair had plenty of room to move, but he couldn't leave the bed. More importantly, he couldn't stroke himself. If he woke up horny, he would have to try to tempt Jim into finishing it for him. Somehow, that felt right. Only once the new restraints were locked in place did Jim start taking off the mitts that made Blair's hands useless.

"He probably was," Blair agreed.

"And if we need to extend the ride-along, we can," Jim said as he settled in, reaching over to flip off the light since Blair couldn't.

"Man, I'm getting great stuff, and I have one paper ready to publish already, but I can't help but think about my Sentinel stuff. I'm feeling like I'm never going to get back to my dissertation."

"Why are you doing that as a dissertation?" Jim asked curiously. The dark and the warmth of Blair's body made him feel secure in a way he hadn't since before the crash in Peru, and he let his imagination play its nightly game with him.

He imagined Blair's heart beating loudly enough to echo off the walls, driving away the other sounds the way a nightlight scares the ghosts. His hands wandered over Blair's body, feeling the hairs slide across his palms.

"From the first time I read Burton's book, all I wanted was to find a Sentinel," Blair said softly, and Jim could hear the desperation in that tone, but this time he couldn't fill that need with leather and a strong hand.

"If there are any left, you'll find them," Jim promised, "but it would open doors if you waited until you were Dr. Sandburg to look. You might find more people willing to listen."

"Yeah, but when I get my dissertation, people will pretty much expect me to keep studying whatever I focused on."

"And since when do you care what people expect?" Jim asked. The question made Blair fall silent, and Jim could hear the links on the chain jangle as Blair tugged at it. "Don't answer that," Jim said as he reached around and let his hands rest on top of Blair's. "Just think about it."

Tucking Blair in closer, Jim draped one leg over his lover and fell asleep.

CHAPTER TWO
***

"Sleeping beauty arises," Jim said as Blair groaned his way to life. It didn't matter how much sleep Blair got, he still woke up a cranky, tangled mess. Blair didn't answer, but he did pull on his arms, confirming that he was still chained to the railing before he rolled over and buried his head in the pillow.

"Oh, no. You have class today. And this afternoon, you are supposed to watch me be my usual, charming self," Jim said as he came over and sat on the edge of the bed. "I have to interview the women over at Swanson's sewing factory, and they all like you much more than they like me, so I need my observer to tag along and informally ask them if the boss was doing anything nasty on the side."

"Define nasty," Blair said, taking the bait as he opened one bleary eye and gave a salacious wiggle.

"I think you can figure that out on your own, Chief. Use those powers of observation."

"Oh, I'm observing a thing or two," Blair confirmed. "I was kinda hoping you would, too." Blair squirmed and Jim could hardly miss the hard-on the man sported.

"You mean this?" Jim teased, running a single finger over the hard flesh, and now Blair was awake. He sucked in his breath, fisting the chains that held his hands up and away from his aching cock as he spread his legs. Jim laughed at the wanton pleasure.

"Oh man, this is not funny. Come on, have some mercy here," Blair begged.

"And here I thought you liked it when I was merciless. Seems like you even called it one of your kinks," Jim said.

"Fuck," Blair swore. "It is. And I'm going to have to take care of that myself, aren't I?"

"Someone slept through the alarm, and I do not provide quickies," Jim confirmed. Blair closed his eyes and pressed his head back into the pillows.

"Operant conditioning," Blair muttered.

"Excuse me?" Jim reached up and unlocked the cuffs, checking Blair's wrists before he wound the chain around his hand and dropped the bundle into the box under the bed. Blair pushed himself up and sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his face.

"Operant conditioning. Annoying me with lack of sex when I sleep through the alarm, promising sex if I wake up on time. Man, I wish you luck, but not even you can turn me into a morning person."

"I never said I was trying to—" Jim started but he gave up when Blair just padded down the stairs, naked as he'd been born.

"Whatever, just hurry up," Jim yelled down the stairs as he searched for his shoes.

Eventually, Jim found his shoes next to the couch, but not before he was nearly as late as Sandburg.

"Blair, I'm leaving," Jim shouted over the sound of the shower. He didn't get an answer. Jim smiled as he imagined what Blair was doing that he didn't even hear Jim's call.

Spending his morning buried in his old cases, Jim didn't pay any attention to the movement around him. He slammed the Hanson file down with no more answers than he'd had an hour ago. His instincts told him that the wife had done it, but Jim couldn't find any evidence to back it up.

Frustration welled up in him, a familiar companion, but Jim shoved it aside and grabbed the Swanson case. Maybe he'd do better with something a little fresher. The labs weren't in yet, so Jim reviewed the initial interview notes from the uniforms, making notes on which workers he wanted to either track down or send Sandburg after when he showed up after class.

"Jim, we have a problem," Simon said tersely as he passed Jim's desk. "My office."

Jim closed the Swanson file and followed. He certainly couldn't remember doing anything to inspire that dire tone of voice, at least not lately. Hell, he hadn't wrecked a police vehicle in close to four months.

"What's up?" Jim asked as he closed the office door behind him. Simon pushed a piece of paper across the desk, and Jim picked it up. The paper was a photocopy of a typed letter, and from the dark lines going through it, Jim guessed it'd been made on the copier down between Records and Forensics.

He skimmed the first part: general threats against the department and Jim in particular. The part that referenced 'Ellison's little researcher' made him clench his jaw and curse the mayor for siccing the press on Sandburg. Even worse, Blair had smiled and flirted and charmed the reporters until a page twenty story somehow ended up on page three. Blair had obviously hit the wack-job's radar, which annoyed Jim more than the threats to his own life and the insults to his investigational skills combined.

"I've seen dozens of these, Simon," Jim said, confused by the worry on Simon's face. Every threat he got went to Forensics for fingerprinting and then got filed, but he'd never worried about them before.

"It came with this," Simon said. He pushed across a second piece of paper, a map. Jim looked at it and recognized the location.

"The post office in Tacoma," he said slowly. "That's not our jurisdiction." He flipped the paper over and photocopied onto the back was a map with the bridge on the Snohomish circled. The two sites of the bombings had been all over the news. Jim looked at the first letter again. The writer clearly expected him to investigate the bombings, but neither was in Cascade's jurisdiction. The signature at the bottom read 'Switchman.'

"Simon, this doesn't make sense. These aren't our cases; is it some sort of crank just claiming credit for the Tacoma bombings?" Jim asked as he put both papers on the edge of Simon's desk.

"Maybe, but I want you to check this bomber out."

"You're sending me to Tacoma?" Jim asked. "I'm not sure how much help I can be. It's not my territory, so I wouldn't even know where to start working any contacts," Jim pointed out.

"The bomber obviously feels some sort of connection to you, so if you don't go to him, sooner or later, he's going to come here. I would rather not have my city turned into target practice." Simon leaned back in his chair. "This guy is serious, so the faster we figure out his connection with you, the faster we can take him off the street."

"I'll give it a shot, Simon, but who knows how this idiot latched onto me," Jim said as he raised the threatening letter. He still wasn't convinced the Switchman and the bomber were one and the same. "He might just have seen my name in the paper. And he mentions Sandburg in here, so he probably read about that crap the mayor's been feeding the press. Maybe it's someone from a minority group who feels we neglected them and are trying to change too late, or maybe some hate group that doesn't like the thought of the department trying to improve communication with minorities."

Simon shook his head. "No, it's the bomber."

Jim looked at Simon suspiciously. "And what makes you so sure?"

"That was my first thought," Simon admitted. "The problem is that this letter came in last week, before the Snohomish bombing. Someone down in Forensics finally looked at the letter instead of the fibers in the paper and sent a copy up here."

"Shit," Jim cursed as he picked up the threatening letter again. It identified him as Detective Ellison, calling him the lead detective on the case despite the fact that he had never even thought twice about the bombings in the next town over. Either this guy couldn't read a map or he had problems engaging with reality.

Wait a minute. The dates suddenly struck Jim. "Simon, how did he know Sandburg was working with me a week ago?"

"Good question. He's obviously keeping track of you, which is why I'm taking this one seriously."

"How does Tacoma want to handle this?" Jim asked.

"They're willing to work with you. They have two dead and twelve injured, so they want this Switchman pretty bad, and right now, this is the best lead they have."

"Yes, sir," Jim said as he examined the two photocopies again. As far as leads went, he was starting at square zero, but maybe Tacoma had some suspects, some name he might recognize from a previous case. "Forensics has the lab work on these?" he asked as he lifted the papers.

"Yeah, they were clean. Not a print or drop of saliva to be found. Plain grain-long white paper, standard ink."

"Wonderful," Jim agreed sarcastically. The drive-thru breakfast he'd eaten churned unhappily.

"Jim," Simon said seriously, and Jim looked up at his friend. "You might want to consider leaving Sandburg at home on this one."

Jim froze, his anger solidifying into something colder as he watched Simon's impassive expression. The man had on his poker face, and Jim didn't really have to think too hard about why.

"His observer credentials are good for two more weeks," Jim said slowly.

"Jim." Simon took a deep breath. "Most of the guys around here aren't going to say things to your face, not even when they're happy talking behind your back."

"I don't give a shit what people say, Simon."

"I figured that out a long time ago, back when you came in here from Vice all attitude and earring." Simon gave a short laugh. "But if you take Sandburg over to Tacoma, you're going to stir things up."

Jim rolled his eyes. "Like I give a shit what they think in Tacoma. I'm going over there to do a job, and right now Blair's job is to observe me working. If something gets stirred, it's not his fault."

"You can't believe that," Simon said as he pushed himself back from his desk and crossed his arm. "From the first time some poor uniform tried to take his statement in the gay-bashing case, Sandburg has threatened, intimidated, cajoled, or offended every member of this department."

"He's never—"

"Oh, he's cajoled you; he got you to take him on an investigation with no proper documentation. I've *never* known you to break basic protocol with such flagrant disregard."

"I was getting written up long before I ever met Sandburg, so don't blame my faults on him." Jim could feel his jaw ache as he struggled to control his growing fury. "And the officers at the scene were lucky that he didn't do more than threaten to sue. They were so far out of line they deserved to get their asses handed to them on a plate."

"He's trouble. And I know he's damn good at what he does. He's gotten information out of witnesses that we never would have, but he stirs up shit. If you can't keep him contained, you have no business taking him into a new situation with officers who will not appreciate his brand of..." Simon paused before narrowing his eyes and finishing with a near-growl, "pugnacity."

"Pugnacity?" Jim repeated, not really sure how to even answer that.

"Inclined to fight, quarrelsome, starting stupid shit because he can," Simon defined the term.

"You think he's pugnacious?" Jim laughed darkly. "Simon, he never starts anything, and if he gets into it with some of the idiots in this building, it's only because he's not going to get walked on by anyone."

"Exactly," Simon sighed, the belligerence draining as he sagged in his chair. "Someone in Tacoma will say something, and Sandburg's not going to let it slide. Jim, he's a liability on his case."

Jim crossed his arms, the paper dangling from one hand as he looked at Simon. Never before had Simon questioned his professional judgment, but he remembered a rather similar discussion when Jim had announced his engagement to Carolyn. Simon had talked about dating and the workplace and the way it cast suspicion and bred conspiracy theories. He considered that Simon was giving version two of that same lecture now. "You're uncomfortable with my relationship with Blair," Jim accused him.

Simon snorted. "Uncomfortable doesn't even cover it. However, it's your life, and at least the kid makes you say good morning to your colleagues, which is why most of the detectives like having him around. However, if attitudes in Tacoma start interfering with this investigation, then we have a problem. People are dying, and I don't want to give this Switchman any advantages."

"And you think Sandburg would be an advantage for the Switchman."

"I think he'd be a distraction—" Simon held up a hand to hold off Jim's objection. "Not to you. You've been professional with him, usually, but your relationship could distract the Tacoma detectives. I don't need that."

"Sandburg gets people to open up in ways we can't. I don't know what he's going to put in that paper the mayor keeps gleefully talking about, but whatever charm he has, he can't teach it to us. He can't teach me to get some witness to open up because that is pure Sandburg charm. But having him with me to do the talking gives me an advantage on a case."

"I know." Simon stood up and moved to the window, staring out onto the city. "Jim, I've seen what the kid can do, and I know he's a lot stronger than he looks. But this relationship stomps all over a lot of people's beliefs."

"Including yours?" Jim asked tightly. He needed to know where he stood with his captain and friend, but for long minutes, Simon just stared out the window.

"I'm questioning a few things I thought I knew," Simon said carefully as he turned around, "and I trust that you're an ethical man."

"And so is Sandburg," Jim insisted.

Simon nodded as he headed back to his desk. "He's ethical, but he has his own style of ethics and enough attitude to frighten most of the uniformed cops into avoiding him, even if they weren't terrified of your caveman impression when someone confronts him. The choice is yours, Jim—he's your ride-along--but if there's a problem in Tacoma, this could be people's lives on the line."

"There are always lives on the line," Jim reminded his captain. Every serial killer, rapist, or ongoing threat to the community landed on Jim's desk. Even when he'd been married, Jim had put the job first, one of the many reasons he wasn't married any more, and he'd pursued active threats with a passion that left other detectives whispering behind his back long before Sandburg had shown up. If the rumors had shifted from calling him a coldhearted bastard who would snap your neck for looking at him wrong to calling him a fag, Jim didn't figure it made much of a difference. He'd still get the job done.

"You get stubborn, Jim. Just don't push people where they're not willing to go," Simon warned before he swung around to his computer in a clear dismissal. Jim left the office, not even sure what to say to that argument.

CHAPTER THREE
***

Since he didn't want to head for Tacoma until Blair showed up, Jim headed toward his desk, where paperwork still waited. Making a quick file for the single letter, Jim just hoped the Tacoma detectives would share what they'd found. Meanwhile, he pulled up a computer file detailing his old cases: names, crimes, dates of arrest and dates for any convictions.

"You get a good one?" Brown asked with a smile that made it clear that Henri was waiting for a reason to laugh. Jim had caught some pretty strange cases in the last week or two. He'd been pulled for dino-duty over at the university when some bones disappeared, and he'd gotten the job wearing his uniform and standing around as the official police presence at some huge Wiccan swapmart.

Jim still wasn't sure what exactly the mayor had expected when he insisted on having a half dozen detectives in uniform at the Wicca gathering, but mostly Jim had just watched women bargain shopping for herbs while Blair bounced from one end of the market to the other, gathering bits and pieces of crystal and herbs until Jim had called him a magpie collecting trash to line his nest.

One of the crystals still sat on Jim's computer, a little purple thing that had no earthly reason for sitting there. Jim stood and picked up the rough bauble. Yep, his cases had changed since getting Blair as an official observer, but this bombing case was something closer to the normal murder and mayhem he'd specialized in before Blair.

"Bombing case over in Tacoma. Looks like it might be connected to something here. Not as much fun as the museum case, that's for sure."

Brown whistled. "Big case."

"I just can't figure out why the kook would think I would investigate a Tacoma case," Jim said as he walked around his desk and leaned against the front of it. "But at least I'm not listening to some ninety-year-old fossil lecture me about the importance of other fossils," he said dryly. The museum case really had annoyed him. He probably would have blown if Blair hadn't been there, both to distract the professor and to yield himself to Jim when they got home, letting Jim exercise all of the control Jim didn't have with the case.

"You only got stuck with that dog of a case because of Hairboy, you know," Brown pointed out with a laugh. "What kind of fruitcake steals dinosaur bones?"

"The same kind of fruitcake who actually bids for them online," Jim countered. "And after that uniform stepped on a finger bone, the museum was bound to demand someone other than a patrol officer with a notepad. You should just be glad I have Sandburg, or it might have been you over there with Mr. Talks-a-lot."

"No way. I would have broken a couple more bones just to get booted out," Brown laughed, even though Jim knew the detective would never do it. "But this Tacoma case… does it look like they're going to hit more targets?"

"Who knows?" Jim shrugged. "I'll head over as soon as Sandburg gets here. One of these days the man is going to be on time, but I'm not sure I'll still be alive to see it." Jim started toward his desk, but Brown's sudden silence made him stop and turn.

Brown's lips were pressed tightly together, and his new partner, Brian Rafe, sat at his desk with what looked like an actual blush.

"Henri?" Jim asked, dropping the file on his desk before he closed in on his friend.

"Hey, I'm sure he'll be here in a sec." Brown turned and just about scampered for his desk. On a man the size of Henri Brown, it was not a pretty picture. Jim narrowed his eyes and glared at Rafe, whose face was now bright red as he studied a piece of paper.

"What the hell is going on?" Jim demanded. Rafe's eyes flicked up, and then he turned toward his partner.

Brown sighed. "Go on, tell him."

"Tell me what?" Jim growled when Rafe hesitated. Just because Brown liked his new partner didn't mean that Jim couldn't beat the information out of him if required.

"Sandburg. Some of the guys downstairs said they have fun screwing with him when he comes every day," Rafe finally admitted. "I just didn't want to…"

Rafe stopped, but Jim could finish the thought pretty easily. As the new guy, Rafe didn't want to stick his neck out for Sandburg.

"Front desk?" Jim could feel his jaw ache as he struggled to hold back the fury that Rafe didn't deserve.

"Hairboy's pretty good at taking—"

Jim spun around and slammed out of Major Crimes before hearing the end of Brown's sentence. Whatever Blair was good at, it didn't matter. He was Jim's, and that meant that Jim would happily take a couple of uniforms out back to the woodshed and teach them a lesson or two if he needed to.

Ignoring the elevator, which would let him out right in the middle of the main floor, Jim chose the stairs. Better position for an ambush. By the time he got to the bottom, he was warmed up and ready to tear someone a new asshole. Even without cracking the door open, he could hear Blair's voice over the general murmur of the crowd.

"Man, I was supposed to be upstairs ten minutes ago, so if you're finished with your grade-school games here…"

Jim couldn't hear the answer.

"Fuck that. Don't give me that bullshit. You want to harass me? Fine. Have the balls to call it what it is."

Jim gently pushed on the door, and now he could hear the desk sergeant. "You match the description of a suspect. Just following procedure. And I'm not interested in your type, so let's avoid discussions of my balls." The sergeant didn't even hide his amusement.

"The way you're playing these grade-school games, I'm not sure you have balls," Blair snorted. "But I think thirty minutes is enough, so let me sign in, or I'm heading upstairs without your precious permission."

"Do it, and I'll arrest you," the sergeant warned roughly. Jim wanted to crash into the room, stand in front of Blair, and rip the sergeant apart, but he tightened his fist on the stairwell doorknob and waited. Blair hadn’t told him about this for a reason. If Jim stepped in, Blair wouldn't ever be safe when Jim wasn't around.

"Yeah, arrest me, and good luck explaining why. Enough is fucking enough, man."

"You're not under arrest; feel free to leave any time, Sandburg."

"Not going to happen. I'm here to stay, so you and your asshole buddies better get used to it. And you know what really sucks, man? If you don't pull your head out of your ass, your career is going to expire before my observer's pass."

The sergeant didn't answer. Jim gritted his teeth against what he was about to do, but the other officers wouldn't have any respect for a Sandburg who needed saving. However, a Sandburg who survived one of Jim's famous explosions might fare a little better. He might even get some sympathy. Jim slapped the door open and charged into the lobby.

"Sandburg! Where the hell have you been?" Jim demanded in his most aggravated voice.

"Jim!" Blair jumped up from the plastic chair where he'd slumped.

"We're supposed to be in Tacoma on a bombing case, and I'm up there wondering where the hell you are. First rule of police work: the work does not wait, not unless we want people to die. If you want to ride as an observer, you follow my fucking rules." Jim crossed his arms aggressively, and Blair flinched back. But then Jim flicked a glance toward the sergeant, and Blair cocked his head. Oh yeah, the kid got it.

"Hey, I just—" Blair started.

"I don't care what the hell you're doing. When you get here, you get your ass upstairs because if I have to come down looking for you again, I will not be happy." Jim noticed other officers pulling away, eager to get out of the path of Hurricane Ellison, as they called him when they thought he wasn't listening.

"Yeah, no problem. Got it," Blair quickly agreed. Jim turned toward the desk sergeant. whose tag said his name was "Carlson." Jim vowed to remember that name. "Carlson, when Sandburg gets here, make sure that from now on he goes straight up. I do not want a repeat of this incident." When the sergeant didn't immediately answer, Jim took two steps toward the desk, just enough to make the man unconsciously pull back. "Understand?" Jim demanded.

"Sure, Detective," Carlson answered quickly.

"Upstairs, Chief." Jim growled as he turned and stormed past his observer.

"Hey you need to—" Carlson started to call, and Jim was well aware that Blair hadn't been allowed to sign in, but that was Carlson's problem. And if anyone noticed that Blair didn't have a visitor's pass, Carlson would have a whole lot of explaining to do.

"Sandburg, now!" Jim barked as he held the door to the elevator open. An officer who was waiting for the elevator suddenly detoured to the drinking fountain, and no one else even tried to get on as Blair grabbed his backpack and just about ran for the elevator.

Jim stood stoic and silent as the elevator doors slid shut.

"Thanks, man," Blair said with a sigh as the elevator bumped into movement.

Jim felt the tension drain from his body as Blair's hand rested against his back. "You could have told me you were having trouble," he said softly as he watched the elevator doors.

"Run to Daddy for help?" Blair asked, and that was the tone he used when he thought Jim was being stupid. Jim turned and glared.

"I run to you for help, and they're all over that. There is not a bigger offense in macho culture than proving you have the one-down position by running to someone for protection. This is agonism, man, a straight conflict to determine who has the right to annoy the other more. And when I put my mind to it, I’m pretty damn annoying," Blair joked.

"Are you capable of saying anything in fewer than 20 words?" Jim shook his head and gave his partner an exasperated smile.

"Nope. And stop distracting. Besides, the very fact that you came in gunning for me tells me that you totally get it. I mean, you're like major alpha dog around here, so I can back down to you the way I can't to Sergeant Fuckwit, and now Fuckwit can't stop me without having to piss you off."

"Maybe," Jim admitted. The light for the sixth floor lit up and the doors slid open. "But you missed the most important part, Chief."

"Oh, what's that?"

"Now they're all so busy being relieved that I'm pissed at you that they'll forget to torture you."

"Create a community organized around avoiding Hurricane Ellison? That's good, man. Just might work as long as they don't figure that if you're going for a piece of my hide it's time for a dogpile."

"No one gets a piece of your hide except me," Jim said as he opened the doors to Major Crime.

"Overprotective much?" Blair laughed as he darted ahead of Jim into the bullpen.

"Hey, Henri, Rafe!" he called as he dropped his ubiquitous bag on the chair that had gravitated to the edge of Jim's desk. Blair turned his smile toward Simon's secretary. "Rhonda, I got that flourless cake recipe you asked for. You'll have to get some almond flour, but I can promise you that your uncle will worship you for this recipe."

Blair headed across the room and delivered a paper to Rhonda with a flourish before rebounding back towards Jim. Two minutes ago Blair had been cursing a storm, but now he smiled at Jim as though the world was perfect and he didn't have a care. For not the first time, Jim decided that he and his partner were just wired differently.

"So, what's up with this new case?" Blair asked with undiminished enthusiasm.

Brown chuckled. "Hairboy, what the hell do you take in the morning to get all this energy? You'd better watch out, Jim. Narcotics is going to be knocking on your door one of these days."

Blair crossed his arms. "No way. Energy is about taking care of the body. You guys shove so much crap in your mouths that your arteries are hardening as we speak. Hydrogenated oils and glycated proteins will kill you as sure as a bullet."

"Shit, you just had to get him going on this, didn't you?" Jim demanded with mock exasperation. "If he doesn't calm down by quitting time, I'm sending him home with you to clear the transfats out of your kitchen," Jim threatened Brown, who backed away with his hands up in surrender and a wide smile on his face.

"You have to keep him away from my barbeque, Jim. Come on, we've been friends for a long time; you have my back, right?" Brown mock-begged.

"Har, har. Some of us still plan on being able to get up when we're forty." Blair put just enough emphasis on 'up' to make the jibe plain to Jim, even if Brown turned away with an amused shake of his head, missing the sexual joke.

"Some of us can, quite well," Jim countered.

"We're still conducting testing on that. We don't want to commit a fallacy of hasty generalization. Good data requires researchers to replicate testing conditions and verify a fact many times." Blair sat on the edge of Jim's desk and smiled teasingly.

"Many times, huh?" Jim asked quietly as he picked up the Switchman file. Blair smiled wider.

"Many, many times," Blair agreed, just as quietly. "So, this new case?" he asked in a louder voice, turning the conversation before Jim could come back with a dig of his own.

Jim handed over the file with the newly printed "Switchman" on the tab. "We're heading over to Tacoma."

CHAPTER FOUR
***

Jim flipped through another page of the Tacoma reports, and slid it across the table to a strangely silent Blair. Collins leaned against the far wall, his eyes scanning the list Jim had brought with them. Not many detectives had a list of every criminal they'd ever participated in busting, but Jim had started his as a way to prove to himself that he was making a difference. After the army, he'd felt like nothing he did made an impact, not compared to what he'd done. He'd held the Chopec Pass; he'd saved the tribe.

Jim blinked as his memories of jungle and blue light filtering through the thick canopy at night were suddenly superimposed over the Tacoma interview room. The table with copies of the Switchman case blinked away into the jungle floor, and Blair's heartbeat became the drum of a native dance.

Collins made a little snort and passed the list over to Shay. The sound pulled Jim back to the present, where Collins leaned toward his seated partner and pointed to a name on Jim's list.

"You busted Riche." Shay nodded and smiled. The man looked more gangster than cop: shaved head, thin face, a tattoo crawling up his neck and brushing his jaw, so the smile was anything but nice. "We worked his coke business for two years before he moved to Cascade."

"He was slippery. He finally took a belt to his girlfriend, so we got her to turn on him… wear a wire. Busting him was a good day," Jim answered before he went back to reading one of the last witness statements from the folder. So far it seemed like Collins and Shay were living up to the promise of full disclosure, but nothing in these reports looked familiar. High end timers… dangerous for a novice to use, but much more reliable in the hands of a professional. The post office bombing had been the more serious of the two bombings, killing two with a third still in critical condition.

When Jim finished the statement of one of the injured postal workers, he pushed it across the table to Blair, who absentmindedly took it and shoved it in his "unread" pile. He continued to study witness statements and jot notes on a yellow legal pad without a word. Before getting out of the truck, Blair had pulled his hair back into a tight ponytail. With his jacket on and his hair back, he looked more like the professor Jim remembered from the day he'd gone to Rainier than the unconventional observer who'd enthusiastically followed him for the last couple of weeks.

"Nothing rings any bells," Collins growled as he flung Jim's list onto the interview table and dropped into a chair.

"I'm striking out," Jim agreed as he looked at the last three papers in the pile the Tacoma officers had made them. Collins glanced toward Blair, but he just continued scribbling on his yellow pad, silent and oblivious, two things Jim never saw in his partner.

"Can we look at the scenes?" Jim asked when the silence made it clear that Blair wasn't going to answer.

"Two bomb sites, coming up," Collins said as he pushed himself up heavily. Where Shay looked like a gangster, Collins was a strange cross between couch potato and military. He had a buzz cut and the bulky arms and wide shoulders of a body builder, but now a layer of fat disguised that physique.

"Good luck. We found a big zero on scene," Shay snorted, but he got up to follow his partner while Blair scrambled to pull all the photocopied pages into one pile. So, at least Blair was listening even if he had suddenly taken a vow of silence.

"This crackpot obviously wants me involved, so maybe the places have some connection to me specifically," Jim suggested.

"Which leads to the obvious question: why bomb us instead of going and attacking your fair city?" Shay looked straight at Jim, a challenge in his face, and Jim answered it with a stare of his own.

"You'll know as soon as I do," Jim said quietly, his voice a warning. Behind Jim, Blair scribbled on his notepad so that the pen scratches against the paper became a static that hung in the tense air.

"The post office is closest," Collins commented calmly before he headed out the door. Shay continued to lock gazes with Jim for a second, and then he turned and followed his partner. Jim rolled his eyes as the door swung closed on weighted hinges.

"Man, you make me so glad I'm not an alpha," Blair whispered so softly that Jim almost missed the words. He turned and watched Blair slip the now-thick Switchman file into the back of his legal pad, behind the paper.

"No, you'll never be alpha," Jim agreed.

Blair's startled eyes darted up to his face."Oh man, you heard that? You have ears like a bat, but I am so not suggesting that there's anything wrong with being alpha."

"Calm down, Chief. I happen to like being alpha, but I also like you not being alpha," Jim said as Blair came around the table. Watching the vibrant, ebullient personality come out from under the silence made something in his stomach unknot.

"Are you okay?" Jim asked quietly, turning so that his body blocked the exit.

"What? No, hey, I'm fine," Blair said with a smile. Jim would have pursued that train of thought since Blair clearly wasn't fine, but Collins stuck his head back in the door.

"You guys coming?" he asked. Blair fell silent.

"Yeah, right after you," Jim agreed as he considered his partner's sudden personality shift. "We'll follow in my truck if you guys want to head straight for the scene," Jim suggested, as he decided he needed a little private time with his observer.

"Will do. Take the north entrance. Less debris in the parking lot."

"Got it."

Collins left and Jim studied Blair for a second.

"Hey, aren't we going?" Blair finally asked. Jim turned so that Blair could get to the door, and as he passed, Jim rested his hand on Blair's back. Suddenly Blair was all energy, just about chasing after Collins down the hallway of the Tacoma Police Department.

Jim let his hand fall, barely avoiding snapping out something, even though he couldn't figure out why he was so damn upset at such a small gesture. Keeping his silence all the way to the truck, Jim climbed in and unlocked the door for Blair.

"Oh man, this is fascinating. There is nothing like this, except for maybe the Bath school disaster, but bombings are totally a political statement, and yet this seems personal. We so need a profiler in on this case, not that they would be able to help that much because this is breaking all the rules for traditional profiles." Blair's torrent of words broke free the moment Jim slammed the door shut.

"That's what you were taking notes on?" Jim prompted as he started the truck and guided it out of the visitors' lot.

"Totally. The discrepancies are amazing. Sure, bombings are the 'in' thing." Blair made quote marks with his fingers, the restless energy that made him bounce all returning like a rubber band that snaps back to its original shape. "The Animal Liberation Front, the Irish Republican Army, some jihadist Arabs, they use bombings to get attention, but there's no demand or cause here… just a letter to you, and man, that is weird."

"And you didn't say anything because?" Jim prompted.

"I wasn't going to go off on crazy tangents in the middle of your meeting," Blair huffed as though Jim had said something utterly ridiculous, and for a second Jim lost all words. He wouldn't go off? He wouldn't get in the middle of a meeting?

"Okay, who are you and what have you done with my observer? Little guy. Mouthy. Hair like a cocker spaniel," Jim finally demanded.

"Very funny," Blair growled in a voice that didn't sound amused.

"I thought so." Jim smiled, but then he turned serious. "However, you always say what you're thinking, even when what you're thinking makes Simon chew on those cigars of his. I'm wondering what the hell happened that turned you into the shy type. Did one of them say something to you?" Jim held tight rein over his own anger at that thought.

"Chill. I can sit quietly in the corner without anything being wrong."

"Gagged and tied, maybe, but even then you'd make those little grunting sounds."

Blair glared. "Man, I'm an anthropologist."

Jim raised an eyebrow and waited for some other explanation because a quiet Blair did not exist in his universe. A driver in a Volvo slowed, searching for a turn, and Jim slid his truck into the void in front of it.

"Anthropologists are supposed to be as invisible as possible; they try to minimize their impact on the community. *I* try to minimize my impact in the community."

"Chief, don't take offense at this, but you're more like ground zero than minimal impact."

"Yeah, I know." Blair sighed unhappily. "If I thought I was going to be studying you, I totally would have taken another approach. You so would never have known I was bi, and anything even mildly counter-culture, like the job subbing for guys, would have been buried so deep you wouldn't have found it with a search and rescue team complete with bloodhounds."

"But you didn't set off to study us," Jim concluded as he connected the dots. Blair as witness and Blair as anthropologist had very different goals. Reaching out with one hand, Jim let his palm rest on Blair's thigh. "I'm glad I got to know the witness before I met the scientist."

"Man, I don't know. If I had come into the station to do a study, I would have totally tried to fit in. I would have been playing horn dog right up there with H. I would have been smoking cigars with Simon."

Jim outright laughed at that improbable image. "Not a chance, Sandburg. But I prefer you in my bed and smoke-free, so I'm glad we didn't have to find out. Right now, though, I'm a little worried about the pod-person impersonation here. It's not like you to sit on your hands on a case like this."

"Jim, we've only worked five cases together."

"Exactly. On every one of the five, you were in there stealing case notes before I even had a chance to read them and outlining potential new avenues of investigation."

"Yeah." Blair fell silent. "I'm not doing well with the observing part of observer," he said softly. Jim squeezed Blair's leg.

"Which is good," Jim hurried to assure him. "Your insight and your way with witnesses have saved me a lot of footwork. If my hunch is right, this case is going to turn nasty, and I could use your help here."

A comfortable silence filled the cab of the truck, and Jim let his hand wander toward Blair's inner thigh, not missing the way the man always sat close enough for Jim to reach him. But as much as he liked touching Blair, he wanted his partner truly with him on this case even more.

Jim didn't normally like partners. Hell, he'd refused to bring cases home to the loft during his marriage. Carolyn had tried to 'help.' She'd compared his cases to ones that sat unsolved on her own desk or she'd described other cases where some detective had followed the wrong lead. He'd sit, tight-lipped and silent, as she talked and talked, and the more silent he grew, the more she filled that silence with comments that questioned his abilities.

However, Blair's quiet questions and enthusiastic tangents just didn't inspire the same frustration. Of course, a good eighty percent of what Blair said was fascinating trivia that made no sense and led to Simon quietly cursing, but the other twenty percent provided insights that Jim had learned to trust.

"It's funny," Blair said softly into the long silence.

"What's funny?"

"The police force is like this total closed community, and the other cops keep me at this distance when you're not around, like I'm some stray dog wandering into the AKC show, but you just don't feel it. I mean, I know that not every individual follows the cultural norms of his society, but you don't even seem to notice that I shouldn't be there." Blair looked over with this half-smile that whispered of admiration and confusion and devotion, and Jim let his hand wander to Blair's cheek. He stroked it once with the back of his finger.

"You belong there, Chief. You are more of a help than you can know because you never watched me spend three pointless hours trying to worm information out of a scared witness. You see someone's fear and you come in with your smile and your reassurances and you get them to open up in minutes."

"So I help?"

"Yeah, you help," Jim agreed. "You just aren't helping much on this case."

"Yeah, but there aren't any scared witnesses in there, and I'm just trying to not offend Mutt and Jeff."

Jim considered the Tacoma pair assigned to the case. Collins would definitely accept Blair; Jim knew that already. Shay would likely challenge Blair's ideas, not because Blair was a civilian but because Shay challenged everyone.

"You trust me, Chief?"

"Oh man, I think I've proved I do!" Blair instantly shot back.

"Not just like that. Do you trust me to understand alpha guys in a way that even you, with all your vast understanding of human nature, might not?"

"Okay, that's sounding like you're making fun of me," Blair complained as he crossed his arms.

"Maybe a little," Jim smiled. "But as much as you do know, you don't get alpha guys, not deep down in your gut. Collins will be fine with you giving your ideas. Shay is going to be a shithead, but that has nothing to do with you."

Blair nodded. "He doesn't like us on his territory."

"More than that, he doesn't trust us on his territory," Jim corrected him. "He's a Tacoma cop who is supposed to keep Tacoma safe, and here we come in when, as far as he can see, we have no reason to care about this case the way he does."

"That's why you brought your files," Blair said.

"Yeah, I can't ask him to share without giving him something to work with," Jim agreed. "And he's still going to be touchy because he doesn't know jack-shit about us."

"So, he'll question my theories, but it's just macho bullshit," Blair said. Jim guided the truck around a corner before glancing over. Blair smirked at him.

"He'll listen if he hears the good stuff you come up with before any crackpot theories."

"Hey!" Blair punched Jim in the arm, and Jim caught Blair's wrist, easily holding it captive as he steered with his other hand.

"If the shoe fits." Jim gave Blair a wicked smile.

"My ideas are not crackpot."

"Sure they're not," Jim teased.

"Asshole."

Since they were at a red light, Jim looked over when Blair said that, and gave his lover a slow, seductive smile. Blair froze, his face slowly reddening.

"Interesting word choice, Chief," Jim finally said when Blair appeared to have lost his words.

"Dick," Blair hissed, and immediately flinched at that word choice. Jim laughed.

"Let's go catch this Switchman first, okay, Chief?" he chuckled as he let his hand fall on Blair's shoulder.

CHAPTER FIVE
***

Jim walked the debris-strewn parking lot; chunks of concrete and twisted knots of metal lay behind the yellow crime scene barriers.

"What a fucking mess," Shay cursed. "Ten dead and injured." He turned to Jim, crossing his arms over his chest. "So, any great revelations?"

"No." Jim just continued to walk the area, studying the pattern of the blast that had taken out one wall of the post office. The two dead had been in the sorting room.

Shay snorted dismissively.

"Maybe something in the neighborhood is familiar," Collins commented, softening his partner's abrasive attitude.

Jim scanned the buildings. A gas station stood on the closest corner, a huge sign advertising the price of gas blocking his view of the street.

"Everything this asshole does, it's to piss us off. I still say he picked Ellison's name out of a hat just to make us jump through a few more hoops," Shay complained as he leaned against a blue drop-off box. One side had a huge dent from a piece of flying building. Looking at the wreckage, Jim was surprised that only two people had died.

"It's possible," Jim admitted. Shay shot him a suspicious look, but Jim ignored that challenge. "If he hadn't mentioned Sandburg, I'd say he was just jerking our chain. I told my captain as much."

"But Sandburg's name in the letter changed your mind?" Collins probed.

"He's only been riding for a few weeks. He isn't exactly high-profile, or at least he wasn't until the mayor put him on display as some sort of proof that he deserves the minority vote." Jim looked over toward Blair, who froze in place as everyone looked at him. Jim shook his head at this new personality Blair seemed to have developed. Rather than demanding attention with his impressive knowledge, he appeared to want to fade into the background.

"No problem. I mean, he's just trying to prove that he has the interest of minorities in mind, and as long as he's not using me to avoid actually making changes, it's all good." Blair smiled and shrugged as his words trailed off. He detoured around Shay toward Jim.

"Politicians. God save us from them and the crazy things they do to get elected," Collins agreed, rubbing his military-short gray hair. "But if this Switchman knows about Sandburg, he must at least have been watching you. Not a pleasant thought."

"No, it's not," Jim agreed as he watched Blair. Psychos were remarkably hard to predict, and Jim suddenly didn't like just how many hiding places lurked on Rainier's campus. Blair's office was separated from the other offices, the old trees and thick hedges had more than enough hiding spots, and the covered walks and pillars created hidden corners even on the sunniest days.

"So, he enjoys fucking with us, he's stalked you, and he blows up buildings. This isn't progress." Shay turned his back on the blasted building.

"Maybe." Blair said the word so softly that Jim almost wondered if he'd imagined it, and the other two detectives didn't respond at all.

"Maybe?" Jim asked. Blair jumped like he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "Care to share with the class?"

"Hey, nothing. Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt," Blair quickly started studying the battered mail drop. Someone had cut open the side to retrieve the mail stuck inside.

"You got an idea, Sandburg?" Collins added after a moment, giving Jim a quizzical look, and Jim tightened his jaw.

"Sandburg always has an idea; I haven't heard him this quiet since he saw his first DB," Jim said as he crossed his arms. Blair glared at him, but at least glaring was closer to the Sandburg he knew. Jim raised an eyebrow and waited.

"I'm just the observer here," he said when the glare didn't make Jim back off. Jim narrowed his eyes.

"You're one step away from a PhD and you specialize in observing people. If you're seeing something here, spit it out, Chief," Jim ordered in his firmest tone. For a second, Blair continued to trade glares with him, and then he glanced toward Collins.

"Man, I'm good at throwing ideas out there, but you know I'm not a profiler, right? I mean, I only took one deviant psychology class, so I just might be full of shit. In fact, I'm thinking I'm probably full of shit here, so this is me not sharing crackpot ideas." Blair crossed his arms aggressively.

"You're usually full of shit, but I'm pretty good at picking the good ideas out, Chief," Jim said, frustrated at having this little scene in front of Collins who watched curiously. Shay still wasn't paying attention as he stalked the rubble.

"Ha ha. You're a laugh a minute. You know that, right, Ellison?"

"You bet. So spit out whatever theories your brain is cooking up."

Blair shot Collins a look and then gave a sharp nod. "In the old days, the switchmen assembled the trains, handled the rail traffic, switched cars and tracks. And man, it was a dirty job. Mud and ice and rocks would get jammed between the rails so that the tracks couldn't be switched, and the switchman had to get out there and clean all that."

"So he sees himself as doing a dirty job?" Collins asked with obvious curiosity. The question made Blair stop for a second and look at the man. Jim understood Blair's surprise. Usually this was where Jim simply listened or Simon started making unhappy noises.

"Yeah, probably. Maybe. Man, I'm flying by the seat of my pants here, but a switchman had a lot of respect... the other workers knew that if a switchman fucked up, trains could collide or cars go off the track. It was totally stressful, the equivalent of modern air traffic controllers, only in slow motion."

"So he sees himself as respected?" Jim asked slowly. That didn't feel right.

"Or he wants respect or he thinks he'll get someone's respect by doing the bombings or he has no idea and he pulled the name Switchman randomly out of the dictionary." Blair's enthusiasm collapsed into silence as he squinted his eyes closed. Jim recognized the despair.

"I don't believe in coincidence," Jim said confidently. "Consider it brainstorming, Chief. Just throw ideas out there, and we'll ignore the stupid ones and listen for something that makes sense," he suggested.

"Okay, then my best guess, based on six whole credits of deviant psychology, is that he's convinced himself that he's doing some job that has to be done. It's not pretty or easy, but it's important to keep something on the right track, metaphorically." Blair shrugged at his own pun. "He thinks that if he can put all the pieces in the right order, he'll get what he wants. Nothing is random."

"So why attack these places? A post office and a bridge."

"Transportation?" Blair guessed. Jim glanced over at Blair's face, tight with concentration. "A train, mail in the post office, cars over a bridge--man, it's all about transportation."

"But if he defines the post office as part of 'transportation'..." Jim started.

"No way can we predict him." Blair's enthusiasm caused him to cut Jim off as he suddenly started pacing a section of the drive. "A school is where students travel from ignorance to knowledge. A truck stop is part of the system that hauls goods. And then there's you," Blair turned toward Jim, his face tight with concentration. "How do you fit into this whole theme he has going in his head. Serial killers are meticulous. They don't just make spur-of-the-moment decisions, so he didn't just pick your name out of a book and say, 'Hey, I think I'll torture Jim Ellison for a while.' Which really begs the question of why he picked Tacoma to start his attacks when he wants your attention. And this isn't making sense." Blair's pacing had taken him to near Jim, and he leaned heavily on the chunk of wall near Jim, his shoulder leaning into Jim's side.

Jim raised his hand to Blair's shoulder, and Blair scuttled sideways.

"So, we figure out why he's targeting them. It has to have something to do with you, Jim. I mean, he wanted you involved, so you have to be the key."

"He mentioned you in that letter, too," Jim pointed out, focusing on the case and not his own sudden frustration or the headache that had crawled into the back of his brain and burrowed in.

"Yeah, but I'm just a part-time grad student, part-time teaching fellow. You're an ex-Ranger cop-of-the-year. Which of us do you really think is going to attract the attention of a mad bomber?" Blair said sarcastically.

"He's got a point," Collins said. Jim looked over, and the man looked entirely too amused.

"Oh, you have no idea the trouble Sandburg can get into all on his own."

"Do you have any connection to Seattle?" Blair asked as he ignored Jim's sarcastic comment and perched on the wall. Balancing his backpack on one knee, he started riffling through the papers.

"I lived here for a couple of months, but not anywhere near this neighborhood," Jim said. "I lived near the University of Washington on Blakeley street with a friend after college and before I went for training at Fort Lewis, just south of Tacoma, but that's on the north side."

"I knew it," Blair said in that really aggravating tone of voice he used when he'd just proved a point. "And that totally fits the pattern, man. You were traveling from being a civilian and a college student to being the military officer and hero. There's something about transformation here. I mean, a bridge, a post office, a train, your time here in transition; it's all part of a pattern." Blair's dangling leg bounced as he sorted papers even faster.

"Seeing a pattern after the fact is fine, but what good does that do us now?" Shay interrupted. "Where do we start looking for this nutcase?"

Blair's energy drained in a moment, and his hands paused in their search. "Oh man, I don't know," he said softly. "And the whole idea might be full of crap."

Shay's derisive snort pretty much said everything.

"We need to look farther back than Ellison's arrest record," Collins said after a moment of silence.

"This guy may have latched onto something from my military days. You did find high-quality munitions at the two sites, so it might be worth looking into people I had contact with back then. Anyone with training in munitions or counter-terrorism would have the expertise to set up these bombs."

"If you guys are going to chase straws, you might want to give Fort Lewis a heads up," Shay added unexpectedly. Jim narrowed his eyes as he considered the man who had just verbally deflated Blair.

"What? Just because it's a crackpot theory doesn't mean we should ignore it." Shay shrugged.

"One of these days, someone is going to take that asshole impression you do seriously," Collins teased his partner as he turned toward their car. "But it seems like we have something to start chasing down. We'll call Fort Lewis if you'll get us a copy of your military record. Maybe we can catch a break."

"I have copies at home, and the base should be able to provide the names of anyone with munitions or counter-terrorism training who was on base at the same time."

"Yeah, like that's going to happen," Shay complained. "But at least it gives me someone to harass instead of standing around here staring at this disaster."

"I'll fax you the records tonight," Jim offered as he moved to Blair's side, and used a hand on Blair's back to hurry him into zipping the backpack up. Whatever he'd been searching for could wait until later.

Jim waited as Blair tucked papers back into place and zipped up his backpack, wondering how exactly to deal with this latest problem. He watched Shay and Collins pull away.

"We have a problem, Blair," Jim said softly as Blair stood up. Jim slipped one arm behind Blair and snagged the backpack with the other.

"What?" Blair blinked up, confused, as Jim guided him to the truck, only now Blair didn't jerk away from the touch.

"You told me that you trusted me, that you trusted my judgment," Jim commented while keeping his eyes focused on the truck. Just imagining Blair's hurt expression made him want to back down.

"I do. Jim, I totally trust your judgment."

"No, Chief, you obviously don't. I told you that Shay and Collins would be fine with your ideas, but you were still holding back."

"I just wanted to think things--"

"Would you have waited if it had been Simon and Henri?" Jim interrupted as they reached the truck. He stood by the passenger side, staring over the hood at the passing traffic. Blair's breath caught in his throat.

"Hey, it's a new environment, and every group has its own idiosyn--"

"Would you have waited?" Jim repeated more loudly as he turned and looked down at Blair.

For a moment, Blair looked up at him, his eyes wide as he breathed faster. "Probably not," he admitted weakly.

"Blair." Jim stopped and took a breath. Opening the truck door, he dropped the backpack inside as he thought out his words. "This is important. Why were you so hesitant?" He turned to look at Blair, and the man swallowed heavily, his Adam's apple bobbing over the curve of Blair's neck as he looked up at Jim.

"I'm just not comfortable with them," Blair said softly. Jim cocked his head, and something whispered that Blair was lying. Jim leaned closer.

"If that were true, I wouldn't be upset, but you're lying," Jim said with confidence. Blair stopped breathing for a second.

"Hey, believe whatever you want, man." Blair slipped into the cocky persona that Jim knew well. When he turned to get into the truck, Jim caught his arm and pushed Blair to the side of the vehicle, pressing his own body to the man to hold him still. "Want to play big bad detective and resisting suspect?" Blair asked with a wiggle that made Jim's body react even as Jim tried to hang on to his frustration. Blair smiled wickedly.

"I believe you're lying, and getting yourself in more trouble than you want. So, let's start this conversation over," Jim said calmly, ignoring the innuendo. "I told you that Collins and Shay would listen to your ideas. I told you to trust me. You still acted like a kicked dog, and I hate seeing you doubt yourself." Jim raised his hand and let it slide around the back of Blair's neck, unable to keep himself from offering comfort.

"Hey, I am so not playing kicked dog," Blair protested as he shoved away Jim's arm. "If I'm not rushing in with every idea that crosses my mind, maybe that's a good thing."

"Not from where I'm standing," Jim countered as he crossed his arms. He refused to back up, so the gesture left Blair pinned to the truck.

"They're going to think you're some sort of.... You don't need me ruining your reputation." Blair corrected himself in the middle of the sentence, but Jim could fairly well guess what Blair had been about to say.

"You're defending my reputation?" Jim asked disbelievingly.

"Excuse me for not wanting to ruin your reputation in a second city. I mean, in Cascade, at least the cops think you're stuck with me because I wouldn't back out of the gay-bashing case, but what's your excuse here?"

"I don't need an excuse," Jim said. He raised his eyebrows and waited for Blair's reaction. It wasn't what he expected.

"You stubborn son of a bitch! If they dismiss you as just some fucking queer, who the hell is going to stop this bomber?" Blair demanded, color rising to his face.

"Don't," Jim warned.

"What? You haven't heard the word before? I've heard it plenty, and you can't do your fucking job if that's how they see you. Don't you get that?" Blair demanded, his eyes brightening with tears.

"I've heard the word, Sandburg," Jim said quietly.

"Then don't act like this wouldn't hurt you. Man, they'll just fucking dismiss you if they start thinking of you as a fag." Blair's hands gestured wildly, his energy careening out of control.

Jim couldn't take it any more; he reached out and caught Blair behind the neck, pulling him into an embrace.

"Don't fucking ignore this," Blair said as he struggled to get out of Jim's embrace. Jim held on tighter until Blair finally gave up with a sigh.

"You're a fucking Neanderthal," Blair whispered. "A real throwback. A knuckle-dragging, pull the mate back to the cave by the hair sort, you know this, right?"

"Good thing you have long hair, then," Jim answered without loosening his hold on Blair.

"Holding on tighter doesn't change the world."

"I don't give a flying fuck about the world," Jim confessed. "I've been called everything from a hero to a fag, and it doesn't change who I am."

"But it changes how people look at you. Man, you can't do your job if they look at you like they..." Blair stopped again. Now Jim could hear the real fear.

"Blair," Jim sighed. He wasn't sure how to fix this one. Leaning back, he looked at Blair and could still see the anger in his face, even though he had sagged into Jim's embrace.

"Blair, you don't have to protect me," Jim said, trying a new tack.

"I'm not trying to-- Okay, I am kinda trying to protect you, but you have a job to do. I mean, I keep kinky, gay stuff away from the university, and they are a big old nothing on the homophobic scale compared to the police department."

"It bothers me that you're changing to try and protect me. I don't want you to hide who you are."

"I'm not hiding who I am; I'm just being quieter."

"Which is not you."

"It could be."

Jim finally let go of Blair and crossed his arms as he considered his lover.

"Okay, I'm not usually quiet," Blair admitted. "But I just don't need to be so obvious with them. I mean, the guys in Cascade already know you, but these guys don't. I just don't want them seeing me and..." Blair shrugged.

"Oh, Chief."

"Hey, no using the pity voice," Blair threatened, his finger reaching out to poke at Jim.

"That's not the pity voice, that's the 'I can't believe you're such an idiot' voice." Jim turned to walk around the truck.

"Hey," Blair protested.

"I can defend my own honor, Sandburg."

"I never said you couldn't."

"And I told you to not worry about Collins and Shay." Jim got in the truck, and Blair got in next to him.

"I'm not worried. Who said I was worried?"

"Oh yeah, you always act like a pod person when you aren't worried," Jim said dryly as he started the truck. Blair started to answer, but Jim held up his hand. "And we still haven't dealt with the fact that you obviously don't trust me enough to follow my lead. I told you not to worry about Mutt and Jeff."

"I never said I was worried. If you're making assumptions…."

"And we're going to have to figure out how to deal with that because you trying to cover for me is not the way I see this working between us," Jim said darkly. Blair fell silent.

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