Treading Water by lamardeuse

Summary: Blair seeks to restore Jim’s balance of yin and yang, and finds out he could do with a little adjustment of his own.

Author’s Note: Set after the events of “Secret”, with references to several earlier episodes, as well as “Dead Drop,” the episode immediately following it. The suggestion was JoAnn’s, and I thank her for it, because it was interesting to try to place a first time story within the context of an earlier episode. Thanks also to Rhyo for her info on the topography and vegetation of Northern California.

Sources for the traditional Chinese medicine references in this story are listed at the end. Any errors are mine.

Warnings (highlight to view): explicit sex

Written for the 2004 Moonridge Auction.

His shoulder was hurting again.

Jim flopped onto his side and peered blearily at the clock, groaning softly when he read the glowing numbers. A half hour to his usual reveille time, and he’d managed what? Three hours of fitful sleep? Ignoring the stabbing jolt to his trapezius, he pushed himself to a sitting position and scrubbed his hands over his face. That whole business with Oliver, lying unconscious on cold concrete and getting slammed against walls, had only made the injury worse. And the dreams he’d been having since seeing that bastard again hadn’t been helping, either.

Dreams of fire and blood and good men lying broken in a jungle.

Christ, he couldn’t take much more of this.

“Jim?”

Blair’s voice was quiet, but he was still in his room; Jim would’ve heard him move if he’d left his bed. “Yeah?” he called, loud enough to be heard.

“You okay?”

“Fine. Just wanted to go in to the station early.” He rose to his feet with a pained grunt and cautiously stretched his arms over his head, then winced as the joint cracked loudly.

“Yeah.” Blair’s tone was skeptical. “Right. Well, I got a ten o’clock class to teach. Think I’m going to catch some more z’s, okay?”

“Sure, Chief. I’ll be as quiet as I can.”

“See you later.” There was the soft sound of rustling sheets, and then silence.

Jim descended the stairs on the balls of his feet, the way Incacha had taught him to stalk prey.

“Oh, sweetie! I’m so glad you called!”

“Yeah, well, sorry it wasn’t sooner,” Blair said. “Been kind of busy lately.”

Talk about the understatement of the century, he thought. Call him crazy, but something told him his mother wouldn’t be too keen on hearing about the details. She might have enjoyed her little undercover adventure a couple of months ago, but knowing that her son had been shot at repeatedly since then—not to mention nearly fried permanently on Golden—was information he didn’t intend to share. She’d “processed” his desire to continue working with the police, but Blair suspected that beneath the surface she was still conflicted about his choice to put himself in harm’s way.

Truth be told, he was a little conflicted about it some days himself.

“How’s Jim?”

Blair listened for some indication of her feelings about Jim, but found no animosity there—or anything beyond polite concern, for that matter. His mother was a woman of considerable passion, and she blew hot and cold, sometimes on the same day and about the same thing. She’d gone from seeing Jim as a potential threat to a potential love interest, for instance, but her ardor had cooled quickly enough when Blair had expressed his disapproval.

Jeez. Jim and his mother. Just—no.

“He’s, uh, not doing so good, Naomi.”

He heard her cluck her tongue. “It’s too bad he can’t use the sage.”

“Yeah. Yeah.” He took a deep breath and plunged ahead. “Uh, listen, you remember that place where you taught tai chi last year?”

“The Wu Xing Retreat?” Naomi sniffed. “Yes, I remember it.”

Blair closed his eyes. He’d heard an earful about it already—Naomi had gone there as a personal favor to her friend Dr. Lao, the founder of the retreat, but she’d been critical of the fact that it was less a retreat and more a resort dedicated to pampering the rich. It was located in the foothills of Northern California, close enough to San Francisco and LA to attract a lot of wealthy businessmen, matrons of society and movie stars. So in addition to the Wu Xing’s reputation as a leading center of Chinese traditional medicine in North America, it also had luxuriously appointed suites complete with Jacuzzis and cable TV. One week there cost more than Blair made in three months.

It was also the only retreat he might be able to convince Jim to try after the Saint Sebastian’s debacle.

“Listen, I hate to ask you to pull strings, but do you think you might be able to talk Dr. Lao into some kind of discount? Jim’s been having a tough time lately and I think a round of acupuncture and massage is just what he needs.” And he also needs to get the hell away from Cascade for a few days, Blair added silently. The past few months had been nothing if not eventful for the both of them, and a little down time might be just the thing to restore Jim’s balance. And if he could get a good enough deal, he might be able to talk Simon into springing for the resort. After all, they were colleagues now. Buddies, even.

Well, sort of.

“Oh, honey, are you sure you want to send Jim to that place? I mean, it’s certainly flashy, but I don’t think he’ll be impressed by that.”

“You don’t know Jim,” murmured Blair. “Look, can you just talk to your friend for me? I’m kind of desperate.”

“Certainly I will. But you don’t have to worry about a discount. Tuo told me I could send friends there any time—free of charge. I’ll make the arrangements right now and call you back, okay?”

Blair sighed with relief. “Thanks, Mom.”

“That’s what moms are for,” she said sweetly.

After he hung up, he stared at the phone for a moment, then burst out laughing. His mother had never baked him Toll House cookies or knitted him a sweater; instead, she provided him with a connection to three thousand years of tradition, philosophy and healing power when he needed it.

He didn’t miss the cookies one bit.

He couldn’t believe he’d let Sandburg talk him into this. He couldn’t believe he’d said yes.

It had to be the smartest damned thing he’d done in a long time.

“Ohhh,” Jim groaned, falling backward onto the decadently soft king-size mattress in his bedroom. His bedroom – one of the four rooms in this suite – was bigger than the entire lower floor of the loft. Huge floor-to-ceiling windows let in endless supplies of that famous California sunshine, and the temperate breeze coming in through the patio doors was devoid of the soul-sucking humidity that permeated Cascade’s air this time of year. Hell, any time of the year.

“You think you can handle a week of this torture?”

Jim cracked open an eye to reveal Sandburg standing over him, an amused twist to his full lips.

“You are a fucking genius,” Jim said, grinning. “I’m gonna sleep for a week.”

“Hold on there, Rip Van Winkle.” Blair fished out a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to him. “I’ve got a whole itinerary planned for you. Acupuncture, massage, herbal medicines, the whole gamut of Eastern remedies, designed to restore the proper flow of chi through your body, mind and spirit.”

Jim scanned the paper, covered from top to bottom in Blair’s flowing scrawl. Man. He wasn’t kidding when he said ‘the whole gamut.’ Jim didn’t understand half the words on here. “What’s… Bai Hua Yu?”

Blair leaned over him and twisted around to read what he’d written. “Uh…white flower oil. Supposed to be good for injuries and muscle strain. We’ll pick up some of that when you go for your first massage this afternoon.”

“When did you plan all this?” Jim demanded. Okay, so Blair had warned him there’d be remedies involved, but he’d kind of hoped there’d be fewer remedies and more sleep.

“I talked to Dr. Lao over the phone before we left. He’s a great guy—Naomi was right. We talked about the probable causes of your imbalance, and—”

“Whoa, wait a minute,” Jim warned. “You told him I’m imbalanced?”

Blair barked a laugh, then sobered. “Uh, sorry, Jim, I’m not laughing at you. Not a mental imbalance. You see, Eastern medicine is founded on the idea that the various elements and forces making up a human being have to be in balance; it’s when they’re not that we suffer from injuries or illness, succumb to stress or fatigue.”

“Yin and yang,” Jim muttered.

“Exactly. That’s one part of it, but there are others. We have a meeting with Dr. Lao in half an hour; he’s going to tell us more about your individual case. The traditional healing techniques we’re going to try will address the problems he sees.”

Jim’s jaw clenched. “I don’t have problems.”

Blair sighed. “Everybody has problems, Jim, even you. You’ve got a shoulder sprain that isn’t healing, and you haven’t slept properly in over a week. Now, the Chinese would say that’s an indication your yin and yang aren’t in the proper proportions, or your flow of chi—life energy—is being blocked—”

Jim blew out a frustrated breath and handed back the sheet. “So I’m going to get stuck with pins. How do we know that’s not going to make my senses go haywire?”

“Well—we don’t,” Blair admitted, earning him a glare from Jim. “That’s why I’m going to be with you every step of the way, holding your hand.” As if to reassure him, Blair pasted on his best solicitous smile and patted the back of Jim’s hand like a doting grandmother soothing an anxious toddler.

Jim closed his eyes again and subsumed into the mattress with an exhausted groan. He couldn’t believe he’d said yes.

Dr. Lao Tuo was just as cool as Naomi said he would be. Brilliant, erudite and urbane, with a touch of the mysterious and an aura of the spiritual.

He was also wearing the loudest Hawaiian shirt Blair had ever seen.

“Jim, from what Blair has told me I am almost certain you are suffering from a serious blockage in your flow of chi,” Lao said softly. “I suspect this derives from an excess of two elements: wood and water. Water seems to be the most prevalent cause of your present trouble; it also explains the pain in your shoulder and neck joints.”

Blair watched Jim’s jaw muscle clench, then release. Just as long as Lao didn’t say anything about the emotions associated with those elements, Blair figured he might have a fairly high chance of survival. If Lao revealed that Blair had told him about Jim’s anger and fear issues, Jim would be out the door in five seconds flat. And shortly after that, Blair would be out the door of 852 Prospect—permanently.

“Now, we’re going to treat this in several ways. Blair tells me you’re particularly sensitive to aromatherapy, so that’s out, but we have lots of other treatments open to us. The primary ones I had planned for you are acupuncture and massage. Have you ever tried meditation?”

Jim shot a glance at Blair, who nodded. “Yes, we’ve tried several methods: breath watching, visualization, mantras…”

“Right, I’m sorry, I remember you told me that.” Blair nodded again. “That’s wonderful. You can explore the gardens later on and try out some of your familiar techniques there. There’s also a ten-kilometer nature walk up the side of the mountain; not everyone who comes here can attempt it, but I think you’ll be able to get the full benefit of it. There’s a beautiful waterfall there that’s perfect for contemplation.” He made a note in the book in front of him. “I’ll have a picnic lunch prepared for you tomorrow. We’ll move the traditional medicines treatment ahead to…ten a.m. How does that sound?”

“Great,” Blair said, then realized it might have been better to let Jim answer that one.

Dr. Lao smiled benignly at Blair, then shifted his focus to Jim. “It wasn’t your idea to come here, was it?” he asked, still in that soft, even tone.

Jim’s mouth opened, then snapped shut. “Not at first,” he admitted diplomatically.

“Don’t worry,” Lao said with a smile. “I’m not going to exhort you to believe in the power of the spiritual world.” He cocked his head. “Besides, on some level I think you already do.”

Jim’s eyes widened slightly.

“We don’t get many police officers here,” Lao mused. “But I understand something of what you face. I have seen a great deal of the world, seen what human beings are capable of doing to—and for—one another. You walk both sides of that dichotomy every day. It is no wonder that you sometimes feel as though you are being pulled in opposite directions.” His dark, fathomless gaze locked with Jim’s. “But I will do whatever I can to restore your balance, help you to stay intact and whole.” He stood up and reached for Jim’s hand. “Feel free to call on me at any time while you are here.“

As they walked out of the building and into the bright sunlight, Jim asked, “Sandburg, what the hell did you tell him about me?”

Blair shook his head, still reeling from the old man’s words.

“Not that much,” he murmured.

Jim wasn’t too sure about this purification thing, but the massive outdoor hot tub—which was actually fed by an underground hot spring—was definitely helping his aching muscles to relax and loosen up. Blair joined him, both of them demure in their swimming trunks, while around them several of the other men felt free to let it all hang out in the Oriental tradition. Jim wasn’t a prude, but he’d never been one of those guys to put every inch of himself on display when it wasn’t absolutely necessary. Though he did usually display a lot more inches than Sandburg, whose skin was pale as milk after a long Cascade winter. At least what there was of it above the near-scalding water; below, the kid resembled nothing so much as a lobster ready for the dinner table.

Come to think of it, Blair didn’t get much more sun in the summer, either; Jim didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone as buttoned-up as the hippie witchdoctor who lived under his stairs. From what he could see now, though, it wasn’t like Sandburg had anything to be ashamed of; sure, he wasn’t as toned as Jim, but for a weedy academic he had a nice, compact body with evidence of lean muscle just under the…

Jim’s eyes snapped up to Blair’s face, which was thankfully turned away from him at the moment. Jesus, he’d been checking Blair out. Not only did he have a severe case of blocked chi, he was also apparently going nuts in his middle age. Sure, he’d experimented a little when he’d first joined the Army, but that was nearly twenty years ago. He wasn’t a horny kid any more. And Blair—well, was. And while Jim had no idea how varied his rapacious sexual appetites were, he had a strong suspicion they were confined to the straight and narrow.

He was so lost in his own woolgathering that it took him several seconds to notice the other guy to his left. The guy who looked like some comic book action hero, with bulging muscles and wavy blond hair.

The guy who was currently staring at Blair as though he was the tastiest dish on the menu at an all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet.

As Jim watched, Blair acknowledged the guy with a polite but diffident nod, one that clearly said thanks but fuck off. Jim was startled to find himself sandwiched between relief and disappointment.

Blair caught Jim’s eye then and jerked his eyebrows. Jim nodded and rose, following Blair to the stone steps leading out of the tub. As he passed Charles Atlas, the guy looked him over dismissively, obviously figuring that Blair had made a poor choice. This time, embarrassment warred with pride for control of Jim’s psyche.

Dr. Lao was right. His yin and yang were having a battle to the death, and he was the battleground. The problem was that he wasn’t sure what the hell was going to happen when they finally signed a truce.

“Right this way. Lars is ready for you.”

Jim blinked at the pretty receptionist. “Lars? You’re kidding, right?”

Blair bit back a groan as the woman’s pleasant expression turned frosty. “No,” she said tartly. “It’s Lars. And you’re quite fortunate. He’s our best masseur.” Clearly she was regretting having scheduled him with Lars the Magnificent, since it was evident Jim would never be able to appreciate him.

Before Jim could open his mouth and shove his foot in even further, Blair stepped forward. “I’m sure he’s going to be wonderful. The second door on the left, you said?”

The receptionist turned her attention to Blair and her expression thawed again. “Yes, that’s right. Will you be going—” She waved a hand.

“Yes,” Blair said, taking Jim’s arm and leading him away as though he were an invalid. “I’m Mr. Ellison’s personal assistant.”

Jim stiffened as Blair dragged him down the hall. “What did you tell her that for?” he hissed.

“What do you want me to tell her? That I’m not sure how a Sentinel will react to a full-body massage so I decided to tag along and watch? Besides, half the guests at this resort probably have their own personal assistants. It’s not like they haven’t heard it before.”

Jim grumbled under his breath but said no more. Pulling free from Blair’s grasp, he strode into the massage room ahead of Blair, who sighed and followed him—

—and promptly collided with Jim’s back. It was kind of like bumping into a mountain; only Blair seemed to be affected.

“Hey, what—” he began, rubbing his nose. He stepped out from behind his partner and saw—

—the great massage god Lars. Who coincidentally happened to be the guy who’d been ogling him in the hot tub earlier.

After several seconds of stunned silence, Blair decided that introductions would have to be his department. “Uh, hi,” he managed lamely. “I’m Blair Sandburg, and this is—”

“Jim,” Jim stuck out a hand like he was thrusting a bayonet at the guy. “Jim Ellison.”

Lars nodded haughtily and took the offered extremity, and their hands closed around one another and tightened.
And tightened.

And tightened some more.

Blair watched, fascinated, as Jim’s jugular vein popped out on his neck and his jaw worked as if he were chewing his cud. What the hell was going on? It was like they were in some kind of weird macho pissing contest…

Inside Blair’s head, gears turned.

There was a sharp click.

No. No fucking way.

Just—no way.

“Well, that was fun,” Blair said airily, stepping up between the two men, “but we have an acupuncture appointment in four hours, so if we could…?” He motioned toward the massage table positioned in the center of the room.

“Yes, of course,” Lars said, with a smile that showed Blair dual rows of perfect Aryan white teeth. “If you’ll just step over here, Mr.—”

“Detective.”

Lars blinked. “Pardon me?”

“Jim,” Blair whispered furiously, “you’re not working Vice any more, okay? Chill.”

Jim froze, then nodded once and walked stiffly over to the table like a man about to be condemned.

Oh yeah, Blair thought. This is going to be a relaxing experience.

“Jim. Jim.”

Jim made the mistake of moving his left arm and groaned as the sensation shot fire over his nerve endings. “Just leave me alone for a while, will you, Sandburg?”

He felt one side of the mattress dip when Blair perched gingerly near his left side. “I don’t think I’d better. I’m a little scared you’re going to slip into a zone, here. Shit, man, I’m sorry. As soon as I can, I’m gonna talk to Dr. Lao about that asshole.”

“No,” Jim managed, remembering just in time not to shake his head. “He was fine, he did a good job. You know it; you were there.”

A sigh. “To tell you the truth, I wasn’t sure whether he was helping you or not. You had that Special Forces Look of Death on your face—”

“What?”

“—you know the one. You looked like the guy was shoving a hot poker up your ass, and as soon as you got the chance you were going to eat his liver without benefit of fava beans. Unfortunately, since this is also the way you look at me when I leave towels on the bathroom floor, it was kind of difficult to assess your pain level.”

Jim grunted into the pillow. “You’re a regular Henny Youngman, Chief.” He took a deep breath. “Look, I’m good. As much as I hate to admit it, that was the best rubdown I’ve ever had in my life. Unfortunately, it’s also the first one I’ve had since my senses came back on-line, and it was a little—intense. Still is.” Intense was the understatement of the century; Lars’ talented hands had destroyed him, then put him back together in a new and barely recognizable fashion. It was like when the doctor had taken the wax out of his ears; suddenly, he was aware of every molecule of air as it danced over his painfully sensitized skin.

“Jeez,” Blair breathed. “You dial down touch?”

“All the way.” Jim clenched his teeth and tried to forget that his skin seemed to be melting off his bones. “Didn’t help.”

“Okay, uh, maybe we should—get you focused on another sense. You know, to distract you.”

Jim tried to move, to turn over, and cursed as his muscles refused to obey him. Panic rose in direct proportion to a feeling of helplessness. “No. I don’t want to do that. That means I’ll run the risk of zoning on two senses instead of one. We don’t know—”

Blair must have picked up on the tone in his voice, because his became more soothing in comparison. “Okay, okay, shhh, it’s okay,” he purred. “We won’t do that. Let’s—”

“Talk to me,” Jim blurted.

“Talk to you?”

“Yeah. Like that, like you just did. Talk about something, nothing, I don’t care. Get me out of my head.”

“Okay,” Blair said. He paused, shifting on the bed, then began: “Did I ever tell you about the time I ended up in a jail in Venezuela for stealing a monkey?”

Startled, Jim laughed. “No, I would’ve remembered that one.”

“Well, believe it or not, I was innocent. But first, let me set the stage. Picture if you will a fruit and vegetable market in the west end of Maracaibo. You like papaya?”

Jim smiled in spite of his discomfort and closed his eyes. “Love it.”

“God,” Jim murmured.

“Yeah,” Blair agreed. “Not bad. Not bad at all.”

The waterfall Dr. Lao had mentioned was a breathtaking cascade of water tumbling down a sheer cliff face to spend itself on a weathered expanse of rock a hundred feet below. The water eventually collected in a large pool that reflected the clear sky and the mountain stretching above them. Jim was taken by the beauty and—despite the soft roar of the water—serenity of the location.

Blair echoed his thoughts when he said, “You think the doc picked this property for a reason?”

Jim smiled as he regarded the waterfall. “It might be more than a coincidence.”

They unpacked their lunch and ate in companionable silence on the bank of the pool, Blair occasionally trailing his hand in the cool water. Not surprisingly, it was heavy on the vegetables and the tofu, but as it was prepared by a gourmet chef, Jim didn’t have much cause for complaint. Slowly, the fog that had enshrouded his thinking over the past few weeks began to dissipate, dispelled by the majesty of their surroundings in much the same way that Blair’s white noise generators banished unwanted noise.

“How’re you feeling now?”

Jim raised his head at the question. “Better. A lot better.” Sixteen hours’ sleep had had a lot to do with that, but Jim knew most of the credit for his uninterrupted rest had to go to Lars’ expert ministrations. That and the unexpectedly comforting feeling there was someone watching over him while he slept. He could have sworn that at one point he woke to find Blair hunched in the chair in the corner of his room, blankets rucked up around his chin. But that was no doubt a fantasy brought on by exhaustion.

The reason why it should be a particular fantasy of his remained a mystery to him.

“How’s your shoulder?”

Jim gave the muscles in question an experimental stretch as he rotated his arm with care. “I have more range of motion, but it’s still nowhere near 100 per cent.”

“You think you might be ready to try the acupuncture later on today?”

Jim hesitated for a split second, and Blair held up a hand. “No, you’re right, it’s probably not—”

“Blair.” The younger man raised questioning eyebrows at him. “I didn’t say anything.” He took a deep breath. “You’ll be there, right?”

“With you all the way, man.”

“Then we’ll do it,” Jim said firmly, surprised at his own words.

Blair nodded. “Okay. Good. I really think it’ll help.”

“You know, I may not say it as often as I should, but I do trust you, Blair.”

Sandburg blinked at him and Jim felt his face heat. Where the hell had that come from? Well, at any rate, it was too late to unsay it, and it was true—one of the truest statements he’d uttered in recent memory.

“Thanks,” Blair said simply after a moment, his voice roughened.

In silence, they packed away the remnants of the meal. When they left the waterfall, no evidence of their presence remained.

Dr. Chin smiled at Jim reassuringly. “This shouldn’t hurt, Jim—if you can relax first. Do you think you can do that?”

Blair resisted the temptation to roll his eyes. Doctor Chin was a petite dynamo of a woman in her mid-forties. She was also treating Jim like a mental patient, or a puppy with an annoying habit of piddling in corners.

To be fair, her judgment had some basis in reality. Jim had entered the room like a cornered panther, ice-sharp gaze scoping out routes of escape, breath quick and shallow. He’d played along with Blair’s meditation exercises before they went in, but Blair could tell they weren’t doing any good. It was possible that Jim’s worry about the acupuncture went deeper than the possible effect on his Sentinel senses, but Blair wasn’t interested in performing a detailed analysis of Jim’s fear of needles. Blair knew the other man had been on some serious covert ops, and he had a strong suspicion that what he might find out would scare the shit out of him.

Doctor Chin tried another tack. “What do you say we ask Blair to step outside for a while so that you and I can—”

“No!” both men chorused. Jim took a deep breath and added, “No. He stays.”

“Shhh, it’s all right, that’s fine,” the doctor soothed. “Whatever you like, Jim.”

Tired of standing on the sidelines, Blair stepped forward. “Doctor, do you mind if I—”

Recognizing defeat, Dr. Chin shook her head. “Not at all.” She moved back to give them some room.

Not quite knowing what he was doing, Blair approached Jim with caution, then took his hand. Jim frowned at him but didn’t pull away. Encouraged, Blair began to make small circling motions on his skin, pressing gently in what he hoped was a soothing massage.

“You got a license to do that?” Jim asked after a moment, a faint smile curving his lips.

“Yeah. But only in Alabama.” Blair regarded him steadily. “You want to get out of here?”

Jim shook his head. “No. It’s just that whenever she comes near me with one of those things, I tense up. I can’t stop myself doing it.”

“Okay.” Blair moved his fingers up to the inside of Jim’s elbow. “So you’re saying the mantra sucked.”

“Yeah,” Jim said.

“I worked hard on that mantra, Jim,” he murmured, mimicking sullenness.

“I’m deeply sorry to have offended,” Jim said, a slight chuckle in his voice. Blair’s fingers dug in and Jim shivered. “What are you—”

“This is where she’s going to put the needles,” Blair said softly, feeling Jim’s muscle twitch convulsively at the last word. “The specific location is called qing ling, and it’s part of your heart meridian.”

“I know,” Jim muttered, closing his eyes as Blair massaged deep into his bicep. “She said all that.”

“But now I want you to hear the words,” Blair said. “And I want you to think back. Think back to a time when your shoulder didn’t hurt. You were free from pain. Try it, Jim.”

Jim breathed in and out slowly. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Now think about the waterfall earlier. Picture the movement of the water, the energy inherent in it. Picture the rock at the base of the falls as the pain you’re feeling, and imagine the water driving against that rock, eroding it. Can you do that?”

Jim sighed. “I’ll try.”

Blair continued his soothing words and touch until Jim’s arm seemed boneless under his fingers. Then, with Jim’s consent, the doctor began the treatment while Blair held his other hand, surreptitiously feeling for his pulse.

When the third needle went in, Jim’s heart rate spiked.

“Jim?”

Jim’s eyes flew open and stared at the ceiling.

Worried now, Blair laid his other hand on Jim’s forehead. “What is it?”

Jim shook his head. “It’s nothing. It’s okay. The area around the needles just feels kind of…warm.”

Blair looked to the doctor, who was—to his surprise—smiling beatifically. “That’s perfectly normal,” she said confidently.

“That’s not all,” Jim added. “I can—Jesus, I can feel—” He trailed off, and Blair was dismayed to feel the other man’s pulse ratchet up another notch.

“We’re going to have to stop this,” Blair snapped.

“No, it’s okay, it’s okay,” Jim insisted, panting now. “God, Blair, I can feel a line running from my arm to my heart to my shoulder, and it’s…moving. It’s like that waterfall’s in me.” His smile turned radiant, and Blair sucked in a startled breath.

“It’s so beautiful,” Jim whispered, turning that smile toward Blair. The force of it staggered the younger man; ridiculously, he felt his knees go weak under the weight of that grin. His hand moved from Jim’s face to the edge of the physio table and gripped it firmly.

“Just one more…” Doctor Chin, absorbed in her task, didn’t appear to have heard Jim’s description of the acupuncture’s effect on him. She deftly slipped the last needle in—

—and Jim jerked as if she’d pumped 20,000 volts through his body.

“Jim? Jim!” Blair’s hands gripped Jim’s shoulders, shaking him hard as Jim’s eyes rolled back in his head and his body went limp. When Jim remained unresponsive, he yelled at the doctor, “Get them out! Now!”

Doctor Chin moved swiftly, concern and confusion written over her features. Blair stared at the scene in horror, temporarily frozen by indecision and recrimination. He’d been so naively certain this would help Jim, so smugly convinced that he knew best. He should have listened to Jim instead of brushing off his apprehension. After all, which one of them was the Sentinel?

The doctor’s nimble fingers gripped the final needle and pulled it free from Jim’s body. In the next instant, Jim stiffened and sucked in a huge, noisy lungful of air. His eyes flew open and he shook his head like a dog after a swim.

“Chief—Blair—”

Blair sagged against the table, one hand splaying over Jim’s ribcage to absorb the comforting rhythm of his heart. “It’s okay. It’s okay,” he breathed, not sure which of them he was trying to convince.

Jim lifted his injured arm and stretched it tentatively. “Gone,” he croaked.

Blair frowned. “What’s gone?”

“The pain,” Jim said, astonishment clear in his tone. “It’s completely gone.”

“I’m sure you’re noticing an improvement,” Doctor Chin soothed, her earlier composure firmly in place. “But we’ll need to schedule several more treatments while you’re here—”

“Thanks, Doctor,” Blair said, as calmly as he could manage considering every part of him was shaking. “But I think Jim has had enough acupuncture for one lifetime.”

Jim found Blair in the zen garden.

His eyes were closed as he sat in the lotus position, arms crooked at a ninety degree angle and held outward from his body, palms up. He looked like one of those carved stone figures found in the ruins of ancient cities.

No, not quite, for this was no statue, but a living, breathing man. A man whose pain radiated off him in waves, battering Jim with a force that shocked him.

Unsure of what to do, he squatted before Blair, regarding him closely for another few seconds. A tiny furrow appeared between the younger man’s brows, and then he sighed.

“Hey, Jim,” he said, without opening his eyes.

A strand of curly hair had fallen across Sandburg’s face; Jim resisted the urge to brush it back. “You okay?”

Blair opened his eyes, blue gaze rising uncertainly to Jim’s. “I will be. I just need a little time.” He attempted a smile Jim knew was false. “You go on ahead to supper without me.”

“Not all that hungry,” Jim grunted. Not quite knowing what the hell he was doing, he sat on the ground opposite Blair, legs sprawled. Blair watched him warily but didn’t comment.

Jim took a deep breath. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Blair shook his head vehemently. “You’re wrong, Jim. It was completely my fault. And I can’t even begin to tell you how sorry I am.”

“Look,” Jim said, rubbing his neck, “I don’t even know what happened in there. All I remember is waking up with all the pain gone. You’re the one who thinks—”

“I don’t think, I know,” Blair gritted, body suddenly bowstring-tight and leaning toward Jim. “I know that I could’ve killed you in there with my ignorance. I know that I don’t know anything.” He waved a frustrated hand. “All this stuff—Burton’s monograph, the few sources I’ve been able to find—it’s all bullshit, intellectual bullshit. It’s like I get caught up in the ivory tower mentality and forget I’m experimenting on a real human being. This isn’t a joke, what I’m doing.”

Jim frowned. “You’ve never treated this like a joke. What are you—”

Blair’s full lips were thinned into a hard line. “I think you’d be better off without me.”

Jim stared at him, unable to process the words. When they finally sank in, he actually saw his life flash before his eyes—at least the portion of it that had involved Sandburg.

Sandburg diving in front of a moving garbage truck to save Jim’s life that first day.

Sandburg in Lash’s clutches, fighting for his own life.

Sandburg reeling from the force of Maya’s hatred, paying the price for leading with his heart instead of his head.

Sandburg trustingly following him out the door of a perfectly good airplane.

Sandburg lying on the floor of a hotel room, bruised and shaken from Zeller’s bullets.

Sandburg rescuing him from an oily grave.

Sandburg shuddering and gasping in his arms while the Golden coursed through his body.

You might be better off without me, Jim thought, but I’m sure as hell not better off without you. He attempted to rephrase this astonishing revelation so that it would sound vaguely like himself, but before he could manage it, Blair spoke again.

“It’s not right for me to keep stumbling around like this, Jim,” he murmured. “It’s not fair to you. You told me that I have your trust, but I’m not worthy of it. I never have been.”

Jim opened his mouth. “Are you calling me a poor judge of character?” he said, attempting levity and failing miserably.

Blair shook his head. “It’s got nothing to do with you. I’m just not the person you need.”

At that, a sudden rage rose unbidden in Jim, nearly choking him. “Yeah? So who is the person I need, then, Einstein? Where’s he hiding? You got another Sentinel expert lined up that I should know about?”

Blair blinked. Obviously he hadn’t bothered to think that far ahead. But that was Sandburg all over, saying the first thing that came out of his mouth without regard to—

“I think you need to start trusting yourself more,” Blair said softly, deliberately gentling his voice to soothe Jim’s fury in a trick Jim now recognized. “Your own instincts are more help than I could be.”

“That’s not true,” Jim blurted, anger fading to confusion and embarrassment. “You came up with all kinds of stuff I never would have thought to try.” He realized abruptly that he was begging, and snapped his mouth shut.

“I—I just—” Blair began, floundering about for words, a condition so un-Sandburgian that Jim knew it was useless.

“Never mind, Chief,” he said heavily. “If that’s the way you feel, then there’s nothing else to be said.” He pushed himself to his feet, annoyed when his shoulder protested his sudden movement. Looking down at Blair gave him a more comforting perspective; the other man’s head rose, but stopped before the blue gaze could reach Jim’s face. “I’ll see you back at the room later. We can get on the road in the morning.”

Blair nodded once, head jerking. Jim’s gaze catalogued the bounce of Blair’s hair, the way it caught fire in the rich evening light. He ignored the twisting sensation in his gut and turned, heading for the restaurant.

Blair walked until he unceremoniously dropped onto the grass near a huge white pine. The branches waved sinuously over his head in the evening breeze, and the sounds of the approaching night enveloped him. He closed his eyes and searched for serenity.

After what seemed like hours, he sighed and flopped onto his back. No serenity here.

“That’s probably because you’re looking too hard.”

Blair nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of the soft voice near his ear. Sitting bolt upright, he came face to face with the smiling countenance of Doctor Lao.

“Uh, hey doc,” Blair said lamely.

“May I?” the small man asked, indicating a patch of grass near Blair’s.

“Oh, sure, help yourself,” Blair encouraged, attempting a smile.

The doctor smiled back, then sat lotus style, facing Blair. “Eve Chin tells me you and Jim had a bit of a scare earlier.”

“Yeah,” Blair grunted, scrambling for a plausible explanation. “Jim—he’s—uh, sensitive to a lot of medical treatments.” God, that’s pathetic. “I mean—”

Dr. Lao waved a wrinkled hand. “Blair, you don’t need to explain anything. I wanted to tell you how sorry I was. What else can we do for Jim?”

Blair shook his head. “Actually, he’s, uh, feeling a lot better after the acupuncture. So much better, I think we’ll be leaving early.”

The doctor regarded him carefully. “That’s too bad. I hope you know that you’ll always be welcome here in the future.”

“Thanks. I’ll tell Jim that.”

Lao cocked his head slightly, as if listening to everything Blair was not saying instead of the words coming out of his mouth. “Your mother loves you very much—but I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you that.”

Blair only nodded, unsure of where the old man was going with this.

“When she called me last week, I could tell she was ‘processing’, as she calls it. We had a long talk, and she told me a great deal about your life now.”

Blair shifted; Lao held up a hand. “Perhaps I am too forward,” he said mildly.

“No,” Blair murmured. “It’s okay.”

“Westerners appreciate directness, so allow me to come to the point. Naomi asked me to help you.”

Blair frowned. “Help me—how?”

“She was concerned that your life was heading down a new path, one for which you had not been adequately prepared. She was hoping that you would take advantage of my expertise while you were here and seek a solution to your current imbalance.”

And just like that, a hell of a lot of things started to make sense. Imbalance. Balancing act—that’s what they called it in the circus. That was what he’d been doing for the past few months, teetering on that tightrope with one of those big-ass poles clutched in his sweaty fists, desperately trying to stay upright, to not fall. Teetering between the world he’d known and the world Jim had introduced him to. Hell, had slammed him into, head-first. That world made him dizzy, spun him around, scared him witless, but not only because of the weirdos and the criminals and the imminent threat of death. Those things weren’t the reasons he was scared, weren’t the reasons he worried about losing his balance and going splat on the hard ground beneath him.

No, what had him terrified was that he wasn’t alone up there. And if he lost his balance, he wouldn’t be the only one falling to earth.

He thought of the thrill he’d felt when Jim had said he trusted him. What a fucking joke.

Aloud, Blair unleashed a derisive snort, more at himself than at Naomi. “Yeah. I know about my mother’s solution.” His gut twisted as it occurred to him that Naomi’s fondest hope had now come true; thanks to his own cowardice, his partnership with Jim was ending. The reality of it finally struck him like a baseball bat.

God. He’d have to move out; it was ridiculous for him to keep living at the loft. Would they even see each other any longer? There wasn’t really any reason he could cook up to—

“Blair?”

Blair shook his head. “Sorry.”

“I was saying that your mother doesn’t really want you to end your association with the police force. Well,” Lao said, a faint smile ghosting his lips, “she does and she doesn’t. Ultimately, she wants you to be fulfilled and happy in your life even more than she wants you to be safe. That’s an extraordinary gift for any mother to give. I hope you cherish it.”

Blair blinked, unsure of what to say. He knew Naomi had come to an uneasy peace with his decision, but he hadn’t realized she’d ‘processed’ her feelings to such an advanced degree. Perhaps the man now sitting in front of him had had something to do with that.

“I—yeah, I do cherish it. I cherish her.” He shook his head. “But in this case, she can quit worrying. Jim and I—“we’re breaking up, his mind supplied, and he suppressed the urge to laugh at the absurdity of it “—we aren’t going to be—I mean, my work for the police department is ending. When we get back to Cascade, I’ll be returning to the university full-time.”

For the first time since Blair had met him, Dr. Lao’s face registered genuine astonishment. “I am sorry for that,” he said finally, as though Blair had just informed him of a death in his family. “Very sorry indeed.”

“It’s not—” Blair trailed off, sure that whatever flip comment he had been about to make would not be believed. “Yeah. Well, it was time. I’ve been—uh, helping Jim with a case, and the case has been closed for a while, only I was having too much fun—playing cops and robbers.” He attempted a smile. “Don’t want to overstay my welcome, you know?”

“I don’t believe Jim finds your presence unwelcome, Blair.”

Blair’s head snapped up. In the dimming light, he could see Lao’s mask of congeniality had returned. “I didn’t say that he does,” he said slowly.

“You implied it,” Lao persisted calmly. “Did he ask you to leave him?”

Ignoring the odd wording of the question, Blair shook his head. “It’s not like I’m his partner,” he said. “I’ve done all I can to help him.”

“And now?” the old man asked gently. “Who are you helping by abandoning him now, Blair? Jim? Or yourself?”

Blair’s mouth hung open for a few moments. “I don’t—“ he spluttered. “It’s not—”

“Isn’t it?” Lao reached out and laid his fingers on the thin skin of Blair’s wrist, and the younger man’s blood accelerated in his veins.

“Come,” the doctor said, voice brooking no argument, “let me help you find a way to walk the path you seek.”

“You’re a mess. Just lie there and let me work.”

Jim closed his eyes and tried to figure out how the hell he’d ended up here. Here being Lars’ massage room at ten p.m., naked and flat on his stomach, waiting for—

Strong, competent hands assaulted his aching shoulder, and Jim released an involuntary groan. Above him, he heard Lars’ low chuckle. Lars’ laughter had the same pitch as Blair’s, but lacked any of its warmth.

“You see? This is just what you need,” the masseur said with confidence, changing his stroke subtly, magical fingers banishing the pain.

Jim had run into Lars at the restaurant, and the other man had noticed the stiff way Jim held his upper body. Since the conversation with Blair on the grounds, the ache in his shoulder and neck had flared to the level they’d been when he first pulled the muscle. His anger and frustration had only increased at that, which fed the pain, which fueled the anger and frustration in an endless, spiraling loop. To be honest, it hadn’t taken much effort on Lars’ part to drag Jim off to his lair.

Now that he was here, Jim was torn between relief at the easing of the agony and a vague sense of unease, as though being in this place without Sandburg’s seal of approval was somehow dangerous. Better get used to it, Jim admonished himself. You won't be able to run to him anymore for answers.

I’m just not the person you need. Blair’s words chased themselves around and around in his brain, echoing hollowly off the inside of his skull. Blair might be fooling himself, but Jim wasn’t duped for a minute. The kid had been a bouncing ball of energy when Jim had first met him, all elbows and enthusiasm, and it had taken a while to bring him down, but now he was cluing in to the fact that this wasn’t an academic experiment. This was real life, real guns, real bullets, and Sandburg didn’t want to risk his skin day after day. And in the end, you couldn’t really blame him; after all, this life Jim and Simon and their fellow cops had chosen wasn’t for everyone. Still, for a while there Jim had thought that maybe Blair…

He shook his head. Forget it. It’ll never happen.

“Too hard?” Lars’ magic fingers eased in their assault on his left trapezius muscle. The tips skated over Jim’s oversensitized skin and he shuddered.

“No,” he said, too gruffly. “It’s fine.”

“I could have told you that poking you with needles wasn’t the answer to your troubles,” Lars said glibly as his hands began kneading again.

Jim felt anger surge within him at the unconscious attack on Blair, even though the man could have no idea of Sandburg’s role in Jim’s life. “It worked fine,” he countered.

Lars touched the juncture of his neck and shoulder, and Jim convulsed at the jolt of pain. “Sorry,” Lars said sweetly. “Still a little sore there?”

Jim acknowledged the point with a grunt. “I thought everyone at this resort was supposed to work together. Holistic healing and all that jazz.”

Jim heard Lars snort. “I don’t hold with that Oriental mumbo-jumbo,” he said. “But I’m the best there is, and Lao knows it. So I’m on the team, as it were, but I know who I bat for.”

Jim was so lost in the hypnotic rhythm of Lars’ strokes that he nearly missed the masseur’s soft question. “I wonder…which team do you bat for, Jim?”

Jim’s half-closed eyes snapped wide open. “What did you say?” he barked.

“Well, I’ve been watching you and your friend Blair,” Lars said conversationally, his hands never pausing in their task, “because after that threat display in the hot tub, I assumed you were together. But now I’m not so sure. You don’t look like a couple—but you do. So I’m starting to become very confused. And I hate being confused for more than, say, ninety seconds. Are you lovers or are you merely two rather handsome men in denial? You see my dilemma.”

“I didn’t know I’d be getting psychoanalysis with my massage,” Jim muttered. “Do you charge extra for that?”

Jim could practically hear Lars shrug above him. “I’m merely a student of human nature. And if I should decide to—ah, approach Blair,” he added, “I should like to know whether it is likely that my arms will be ripped from their sockets.”

“Blair’s free to do whatever he wants,” Jim said, realizing as he said it how it sounded. He was only faintly surprised to find he didn’t give a damn. “We don’t have any—obligations to one another.” Not anymore, Jim silently added, losing himself in a contemplation of an empty loft barren of randomly strewn papers, discarded socks, and noxious food aromas.

Fuck.

“Well,” Lars said archly, “I thank you for your progressive stance.” And with that, he really began to go to town on Jim’s back.

Jim moaned, closed his eyes and imagined Blair’s square, competent hands moving over him like water pounding stone.

He thought about balances.

He thought about tightropes.

And he thought about where the hell Jim might be at one in the morning.

Springing to his feet, Blair walked to the balcony for the hundredth time since he’d returned to the suite and gazed out over the courtyard. The lack of a moon made it impossible for him to see much more than shades of darkness, but in the silence he could at least listen for the sounds of footsteps.   The lights along the pathways were extinguished at midnight, but of course Jim wouldn’t need those to make his way back to the hotel.

Come on, Blair willed Jim silently, get back here so I can—

So he could what? What the hell was there to say? What the hell was there to do?

Behind him, the door to the suite opened with a soft, sighing sound. Blair spun around to see Jim’s big body silhouetted in the doorway.

He moved toward Jim like a sleepwalker as the other man closed the door.

“Hey,” Jim said softly, taking a step forward himself. “You’re still up.”

Brilliant deduction, Detective, Blair thought, unwilling to speak it aloud and bruise the quiet of the moment with sarcasm.

“Yeah,” he said instead. “I was—kinda worried.”

Jim’s eyes flickered down and away, and Blair remembered. He’d given up the right to worry about Jim when he’d decided to ditch him, them, this.

Whatever the fuck this was.

He moved again, pulled as though by some irresistible gravity. How did he begin to fix the damage he’d done? And more to the point, did he want to fix it? A few hours ago he’d been sure, but the intervening time and darkness had thrown those shadows of doubt back across his clear, straight path.

Or maybe the path was veering in a new direction he hadn’t considered.

Jim’s gaze was still downturned. “Yeah, I, uh, I took a walk.”

Blair attempted a chuckle. “Where? To Frisco?”

Jim’s eyes rose to Blair’s face. “Almost,” he admitted wryly. “I tried that walking meditation we did once. Before that I—got a massage. Felt a lot better afterwards.”

“You—” Blair began, then stopped. “Lars?” he croaked.

“Yeah,” Jim said, shifting his weight like a six-year-old caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “It was—a big help. I feel a lot better.”

“You said that already,” Blair murmured, unsure of where the buzzing in his head was coming from.

Jim’s chin lifted. “Well, it’s true.”

The silence lasted for what seemed like hours. Blair broke first. “I had a long talk with Dr. Lao tonight. He, uh, he thinks I have an imbalance in my stomach and gall bladder. Too much yang.”

Jim cocked his head, took another step forward. “Yeah? What does that do?”

“Causes indecisiveness and an excess of thought, mostly. But I’m on the road to recovery. There was a lot of really smelly tea involved.”

Jim snorted. “That should be right up your alley.”

Blair considered punching him on the arm, then thought better of it. Jim was standing very close now, or maybe he was standing very close to Jim, or maybe they were standing close to one another. If they inhaled at the same time their chests would brush.   Jim could probably smell the tea on him, smell everything he’d done, everywhere he’d been that day. He risked an experimental sniff himself. “He put that Bai Hua Yu on you?”

“Yeah,” Jim murmured. His voice was deep and slow, like it was coming from a place hidden far under the earth. Blair’s gaze dropped to the long column of Jim’s neck, where the oil burnished his winter-pale skin.

Blair shook his head to clear it. He opened his mouth and let the words pour out of him. “Jim, I—”

“Lars asked me if it was okay to date you.”

Blair blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Well, not exactly date. Approach was the term he used.”

“Very quaint of him,” Blair muttered, still in shock at the turn of the conversation, still distracted by the dull sheen of Jim’s skin. “What’d you tell him?”

Jim stared at Blair, and the younger man shivered inexplicably. “I told him we had no—obligations.”

Jim’s flat statement cut into Blair, startling a gasp out of him; he opened his mouth but this time no words emerged.

“Well, it’s the truth, isn’t it?” Jim murmured. Blair looked up to find Jim’s face hovering above his own. He felt surrounded, overpowered, overwhelmed, yet there was an easy escape route around the couch—Jim had left him that.

He didn’t take it.

Jim’s next words formed a whispered demand that coiled around Blair’s gut. “That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

Isn’t it?

“I don’t know,” Blair said, finally finding his voice. “I thought that it was best for you if I—no,” he amended, shaking his head. “That’s bullshit. I knew all along I was trying to save my ass, I just didn’t want to admit it.”

“You don’t have to explain,” Jim husked. “I get it.”

Blair frowned. “What do you get?”

Jim spread his hands. “You didn’t sign up to be a cop.   It’s a dangerous job—not that you don’t have the guts for it, that’s not what I’m trying to say, but you—”

“Jim.” Blair suddenly felt calmer and more sure of himself than he’d felt in days, because Jim was babbling, here, he was skittish and nervous and God, why was that turning him on? “It wasn’t the danger that had me scared.” He grimaced—no more bullshit. “That still has me scared.”

“Then what?” Jim demanded, wariness battling with anger for control of his voice.

Blair took a deep breath, smelled white flowers and Jim and their mingled fear, and thought, just jump in. If you drown, you drown.

“It’s you, Jim,” Blair said softly, tilting his head and breathing into the small space that separated them. “The danger to you. It’s the fact that you’re the first living being I’ve ever been responsible for apart from me. Well, unless you count Larry.”

“That’s supposed to reassure me, Sandburg?” Jim murmured. “You did a pretty shit job of—”

“Yeah, yeah, my point exactly,” Blair said, surprised when a chuckle bubbled up out of him. Must be the beginnings of hysteria. “I shouldn’t be trusted with a goldfish, man. So what the hell am I doing with you—telling you what to do, how to do it, when one mistake could cost you your life?”

“The way I see it,” Jim said slowly, “not having you around the past few months would’ve cost me my life a few times over.”

“The glass half empty, the glass half full, huh?” Blair shook his head. “I just—Jim, if something happened to you because I fucked up—”

“Chief, I don’t want you to go.”

Blair stared up at him, the words echoing in his head like the walls of his skull were the Grand Canyon. “You don’t?” he asked, unable to hold back the incredulous, knee-jerk response.

He was expecting a smart-assed reply from the bigger man, something like yeah, I’d miss having wet towels strewn all over my bathroom floor and bizarre smells coming from my fridge, but instead Jim merely stared back at him, his expression uncharacteristically open and vulnerable. He looked like the kid he must have been a million years ago. Knowing he had something to do with putting that look on that face made Blair want to run like hell.

Or maybe kiss him senseless.

Without considering the consequences, Blair reached up and trailed a finger down the column of Jim’s neck. When he brought the fingertip to his nose, he could smell the lightly fragrant oil, fancied he could see the surface of his own skin gleaming in the dim light. When he looked up again, Jim’s eyes were flashing like a wild mustang’s.

“Sorry, I’m—I didn’t mean to—” Blair spluttered, as reality came crashing into the quiet room. What the hell was he—

And then Jim’s eyes drifted closed and he exhaled in a long, shuddering rush.

“Jim?” Blair ventured, worried about a zone, but the other man shook his head vehemently, as though he’d read Blair’s mind.

“Just…touch me again,” Jim whispered. “Christ, Blair, please just touch me again.”

And pulled by that powerful gravity of that astonishing plea, Blair could do nothing but comply.

Jim’s body jerked as Blair’s warm palm pressed against his chest, over his heart. The beat rose up to meet his questing hand, steady and strong.

I hold you in my hands every day. Surprisingly, the idea didn’t hold the same terror it would have even a few short hours ago. Maybe, he thought, maybe he could get used to this. He could learn to trust himself the way Jim obviously trusted him, the way he needed to in order to walk a path alongside this extraordinary creature of light and dark, of energy and stillness.

Blair’s fingers explored the rise of Jim’s collarbone, causing the other man to hiss softly. The sound went straight through Blair’s body, lighting up his twelve meridians and every ounce of chi in his body like a Christmas tree. Suddenly it seemed the most natural thing in the world to indulge his senses, inadequate though they might be, in the feast before him. Leaning forward, he allowed his lips to roam over the places his hands had been.

“Oh, Jesus,” Jim rasped, body shuddering helplessly. Strong hands cupped Blair’s face and tilted it to meet Jim’s as it descended. Surrendering to the fall, Blair opened his arms and filled them with Jim.

Sandburg naked under his hands was a thousand textures, all of them colliding with his fingertips and setting off small, fiery explosions of sound. The sound was mostly Blair’s, guttural grunts and groans and gentler cries that wrapped themselves around his dusty heart and set up housekeeping. He contributed occasionally with a feral growl or a wrung-out moan, but mainly he watched the play of lamplight on Blair’s shining curls and studied the way their stubble clung as he rubbed their cheeks together and drank in the taste of Blair’s incredibly silky cock when he first touched his tongue to the glistening tip.

The younger man writhed as Jim enveloped the base of his erection with one big hand, then stiffened and shouted as Jim began to suck strongly. He hadn’t given another guy head in nearly twenty years, but it must have been like the proverbial bicycle, because Blair didn’t seem to find any fault with his technique. On the contrary, he seemed to be fairly enthusiastic about the whole idea, his body flexing and contracting like steel in a blast furnace.

“Christ, Jim, you—oh—”

Jim slid his mouth off Blair’s cock and licked a wide swath up the underside. “I always wondered what it would take to derail that brain of yours.”

“Yeah,” panted Blair, “well, turns out it’s surprisingly easy to do. As long as you’re the one tearing up the tracks.”

Jim paused in his ministrations to look up at Blair, searching his expression. Blair favoured him with a guileless grin that threatened to stop his heart.

“Get up here,” Blair commanded huskily, and Jim obeyed without thinking, surging up to cover Blair’s warm, quivering body with his own. And once he was kissing that sinful mouth again, it wasn’t five minutes before he was gasping and shuddering and coming all over Blair’s belly like a teenager in the throes of his first wet dream. With a final anguished groan, Blair followed him moments later, his mouth open and pressed to Jim’s neck, gusting warm, moist air across Jim’s skin.

As they sagged together on the bed, Jim waited to feel foolish, embarrassed, alone. But there was no way he could manage it, not when Blair’s blood pulsed jaggedly in his veins in counterpoint to his own, not when their limbs naturally twined around one another like vines climbing bamboo.

I never have to be alone again. The thought once would have been terrifying, but now it brought nothing but a strange sensation, akin to water flowing gently over his skin, carrying him slowly downstream toward something new and unforeseen.

Blair woke from a dream with a start. He’d been walking that tightrope again, but this time the crowd cheered as he negotiated it with ease. And when he stepped off the end into open space, he didn’t plummet to his death but floated gently to earth, touching down on the sawdust like a dancer after a graceful leap.

Well, what do you know? he thought, smiling to himself in the darkness as he stretched. Great sex makes my subconscious happy. Not to mention really obvious.

The slight movement must have disturbed Jim, because he yawned and rolled to face Blair. “Hmmm,” he purred, opening his eyes to slits.

“Go back to sleep,” Blair whispered.

“Time ‘zit?” Jim slurred.

“Dunno,” Blair answered, “but it’s still dark.” Tentatively, he reached out and stroked his fingers over Jim’s shoulder. “Still hurting?”

Jim shook his head. “Nope. That Lars is a miracle worker.”

“Yeah?” Blair said archly. “Maybe I should go to see him, then. Let him—work me over.”

With a growl Jim pounced, pinning a grinning Blair to the mattress. “Forget it,” he snarled, his hands moving to manacle Blair’s wrists. “Lars isn’t getting his hands on you.”

Blair batted his eyelashes. “Oooh. My big, strong caveman.”

“Just call me Fred,” Jim drawled, lowering his face to Blair’s.

“That makes me—Wilma.” Blair shook his head. “Uh-uh. No way am I becoming a redhead for you. I’m drawing the line—”

“Sandburg.”

“Yeah?”

Jim’s mouth brushed against Blair’s in a maddeningly soft caress. “You can be Betty.”

“That’s good, Jim,” Blair murmured. “You know, compromise is the secret to any successful—”

Jim’s mouth swallowed the rest of Blair’s words, and Blair pushed up against the body that held him captive. Jim shifted position immediately, raising himself onto his hands and removing the weight on Blair’s chest. The sweet pressure on his lower body remained, however, as the bigger man began a slow, sensuous sliding motion.

“God,” Blair gasped when Jim’s mouth finally released his, “I’ll dye my hair purple if it means you never stop doing that.”

Jim grinned ferally and leaned in to nip at Blair’s earlobe. “The friction would cause erosion after a couple of decades,” he murmured.

“Mmm,” Blair hummed, as Jim’s tongue explored his neck, “can’t have that.” He supposed it should have astonished him how easily this change had come upon them, but at the moment he wasn’t up for a detailed exploration of his private sexual revolution. At the moment, he was up for…Jim Ellison. And Jim Ellison was up for him.

“What’s so funny?” Jim rumbled against his jugular.

“Tickles,” Blair lied, hands rising to map Jim’s massive shoulders and back, then trailing down the bumps of Jim’s spinal column.

Jim arched under Blair’s hands like a half-tamed panther. “God, Chief,” he breathed right before he attacked Blair’s mouth again, delivering dive-bomb kisses that had Blair panting and frustrated and insensate within a minute.

“Jesus…Christ…would…you…stay…still!” Blair groaned, between bites and nips and too-brief stabs of Jim’s surprisingly talented tongue.

“Can’t,” Jim groaned back, aiming a few more erotic missiles at Blair’s neck and jaw. “If I stay too long…might zone.”

“On me?” Blair squeaked, husky voice suddenly gone childish with wonder.

“Yeah,” Jim grunted. “Taste…smell…touch…” He raised his head and pinned Blair with a look that stole the younger man’s breath. “Sight.” One big hand rose to tangle itself in Blair’s thick curls. “The whole damned package.”

Reaching up, Blair cupped Jim’s chin and stroked a thumb over his lips. “How long?” he asked softly.

Jim held his gaze. “Don’t know. Seems like it just happened. But it feels like…” He trailed off, shaking his head.

“Feels like it’s been going on for a long time,” Blair finished for him, surprised at his own softly voiced words. Jim’s shock was, for once, plainly written on his face, and Blair had to grin at that. “Yeah. I know.”

Jim stared at him for a moment more, then slowly, slowly lowered his face to Blair’s again. “Chief?” he murmured against Blair’s mouth.

“Hmmm?” Blair answered, grin turning carnal.

Jim’s tongue traced Blair’s smile with deliberate and unmistakable intent.

“Enough talking.”

Of course, this was Blair he was in bed with, so eventually the talking had to start again. But at least the kid had the sense to wait until after the kissing and the licking and the stroking and the coming.

It occurred to him that this could end up working out pretty damned well.

“When you were kidnapped,” Blair said quietly, one hand lazily stroking over Jim’s chest as the bigger man lay back against him, “I was so damned mad—at whoever had you, at Simon for sending me to my room, at Joel for babysitting me. But most of all, I was mad at myself.”

Jim frowned. “Why?”

“Because none of it made any difference. By the time I got around to figuring everything out, you’d already managed to escape, and to bring down the bad guys to boot. “ Blair chuckled hollowly. “Some backup, huh?”

“You make it sound like you’re sorry I escaped,” Jim drawled, the urge to sleep pulling at him again.

Blair delivered a light tap to the side of his head. “Doofus. That’s not what I mean.”

“Then what?” Jim asked, surprised at his own equanimity. Apparently great sex tended to smooth over that little irritability problem he had.

“I guess it was that—I wasn’t there fast enough. I couldn’t be there for you when you needed it most.” Under Jim’s head, the chest rose and fell in a sigh. “Maybe that’s when it started. The doubt that I was doing you any good.”

Jim’s hand rose to cover Blair’s hair-covered forearm in a reassuring caress. “Don’t ever doubt it. You did. You do.”

Blair planted a soft kiss on the top of Jim’s head. “Thanks.” A brief pause. “I wasn’t fishing, you know.”

“Sandburg, will you just let me compliment you and get it over with?”

Blair’s guffaw made Jim’s head bounce. “Okay, okay. Man, I kind of hoped all this Eastern philosophy would mellow you out a little.”

“Fat chance,” Jim said, a small, secret smile curving his lips as he drifted into sleep.