The Retrieval Series

Author's website: http://www.geocities.com/polly_bywater/index.html
I don't own them, no money made here, these are not the droids you're looking for, yadda.
Thank you, Sentinel Thursday, Maxine, and my friends-list for your support, encouragement, and sharp eyes. *g*

Where to begin. Hmm. This story mentions several violent acts, including rape of a minor character (Naomi), kidnapping (Blair, OFC), death of another minor character (Rafe), brief mention of suicide (Jim, Henri), sexual situations (J/B), traumatic brain injury (Blair, but he gets better) and probably other stuff people will wish I'd warned for. Despite all that, it's really not that dark a story, believe it or not, lol. Oh, and, Blair's hair was cut. *snerk*
Anyway, I wrote it in 13 parts (posting 38,000 words in just under a month - there's likely a warning in that, lol) for Sentinel Thursday's 100th challenge. I am posting it here pretty much as it appeared there, hopefully minus the most egregious typos and unfortunately minus the ease of formatting which LJ offers. If you want to see the story as it originally appeared, it's here: http://www.livejournal.com/users/polly_b/76261.html

Retrieval

The cell phone rang at three AM, waking Simon from a dead sleep. Sleep-fogged and half-panicked - the way parents always are by middle-of-the-night calls - he barked into it sharply.

"Banks!"

//"Captain?"//

No one called him 'Captain' any more.

//"Captain, it's Henri Brown."//

Suddenly alert, Simon sat up, switched on his bedside lamp, and fumbled for his glasses. He hadn't heard from Henri Brown in months. They'd lost touch; after Rafe's death, after Henri had moved to Memphis with his wife to take care of her aging parents.

So many things had changed in Major Crime.

"Brown, are you all right?" He had the presence of mind to ask. "Is Sharice-"

//"We're fine, Captain, that's not why I'm calling. I've seen Hairboy! I know where he is!"//

"You what? WHERE?"

Two hours later, he was at the 852 Prospect, trying to decide, as he trudged up the stairs, how to tell Jim...

...who met him at the door, fully dressed, which made Simon wonder how many sleepless nights his friend had passed in the last six months.

Simon didn't even bother to rag on him for opening the door before he knocked. He just reached out and squeezed that tense shoulder then walked in, bringing Jim with him.

"Brown just called me from Memphis. He's seen Blair."

"Jesus." Jim used the action of shutting the door to hide his face from Simon, feeling the blood drain out of it and his eyes burn. "He's alive."

Simon wasn't fooled, but let Jim have his moment. All this time, Jim had never faltered, seemed discouraged, or shown doubt that he'd find Blair.

Simon had always known that attitude was a complete sham.

"I'm going to get myself a beer, despite the fact that it's not even sunrise," he announced hoarsely, his own eyes stinging.

"It's seventeen-hundred somewhere, Sir," Jim managed, automatically locking the door then rubbing his face with his hands. "What else did Brown say?"

He took the beer Simon handed him and went to the sofa. His legs felt weak.

Simon sat beside Jim and gave him a blow by blow account, knowing nothing else would satisfy him.

//"I've seen Hairboy! I know where he is!" Brown said, and the tone of his voice - even over the phone - was such that Simon was instantly, coldly awake. He even knew what expression would be on Brown's face at that moment, having seen it once before beside a fountain at Rainier.//

"What's happened to him?"

//"Aw, man, Simon, he- well, he's-"//

"H, is he alive?"

//"Yeah, he's alive. He didn't know who I was. Shit, I almost didn't know who he was! His hair's real short and he looks about eighteen-"//

"Brown, where is he?"

Henri took a deep breath that Simon could hear. Simon knew the younger man was pulling himself together. Henri had been through an awful lot himself within the last year.

They all had.

//"Sharice's dad is- was in a locked ward, you know, one of those Alzheimer's specialty units. He died this morning-"//

"I'm sorry, H."

//"Thanks, man, but it's a mercy, you know? He'd gotten so violent after Sharice's mama passed I was afraid to leave her alone with him. We were called to the home around three and he died about an hour later. Sharice- she'd wanted to spend a little time sitting with him so I went out and was walking up and down the halls. That's when I spotted Hair- Blair, in another room."//

Brown took another deep breath, whether because he was still trying to get his emotions under control or because he'd talked himself out of breath, Simon didn't know.

His next words made it plain.

//"He was sitting up on the edge of the bed watching the door, like he was waiting for somebody, and every time someone would walk by, he'd look up at them, like he was checking. Then he'd put his head down. I stood in the hall and watched him for a while... he didn't know me, Simon. He didn't know me. He didn't speak. He- he cried a little. He's got an ankle bracelet- all the patients in that unit do, but he's not locked in his room, which means he's not violent and the staff lets him get up and walk around. He's- he's so thin, Simon. His nose has been broken.

"I asked Sharice's daddy's aide about him. She says he's been there about five months, since his brother had him committed-"//

"Sandburg doesn't have a brother," Simon interrupted before he could stop himself.

//"I know that, man. She said this guy comes to check on him every few weeks. She wouldn't tell me what's wrong with him, but I got a glimpse of the visitors log and he's not there under his own name.

"I- I had to take Sharice home, so my partner's watching the place. When can you and Ellison get here?"//

"I'll call the airline and make reservations, then get back to you. Give me your number... and Henri, thank you."

//"It was luck, Simon. Pure, dumb luck."//

"Our flight leaves as soon as we get to the airport," Simon added, tapping his watch. "Your dad has the corporate jet standing by. Brown will meet us in Memphis and take us to Blair."

Jim blinked at him, and Simon allowed a shrug.

"Commercial would take too long, and Sandburg might not be well enough to-"

"It's fine," Jim waved off Simon's explanation. He didn't need it. "God knows, the two of you have been right there helping me look for Blair."

He thought for a moment and looked at Simon.

"I'll take Blair's identification records with me, including his prints, X-rays, and my power of attorney, but I'm not leaving him there another night."

He's looking for me, Jim could have said, but he didn't have to.

"Another reason to take the corporate jet. We're going armed," Simon pronounced, in full agreement.

Blair had been abducted two days after he'd received his doctorate - with the sentinel diss - an outcome William Ellison had thrown considerable weight around to accomplish, as a favor to his son.

Due to begin at the PD as an official consultant, Blair had vanished off the street in broad daylight between Prospect and Central. His car had been found two days later, in a salvage yard on the edge of town.

And Jim had been frantic. Sure that Blair was alive - mostly - he'd been searching continuously, having even taken an indefinite leave from the PD. In fact, it was lucky Simon caught him at home. He'd been due to fly to DC on Monday to meet one of his former Agency contacts for an intelligence update.

At this point, Jim thought he knew where more covert government operations were occurring than anyone in the government itself.

He drained his beer, grabbed the duffel bag he kept packed then opened a hidden safe-

And it was hidden, Simon noted rather amusedly.

-from which he removed the pertinent documentation. This Jim handed to Simon, before going to the weapons locker he kept in his upstairs closet. He was half-tempted to take his crossbow, but settled for his favorite automatic at his back and his usual hold-out at his ankle.

Inside ten minutes, Jim had secured the loft and was ready to go.

The flight seemed endless - Jim was never a comfortable flyer, between the senses and his own previous air crash - but it was a mere few hours before they were being greeted with hugs by an anxious Henri Brown.

Henri had lost weight and looked tired but had shed some of the heartbreaking grief he'd walked around carrying since Rafe's death. Jim assumed that if Henri trusted his partner to watch over Blair, then the partner must be a good guy, which made him glad for Henri's sake.

God knew, he understood too well what it felt like to lose a partner.

Henri took them right out to his car, which would have been illegally parked if he hadn't been a detective for the Memphis PD.

Jim was surprised when Henri radioed Dispatch to request back up at the Evergreen Terrace nursing center, then asking to be patched through to his captain, who promised to meet them there.

Noticing Jim's surprise, H explained, briefly glancing over his shoulder.

"I explained about Sandburg being one of us and his abduction and had Rhonda fax a copy of the original kidnapping report- she did it on the down low, so there's no computer record. Captain Gilliam is a good guy. Almost as good a captain as you were, Simon," H remarked with a small grin, "but don't tell him I said that. He wanted to get Sandburg out as soon as I told him the situation, but I thought it might be better for Ha- Blair if you were there when he gets moved, Jim."

Paused at a red light, H gave Jim a level stare.

"My boss is also the type who loves to stick it to the feds, in case they try to interfere, but he says you need to get a judge to sign off on guardianship as soon as possible if Blair is really-"

The light turned. Henri interrupted himself, turned around, and drove; unwilling to give a name to Sandburg's possible condition. Brain-damaged, almost surely - drugged into psychosis or simply driven insane, maybe - but certainly incompetent. The memory of those empty blue eyes looking through him out of that obviously battered face made Henri's insides hurt.

"Dad's already working on that," Jim said quietly, reaching up and squeezing Henri's shoulder, recognizing that unhappy concern.

He didn't share it. It didn't matter to Jim what kind of shape Blair was in - he was alive, and that was more hope than Jim had had yesterday.

A half-hour later, they were pulling up just inside the end of a long driveway, looking down a gentle slope. In the cradle of the hill the care center sprawled innocently, its clean brick lines enhanced by natural landscaping of azaleas and pines.

They got out of the car, noticing there was only the one exit by road.

"This is a good place, the best in town," H supplied as a pair of patrol cars pulled up behind them.

"That's not much consolation, H," Jim said a bit thickly, his heart suddenly pounding as his soul started to sing. Blair was in there. The damned building was three hundred yards away, yet he could feel his guide's presence; an ineffable zing that made his senses sharpen and soar.

"I'm saying, I don't think they're in on it, Jim. I think they really believe Blair is some guy's brother who had him put away. We've asked them not to call the notification number in Blair's chart and instructed them to say nothing to anybody who calls, but there's a chance somebody could have."

Jim tried to get himself to remember this was still a kidnapping case, when every molecule inside him vibrated with a need to get to Blair.

An unmarked sedan pulled up and a tall, heavy-set man who could've passed for Joel Taggart's brother emerged, walking up to them with a slight limp.

"LeMaster Gilliam, Homicide Captain, Memphis PD," he introduced himself quietly, shaking Simon's and Jim's hands. "You must be Deputy Chief Simon Banks and Detective Jim Ellison from Cascade."

"That's right. Thanks for your help," Simon said, aware from Jim's somewhat restless fidgeting that his friend didn't feel like observing the niceties.

"Whatever I can do, I will. Henri Brown is an asset to this department and I'm glad to assist. I understand the victim also worked for you?"

"My partner," Jim murmured, gazing longingly at the home.

"Then let's go get him." Turning, Gilliam issued a few orders to the uniforms, one of whom subsequently blocked the driveway while the other followed them as they drove down the hill.

Henri had the codes to the keypad lock on the exterior door, and got them inside, where they were greeted by a well-dressed administrative type; a middle-aged woman with a kind face who was visibly distressed.

"Gentlemen, do you have some kind of warrant?"

That precious heartbeat now in his ears, Jim growled. Simon and H grabbed his arms automatically.

"Miss Justice, we're here to see the patient in 704. I don't know what name he's been admitted under, but he's a police consultant named Blair Sandburg who was abducted from Cascade Washington six months ago. We've been looking for him ever since," Henri said, firmly but quietly; and before anyone else - like Jim - could speak. "I worked with the man for four years, I know him. Please, just let us through. This is his partner and roommate, Jim Ellison, and this is Sandburg's captain, Simon Banks."

She gave them a considering stare then nodded.

"Mister Brown, my condolences about your father-in-law. I believe you know the way. He's in the dayroom."

A short plump aide was already holding the door open to the locked specialty unit. She also acknowledged Brown with an expression of sympathy that made Jim twitch restlessly. H kept his thanks sincere but quick before starting down the hall, Jim taking the lead as the rest followed.

Jim had to admit, the place didn't smell or look like any nursing home he'd ever been in. There were plants, and cats, and cheerful colors, and some kind of soft music playing at the nurses' desk.

They walked into the dayroom and there was Blair, staring through a window, his face sad... his appearance, like Brown had said, impossibly young with his short, short hair and skinny frame; dressed in jeans, tennis shoes, and a faded red tee-shirt. He was clean and well-groomed, which Jim found distantly reassuring.

Vaguely aware of a man moving to intercept him, who was in turn headed off by Brown, Simon, and Gilliam, Jim approached Blair from one side, concerned about startling him.

But Blair turned as if he were orbiting his sun, wide blue eyes fixing on Jim with brightening fascination. They all watched Blair blink, tip his head to one side, then offer a crooked smile under a crooked nose.

"Jim. Jim. Jim. Jim! JIM!" It was the only word Blair said, but his exuberant relief was obvious.

Tears springing into his eyes, Jim merely held out his arms. Blair fairly leaped into his embrace.

"Blair. My Blair," Jim whispered into that fine soft hair, shorter now than his own, holding Blair as close as he could get him and audience be damned... although if he'd bothered to look, he would have seen Simon and H wiping their own eyes.

"My God, that's the first time I've ever heard him speak," the aide said quietly from behind H.

"Jim. Jim." Blair almost demanded, hiding his face in Jim's chest.

"Yeah, I'm here, I'm taking you home, buddy. It's gonna be okay."

"Jim. Jim. Jim," Blair said, rubbing his back; comforting him, Jim knew.

"God, I've missed you."

The strength of Blair's hold reassured Jim that he'd been equally missed, and Jim just stood there for a long while, soaking it up. Eventually, he lifted his hands to Blair's face and drew away, looking him over anxiously, fingers checking his scalp automatically.

"They hurt you," he said with almost childish plaintiveness as his fingertips tracked over the evidence of more than one blow, including a healed fracture on the right side of Blair's skull. Eventually stroking gently over that crooked nose, Jim frowned, aching with his knowledge of Blair's pain.

Blair's eyes visibly saddened. He patted the side of Jim's face and nodded somberly, but then smiled at Jim again before petting Jim's shoulder, grasping it gently and giving Jim a slight shake.

Jim tightened his jaw and looked away, eventually nodding, before his eyes turned to again devour Blair's face. The corner of his mouth quirked into a faint smile as they stared at each other.

Simon found himself grinning at the scene. There were no two people in the world who could manage wordless communication better than these two. Even he could see that Blair just told Jim 'yeah, it happened, but I'm okay! You're here!', which Jim answered by acknowledging that he was sick about what happened to Blair but agreed with what his partner was also saying.

He looked over his shoulder at the administrator, who was watching the two men with tears in her eyes. She caught Simon staring at her and cleared her throat.

"We were told his name was James Williams and he'd been brain-damaged following a motorcycle accident. The man who called himself Jamie's brother used the name Andrew Williams-"

"Andy Williams?" Simon put in with a raised eyebrow, aware Jim had stepped away - by less than six inches - from Blair and was listening.

"He made quite the joke out of that. Very personable man, mid-forties- we have his picture in the office and I'll give you a copy of Jamie's records. I hope you catch him... but with all due respect, I need to see some ID and proof of your story before you leave with the patient."

"We wouldn't have it any other way, Miss Justice," Gilliam said sincerely, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out a folded piece of paper while nodding at Simon. "I assume you brought-"

"Yes, of course. They're in a briefcase in the trunk of Brown's car."

"Let's say we go take care of the formalities and discuss what we want to do about this perp," Gilliam almost whispered this, and Simon appreciated the effort, wasted though it was.

"How do we get the ankle bracelet off?" Jim asked, holding Blair next to him by one arm, as if he were afraid Blair might vanish if he let go. Blair tolerated this, gazing at Jim with amused eyes.

"I can help you with that," the aide put in. "If you'll take Jamie-"

"Jamie?" Jim asked, and Blair shrugged one shoulder.

"-back to his room, I'll be right there with the key."

"Show me your room, buddy?" Jim asked Blair next, and Blair's eyes darkened, his face falling.

"Jim." The little word was desolate.

"I'm not leaving you here, Blair. I'm not leaving you. I just want to get that thing off your leg before we go."

Blair pulled up the leg of his loose jeans and looked at the anklet that bulged under his sock, then nodded a bit shamefacedly.

"It's okay to be scared," Jim told him seriously.

Blair snorted gracelessly, so visibly telling Jim 'no duh' that Simon had to laugh. Those blue eyes turned on him curiously, no hint of recognition in their depths.

"Sandburg, don't you remember me?"

Blair frowned, tilted his head then eventually sniffed, a trace of something crossing his face. Not exactly memory, but familiarity, perhaps as he shook his head then shrugged again, clearly saying "maybe."

"That's Simon, our friend," Jim supplied softly, watching Blair with intent patience. "There's H," he pointed. "He's our friend, too. Those men with him-"

"Captain Gilliam, and my partner Chaz Strickland," Henri said.

Blair's eyes passed over them without lingering, then came back to focus on Henri, his forehead wrinkling. A sudden, terrible sadness filled his eyes, his mouth soundlessly forming a word.

'Rafe'.

They could practically see the memories coming back; Blair swaying as he looked from Henri to Simon then back, intelligence sparking in his gaze and catching fire even as Jim steadied him.

H nodded, and Blair slid past Jim to touch Henri's arm in a gentle grasp. H covered Blair's hand with his own palm, staring into Blair's eyes.

"It's good to see you, Hairboy," he said very softly. Blair rubbed his free hand over his scalp and offered a rueful smirk that Henri readily returned. "Still Hairboy to me, man."

Blair turned to Simon then, who sighed in relief at the new knowledge in those eyes.

"Sandburg-" he began, sidetracked when Blair grinned and gave him a hug. Simon returned it helplessly, genuinely delighted.

Jim was gazing at them contentedly, in no apparent doubt that Blair would be okay, eventually.

Maybe it was a sentinel thing, Simon thought. He laughed at himself and decided that was probably just about right. Hadn't Jim called Blair back to life once before? He gave Blair an extra squeeze before releasing him.

Blair stepped away from Simon and gave Gilliam and Strickland a polite wave before returning to Jim's side, where Jim tucked him under one arm and held him close; like a mother hen with a returning chick, more than one of those watching observed.

Brown and Strickland accompanied Blair and Jim to Blair's room, taking up watch outside the door by mutual decision.

Jim looked around with surprise, not having expected the small cell to look as homey and bright as it did. Blue walls and white curtains and a colorful afghan, plus a rocking chair and a small TV made it look less institutional than he'd expected. There were several plants, glossy and thriving, a few books, and pictures on the wall of the Peruvian rain forest. Jim recognized it and blinked.

The aide came in and saw him looking around.

"We helped Jamie decorate his room. We'd ask him to show us pictures he liked, and he pointed these out on a page in National Geographic. One of the girls took the issue to Kinko's and had the pictures blown up to poster size. Another girl gave him the afghan and Miz Justice got him a TV and the rocker. You might say he's a staff favorite."

"Why has he been in the locked ward?" Jim wondered, sitting with Blair on the side of Blair's bed and holding his hand unashamedly.

"He- he kept running away," the aide said unhappily. "We were afraid for his safety. He's such a sweet-natured little thing, so young and well, kinda pretty-"

Blair blushed, ducking his face.

Jim fought not to snicker until one elbow dug into his side. He lost it then, chuckling harder than he could remember doing in ages. Blair rolled his eyes before laughing, too, plainly happy to see Jim's amusement.

"You've still got it, Chief," Jim remarked as the aide giggled with them, laughing again when Blair shrugged his shoulders then buffed his fingernails against his chest, letting out a rusty chortle.

Out in the hall, Henri heard them and smiled at Chaz, who smiled back, evidently pleased to see Henri's mood lighten.

"That was fuckin' miraculous, H," he said quietly in his soft southern drawl. "You said they were amazin' partners-"

"The definition of the word, man," Henri replied, letting the reunion soothe the ever-present ache of Rafe's death.

Blair and Jim had been the first on the scene; a pointless convenience store robbery, the wrong place at the wrong time for Rafe, who'd been off-duty. Blair was still holding Rafe's lifeless body when Henri had gotten there...

He almost wished Blair hadn't had to remember that.

The aide released the anklet under Jim's watchful gaze and left them alone, offering to get a bag for Jamie's- Blair's -things, of which there were few.

Blair looked at Jim sideways, Jim squeezing his hand in return.

"Jim," Blair said, smiling and patting his hand before pointing to the door, making it plain he was ready to go in 'as-is' condition.

"Chief, what's keeping you from talking?" Jim wondered. Blair touched the side of his head then motioned towards his mouth. "The head injury?" Jim asked to his hesitant nod. "But you understand me?"

Blair made some kind of complicated hand gesture than managed to express that he understood most, but not all, of what Jim was saying, then pointed at himself and waved his hand around the room.

"You were abducted six months ago," Jim informed him, practically smelling the questions on Blair, as well as Blair's reactions to his answers. "Henri found you here last night when he was visiting another patient."

Blair buried his face in his hands, a scent of fear rising from him as he shivered, but he straightened after a moment and pointed to the hall.

Jim was only a little surprised to realize he knew exactly what Blair wanted.

"Henri?"

Henri stepped just inside the door.

"Yeah, Jim?"

"Blair wants to know if you're all right."

Henri blinked, then grinned broadly, rocking back on his heels and suddenly looking five years younger.

"You know what, Hairboy, I am. I'd like to introduce you to somebody. Yo, partner!" Chaz Strickland walked in. Tall, blond, and lean, he was just as striking as Rafe had been, although much more casually dressed. The minute he opened his mouth, the heavily accented drawl that issued forth made Blair smile, which pleased Jim immediately.

"Yeah, brother, what do you need?" - which came out like 'Yay-yuh buddah, whatchoo need', to Blair's obvious amusement. Jim could see it in those sparkling eyes.

"Let me introduce Doctor Blair Sandburg and Detective Jim Ellison of the Cascade Police Department, Major Crime Division. Jim, Blair, this is my partner, Detective Charles Jefferson Davis Strickland the Fourth, of the Memphis PD, Homicide."

"Fo' cryin' out loud, call me Chaz, thass what Ah go by," Strickland requested, carefully shaking Blair's hand first, then turning to Jim. "Henray's jus' tryin' to git mah goat."

Blair smiled from Strickland to Jim, and Jim nodded, agreeing with his guide that Henri's new partner was all right; friendly and sincere. Releasing Blair's hand, he shook Strickland's firmly.

Strickland stepped back, taking no apparent notice when Jim grasped Blair's hand again. He patted H on the shoulder and grinned at them all.

"Ah feel lak Ah already know y'all. Henray's awful proud o' y'all, tawks about yah some. 'S'all good, I sway-ah."

Blair snorted, shaking his head, and they all knew what he was saying.

"You caught me, Hairboy. I might have included some stories about Samantha," H allowed, thrilled when Blair laughed at him.

Simon chose that moment to reappear, briefcase in hand.

"We can go. Memphis PD is going to handle things here." Expecting Jim would protest that, Simon was truly surprised when his detective merely nodded, still holding Blair's hand. "Is there anything you want to take from here, Sandburg?"

Blair shook his head and pointed at himself. 'Just me', indeed. Grinning, Simon stepped back into the hall, Brown and Strickland going with him.

Blair stood, pulling Jim by the hand.

"Dad lent us the corporate jet so we can fly right home," Jim said as he stood. Blair let out a breathy sigh and squeezed his fingers.

"Jim," softly uttered, before Blair turned and hugged him.

"Yeah, home. It hasn't been home for six months, Chief," Jim said in a strained whisper, senses opening to take in everything they could. Blair's scent, so hauntingly familiar underneath the harsh cheap soap and industrial laundry detergent... the sounds of his living body under Jim's hands, the delicious warmth of that strong embrace, Blair's breath puffed out on his neck.

He could feel the love Blair couldn't verbalize, filling his empty places and erasing his pain. Tipping his head, he could taste it; Blair's pure flavor unchanged.

"Hmm," Blair said as their mouths parted, then tried again. "Home. Go home."

Jim drew back and looked Blair in the eyes.

"You're going to be fine," he stated, certain of it, and won Blair's sweetest smile.

"Fine now."

And Jim believed him.

Reversals

Chaz wondered if he'd ever seen the likes of this day. Deep down inside, he wondered if his partner was considering returning to Cascade, given the events of the last eighteen hours.

First, Henri's father-in-law passing at some ungodly hour of the morning, then this whole thing with his former co-workers; finding their kidnapped consultant tucked away in the same nursing home where his wife was grieving down the hall...

But Henri looked all right, considering. Relaxed, under the somber suit and tie he was wearing, reminding Chaz that he still had to go with Sharice to the funeral home this evening.

Automatically taking the turn that would lead them past Graceland - simply because he knew Henri still got tickled about it - Chaz glanced over at his partner and figured he'd just ask.

"You give any thought to goin' back to Cascade, H?"

Henri grinned at him, those big sleepy eyes looking unexpectedly bright.

"Not without you, babe! Who'd watch my back?"

"Ah got a feelin' those guys'd watch it just fine," Chaz remarked, slowing as they passed the big gates to the King's mansion. Henri looked at them and smirked.

"Thanks, man, for driving through here on our way out. I know it wasn't the shortest route, but Hairboy and Ellison got a kick out of it."

They had, too, Chaz remembered fondly.

Blair Sandburg had watched their surroundings pass by with obvious interest - his alert curiosity incredible, given that he'd practically come out of a coma right before Chaz's eyes. Well, a kind of waking coma, Chaz decided, remembering the hours he'd shadowed the kid while waiting on Henri to get back from the airport with Banks and Ellison.

All told, Sandburg's condition earlier that day had been one of the most pitiful things he'd ever seen.

When he'd arrived, Sandburg - the young man who'd been identified by the staff as James Williams, the patient in 704 - was asleep, curled up on top of the bed with an afghan pulled over his shoulders.

Chaz had watched Sandburg awaken, stare through him with a blank, unseeing gaze, and go about the day. An aide came in, picked out clothes and started his shower, hustling him into it with brisk cheer despite his reluctant shuffle.

"Come on, Jamie honey. I'll get it started and you can finish it. Gonna be time for breakfast soon and you can't be missing your meals."

She'd also prompted him with the shaving and tooth-brushing, Chaz had noted. Sandburg took care of himself once he'd been- reminded - Chaz's mind supplied; as if he were so lost inside that left to himself, he would have just laid down and died.

Which made Chaz wonder about the perp. It didn't make a lot of sense to beat somebody into a fractured skull and mental problems, then stick them in the finest care facility in the area.

"Ah was glad to do it," he finally answered Henri, coming back to the subject. "Ah like to hurt myself laughing when he come out with "Hound Dog" as we drove by heah earlier."

That had been pretty damned funny; Sandburg's rusty voice announcing his recognition of Presley's former home with an audible giggle, and big tough Jim Ellison snickering like a little kid.

"Hairboy, have you taken the tour?" Henri had asked with a grin, and Blair had held up three fingers with a sideways look at Jim, who by now was holding his stomach and chortling.

Chaz expected that laughter probably did hurt Ellison's stomach. He was willing to bet the man hadn't found a whole lot to laugh at lately.

"You saw the planes and everything, Chief?" Ellison had asked through his chuckles and Blair had smacked him on the upper arm, laughing with him and nodding.

Both of them were so damn happy to be together that it just spilled out of them, washing over everybody around them... like being blessed, Chaz thought seriously, recalling the rest.

At the steps of the Ellison Enterprises jet, he'd stood there with his partner and the three men from Cascade. Henri had drooped just a bit, and Chaz knew he hated to say goodbye to them.

And Sandburg had known too; understanding, compassion and caring luminous in those deep blue eyes.

Had he not seen it happen with his own two eyes, Chaz would never have believed Sandburg was the same man who'd started the day as little more than an automaton.

It was, he believed, a genuine miracle.

Sandburg had hugged Henri, then stepped back to lay one palm over Henri's heart.

"Rafe," he'd said, patting gently, repeating the gesture on his own chest. "Rafe." His free hand had reached over and patted first Ellison's chest then Simon Banks'. "Rafe."

He'd then grinned up at Henri and patted his own chest again.

"Henri," he'd said, clear as day, and H had smiled back at him with fresh cheer.

Visibly pleased, Sandburg had touched Chaz's arm gently, pointing at H with his head tilted. Chaz figured out what he wanted right away.

"You bet Ah'll take keer o' Henray. Ah owe him. Ah done saved his ass once, but he's saved mine three times, so-" He'd winked, gratified when Sandburg's smile brightened.

That smile made them all grin.

"Blair," H had said, hand over his heart. He'd then exchanged brief hugs with Ellison and Banks. Hugs, Chaz had noticed, that clearly demonstrated the fact that they all still thought of themselves as family, not merely former coworkers.

Come to think on it, he didn't have anything tying him to Memphis.

"Ah don't rightly know if Ah'd like Cascade. Sounds kinda dayump and chilly up theah," he remarked, hiding a grin.

"Seven kinds of rain and forty-two different ways of ordering coffee," Henri said to his caffeine-addicted partner, apparently not fooled by Chaz's efforts to keep a straight face.

"They might make fun o' the way Ah tawk," Chaz pointed out next, grin widening when Henri snorted.

"Of course they will. Boy, I'd love to hear you and Conner get into it."

"Wail, Henray, Ah could be tempted into relocatin'."

"Really?" Henri asked, his surprised gaze becoming serious.

Chaz nodded, still smiling, but certain.

"Soon as Sharice is ready, shoah. Why not."

Henri's smile wreathed his face, and he sat back in his seat contentedly, eventually nodding off to sleep.

Electing to take the long way around, Chaz pulled onto the expressway and set the cruise control.

He had a partner to look after.

Revelations

"This is what we've got," LeMaster Gilliam pointed to the enlarged photograph; a dark-haired, middle-aged white man, with piercing dark blue eyes but average features. "This is the man who claimed to be the victim's brother, Andrew Williams. Sandburg's nurse called the emergency contact number he left with Evergreen Terrace and told the man who answered that his brother James took a turn for the worse and he should come quickly."

"He's informed them he will be arriving at eleven-eighteen on Delta Flight 1602 and we will apprehend him at the airport. Brown, you're on compassionate leave. Why are you here?"

"Captain, I want-"

"You're too close to this case, Detective. Strickland, you'll accompany Pritchett, Moseman, and the uniforms to the airport. Airport security has been notified and will also assist. Brown, you're gonna go home and sit with Sharice. When we have this joker in custody, I'll call you and you can come in and watch his interrogation. Best offer."

"Thank you, Sir," Henri said, subsiding. He knew that tone.

"Calderone and Stabler, I want you two at the nursing home yesterday, in case he takes an earlier flight. A couple of uniforms are already out there and will meet you. You'll stay until you hear from me otherwise."

Gilliam stood, his brown eyes hard as he dismissed his men.

"There's a chance this guy's some kind of fed, so watch your ass. Treat him like any other suspect. I want this man, Detectives. I don't appreciate the fact that he thinks he got away with this in my town. Let's get going."

Blair fell asleep shortly after take-off, and Jim held him gratefully, arms around that too-thin body, supporting Blair's head and chest.

"He okay?" Simon asked from the plush seat facing him - another 'pro' in favor of the Ellison company jet.

"Just asleep," Jim said, fingers smoothing over Blair's smooth brown hair. Cut so short there was no curl in it, the silky feel of it fascinated him as much as the hidden scars on the scalp underneath appalled him.

By the time they'd gotten to the airport, Blair had been speaking more, managing one or two word phrases and clearly aware. This had done Jim's heart good, as he'd been badly shaken by what they'd been told just prior to leaving the nursing home.

A nurse took them aside and mentioned that 'Jamie' occasionally had some problems swallowing, particularly if he was fatigued. She'd explained that whatever its cause, the physicians had diagnosed in Jamie what was called a contre-coup head injury; one affecting both sides of his brain, which meant the blow, or blows, had rattled his skull violently.

Jim was informed that Blair was getting daily physical therapy. He was also being seen by speech therapy; which had been primarily focused on retraining his ability to swallow. Jim had noticed Blair had a slight limp and that his fine motor control was a little shaky, but all that had seemed unimportant next to the fact that Blair was alive and had recognized him instantly.

It made him ache to know Blair had been so badly injured.

"He's a very strong young man, and he's come a long way, Detective Ellison," the nurse had said reassuringly, smiling as she looked at Blair, who'd smiled back. "Not as far as he did today, I think," she'd added, looking pretty damned happy about it, too.

"You think Dad managed to reach Naomi?" Jim asked quietly, looking up at Simon, who was up rummaging around in the mini-fridge, retrieving them each a bottle of cold water.

He hadn't even seen Simon get up, but he hadn't been zoned, just deep in thought.

"When I talked to him a couple of hours ago, he said no," Simon replied.

It occurred to Jim that he hadn't eaten since... yesterday lunch, he concluded. "There should be some sandwiches in there."

There were. William Ellison wouldn't have a less-than-efficient service crew.

"You want your seatbelts undone?" Simon asked as he returned.

"No, they're okay. I don't want to wake him." By virtue of careful planning, Jim situated his food and drink within reach of one hand, cradling Blair closer with the other.

"He's really out. They drug him?"

"He's been getting a sleeping pill at night, according to the nurse. He's probably hung-over. You know how he is about prescription medicine."

That was not the only drug Sandburg had received. He was on an anti-convulsant; a three-day supply of which the nurse had given him. While he'd had no seizures lately, he had had a few witnessed seizures early in his stay, and Jim was sternly instructed not to skip any doses without medical supervision. Blair had also been receiving daily vitamin, mineral, and fiber supplements. The nurse had further informed Jim that Blair had been on haloperidol when he'd been admitted, but they had weaned him from that long ago.

He tended to have nightmares, though - screaming nightmares - if his sleeping pill was omitted, and for the sake of his own rest as well as the other patients', they hadn't taken him off that.

"Oh, Chief," Jim muttered, thinking about Blair's nightmares, his food temporarily forgotten.

"Eat, Jim. He's gonna be okay now that you're together."

"Sir?"

"You forget I was a detective, Detective?"

"No chance of that, Sir," Jim said with a small smile, allowing Simon's friendly tease to distract him from worrying.

Blair would be okay. He had to be.

Blair jerked awake with a wordless shriek as the jet touched down in Cascade, badly startling Jim and Simon, who themselves had only awakened a few minutes earlier, when the pilot announced they were about to land.

"Whoa, hey, hey, Blair, it's okay. You're okay. I'm here. We're on the plane. We're almost home," Jim reassured, kicking himself mentally for not waking Blair sooner. Blair had slept through the overhead notification, but the thunk of the jet coming to earth had clearly frightened him.

Blair covered his face with his hands and took a deep breath, visibly calming himself.

"Sorry," he said lowly. "Falling."

"No, babe, we aren't falling. That was just the plane landing. We're in Cascade," Jim soothed, rubbing at Blair's shoulder.

Blair straightened and gave Simon an apologetic shrug that Simon promptly waved off.

"Don't worry about it, Sandburg."

"Home?" Blair asked Jim pleadingly and Jim took his hands.

"Soon as we're off the plane, Chief," Jim promised. He wanted to take Blair directly to Cascade General and have him checked out, but knew Blair wouldn't react well to that suggestion.

Tomorrow would be soon enough.

"Maybe we should think about a safe-house," Simon said reluctantly. Blair hid his face in Jim's chest.

"No. Home."

"Then I'm staying, Jim. So will Joel, I expect." Simon decided he'd put some uniforms outside the loft, too... at least until they heard something from the Memphis PD. Jim nodded at him gratefully.

They sat in silence as the plane taxied off the runway and stopped. Within a few minutes, the pilot came back and opened the exit, letting in a blast of cold night air, wet with rain. Blair shivered, reminding Jim that early spring had felt a lot warmer and dryer in Memphis.

He steered Blair down the steps carefully, relieved when his partner managed them with little difficulty. Joel, Megan, his dad, and Stephen were all waiting on the tarmac. Joel, now Captain of Major Crime, was the first to greet Blair, sweeping him into a big hug.

"Blair, son, thank God you're alive," he said huskily, not deterred when Blair stiffened and returned the hug cautiously.

Blair stepped away and stared at Joel for a moment, then at Megan and the Ellisons. Jim could see the moment Blair recognized their friends and his family. Those blue eyes betrayed that same visible instant of remembering; holes filling as pieces fell into place with nearly audible clicks.

"Blair's having some trouble with his speech," Jim explained smoothly before anyone else could speak. "He's had a head injury. He understands most of what you say, but he can't talk a lot yet."

"Oh, Sandy." Megan squeezed Blair's shoulder. "All that hair," she said mournfully, hamming it up with exaggerated sorrow. Her efforts provoked a snicker from Blair, who pointed first at his head then Jim's, lifting one eyebrow in a silent challenge.

"He says his will grow back, but there's no hope for mine," Jim interpreted, pretending to sound aggrieved. He knew he'd said the right thing when Blair relaxed with a faint smile, moving back to his side.

Joel and Megan greeted him a bit emotionally - although they were plainly trying to restrain themselves - before moving on to welcome Simon, leaving Jim to face his dad and brother.

"Dad, thanks for the use of the jet. It really helped. I won't forget it."

"Thank you for letting me help, Jimmy," William said sincerely, inwardly thanking God for second chances. He'd nearly fucked up his relationship with his eldest son for good during the brouhaha with the press; calling to complain about the coverage and their attempts to get a statement from him.

Then Blair Sandburg had given that press conference - which William Ellison just happened to watch while having lunch at a sports bar with his second son; another relationship in the process of salvage operations.

And William had gotten it then, like an old-fashioned 'blinding light from above' revelation, witnessing as Jimmy's best friend threw his life away and lied to save Jimmy's ass.

As frankly irritated as William had been with Sandburg for allowing the situation to begin with, he'd recognized that what he was seeing was the power of love in action, selfless and true.

He'd shown up at the loft - not coincidentally - the night after Simon Banks had offered Blair a badge. William had his sources, and while he admired what Banks and his son were trying to do, he believed it was a short-sighted solution, at best.

Without some major damage control, Blair Sandburg would likely find living in Cascade intolerable, and if Blair left, William was fairly certain Jimmy would leave with him... because clearly, Jimmy was unwilling to be parted from his friend.

Applying the business acumen that had made his company successful for decades, overlaid with his earlier revelation about what people who love do for each other, he'd studied the current state of his relationship with his son and realized he could be doing a whole lot better - and that he'd better do better, and fast - or the chances were good he wouldn't see Jimmy again in this lifetime.

It had to be noted that William Ellison, like his son, was a hard-headed man, but once he learned something new it stayed with him... and he was equally enamored of 'fixing' things for the better.

And being William Ellison, he had solutions in motion before visiting.

"Blair, Jimmy, how are you?" He'd asked politely, walking into the loft. It was obvious he'd interrupted some kind of disagreement. The marks of strain were clear on both faces. Jimmy was pale and tense. Blair was standing on the other side of the room, arms across his chest, jaw tight, his face haggard.

Actually, Blair looked like he was about to drop.

William frowned.

"Boys, go sit down," jerking his head towards Blair when Jimmy glared at him. He watched his son's face change as Jimmy inspected Blair closely, anger fading immediately into shaken concern.

"Jesus, Chief, you're about to pass out," Jimmy said, quickly limping over to Blair and grabbing the younger man to him. "When the hell was the last time you ate?"

"If you think I won't tell you to fuck off just because your dad's here, you'd better think again," Blair enunciated carefully. He swayed and would have fallen had Jimmy let go.

Jimmy steered them to the sofa and sat down with Blair in his lap.

"I know, babe. You'll tell me in a New York minute. You always do," Jimmy said, tucking Blair's head under his chin. "Just relax for a minute, first, okay?"

William blinked, readjusted his paradigm, and rolled with it, hanging up his jacket and moving into the kitchen, where he opened the refrigerator.

That young man needed something light if he hadn't been eating. So did Jimmy.

William looked in the freezer, found a marked container and set it in the microwave, pushing the defrost button before starting a new search for bowls.

"Dad, what are you doing?"

"I'm defrosting a dish called 'chixoup'. I'm going to heat it up and make sure you boys eat before anything else. Seems like a priority."

"Chicken soup," Blair muttered from somewhere in the vicinity of Jimmy's chest. He'd tried to move off Jim once, William had noted peripherally, but Jimmy had stopped him.

Giving up on the idea of grandchildren from his oldest son and discovering he didn't really mind - he was crap with kids anyway - William allowed an audible 'humph'.

"And here I thought it was some exotic recipe from a far-away land," he retorted with mock disappointment, trying not to laugh at the way Jimmy was staring at him.

Blair snickered. Unable to see William's face, all he could hear was the amusement in William's voice.

"Do you cook, Mister Ellison?" Blair asked. William had to admire the young man's poise under the circumstances.

No doubt his color was better, William thought with a wicked grin. Funny thing was, a week ago he would have deplored Jimmy's behavior, instead of seeing it for what it was; Jimmy giving Blair what Blair needed, when it was needed.

"Well enough not to burn the chixoup, Blair, don't worry," he assured and did something he'd never done; added a private murmur for his son, in the certain knowledge that his son could hear him. "Jimmy, why don't you lie down with him and take a nap. Thirty minutes. You both look so tired. I bet neither of you have been sleeping. I'll take care of the soup. Maybe you'll both feel like eating when you wake up."

He'd watched a tentative smile curl his son's lip as those pale blue eyes - Mary Margaret's eyes - looked at him the way she used to, with thanks and approval and warmth.

God, he'd missed that. William still missed her, as he watched their son sleep.

And he always would, he realized, coming back to the present. He took off his topcoat and draped it over Blair's shoulders, covering Blair from the rain.

He then stepped back and offered Blair his hand.

"Doctor Sandburg, I presume?"

Blair smiled delightedly, plainly amused by William's little joke. He took William's hand and shook it carefully; doing the same with Stephen's.

"Glad," he said.

William smiled back. Jim promptly forgave every bad thing that had ever happened to him as a teen when William replied sincerely.

"I'm glad to see you, too, Blair."

"And glad you're finally home," Stephen added gently, giving his brother a compassionate glance. "Dad has the guardianship papers. Judge Takei signed off on them," he said, too quietly for anyone but Jim to hear. Relieved, Jim sighed.

"Have you heard from the Memphis PD?" Jim heard Simon ask Joel and looked behind him.

Joel nodded.

"I'll give you a report inside the office here."

"Blair wants to go home," Jim announced rather tersely. "You can tell us there."

"Jim," Blair said disapprovingly beside him, and they were all treated to the faintly sheepish expression Jim turned on Joel.

"Sorry, Captain. Please?"

"It can wait that long, sure, Jim," Joel understood, inspecting Blair worriedly.

William touched Jim's elbow.

"The Continental's out front. I'll drive you and Blair."

"Thanks, Dad. We'll see you there," Jim called over one shoulder, arm around Blair's shoulders moving them along.

"Bum rush," Blair snarked quietly. Stephen snickered at that - Jim was walking a bit fast - and William snorted out loud from behind them.

"Young man, you're wearing a Burberry. You can't get the bums' rush wearing a Burberry, it's an international law."

"Jim break." That tone was so pissy that William had to cover his mouth to keep from laughing out loud, especially when Jim's pace slowed.

"Fine, fine, far be it from me to break international law." Jim rolled his eyes, inwardly cheered by this evidence of Blair's spirit.

It was in a better frame of mind that he got into his dad's car.

Joel waited until he, Simon, and Megan were in his car following the Ellisons and Blair. A fortuitous red light created space between the vehicles, and Joel didn't rush to catch up.

When he judged the distance was sufficient, he turned to Simon, beside him.

"Memphis has a suspect in custody, the man who claimed to be Andrew Williams. He's not a fed. His real name is Andrew Wheeling and he claims he's Blair's biological father."

Relativity

Jim wondered grimly what his coworkers were saying since they'd lagged so far behind. He was trying to decide how badly he wanted to know when Blair patted his arm, head shaking 'no'.

"Yeah, we'll find out soon enough, won't we," he said quietly in Blair's ear. Blair nodded, making a twirling gesture and a quick thumbs-up, waggling his eyebrows.

Jim grinned despite himself and let it go, like he'd been told.

"Blair says you have a nice car, Dad," he remarked more loudly.

"That's right, you haven't ridden in it before. It fits the corporate image, I suppose, but you should come over and drive my Charger. It's a lot more fun."

Jim blinked. His brother glanced at him briefly, grinning.

"I drove it last Sunday. Candy apple red 1969 RT Special Edition and it's cherry. Four-forty cubic inch dual four barrel. If Dad wasn't related to you and didn't play golf with most of the judges in town he'd have bankrupted the company on speeding tickets."

"Now, Stevie, that is not true. You're going to give Jimmy the idea that I trade on his name," William said with a sideways wink at Blair, who was listening with a growing smile. "Jimmy, you should come get it sometime this week and take Blair for a spin. He respects a classic."

"You bought a muscle car?" Jim asked his dad incredulously.

"It was a good deal," William said with great satisfaction.

Blair's smile grew a bit watery and he ducked his head, not that it mattered. Jim could smell his tears.

And Blair couldn't, or wouldn't explain. All Jim could do was hold him.

Naomi slowly lowered her cell phone and burst into tears. Charlie took her in his arms and gave her comfort she didn't feel she deserved. For a moment she only cried harder, her sobs jolting them both.

"There, now, it's all right. Didn't I tell you Blair was alive?"

"It's all my fault, Charlie," she wailed and he gave her a little shake.

"Put a lid on the self-pity, Naomi, and tell me what Captain Banks said."

"I don't know if I can." Naomi pulled herself away and walked out onto the deck, staring over the dark ocean and hearing the restless surf some hundred feet below.

"It's not self-pity, you know. It really is my fault. I made so many bad decisions..."

She steeled herself to tell Charlie what he wanted to know.

"Blair was beaten. He's had a fractured skull. He can barely speak, but he's alert and Simon says he's getting better. He was found today in Memphis. He'd been put away in a nursing home by a man who claims to be his sperm donor. The Memphis police have a suspect in custody. And it's almost certain, although nobody will know this yet, that Blair's press conference is what brought him to his father's attention, and he wouldn't have had to make that press conference if I hadn't..."

The words trailed away as she stared up at the sky. She was silent for a long time. Charlie stepped out to join her, propping his elbows on the deck railing and deliberately looking away from his friend, who echoed his position and began to talk to the stars.

"When I was seventeen, I was raped. Today what he did to me would be called a hate crime. He did it because I am Jewish. He was a freshman at college and he targeted me for one of those fraternity dares, like gay-bashing or race-baiting. My parents wanted me to press charges. When I wouldn't, my father accused me of asking for it. His father was wealthy and influential and told me he'd have our house burned down, or worse.

"I was a junior in high school. I ran away, instead."

She spoke slowly, dispassionately, laying out the facts.

"By the time I realized I was pregnant, I was a thousand miles away and close to five months along. I was so naive. I didn't recognize the symptoms- no, I didn't want to recognize the symptoms.

"I had to admit it to myself when I felt Blair move ... and knowing a new little person was alive inside me - it was like something good coming from something horrible, a silver lining, of sorts.

"I loved Blair before he was born. I had to protect him. I knew if Drew Wheeling suspected- He'd promised to come after me with a coat hanger if I got-"

Her voice broke. She took a deep breath and went on.

"I could never come up with a way to explain any of this to Blair, so I told him I didn't know who his father was. I made myself sound like a slut when the truth is- the truth is I don't even like- like to have-"

"Naomi, enough."

Charlie came to her and let her cry on him again. This time, he didn't try to stop her.

"Aw, Gawd, Henray, Ah don't thank I can take anothah minute o' that miserable excuse fo' a human bein'."

Chaz's voice was tired and strained as he flopped down beside Henri in the break room. Wheeling was making a formal statement to Captain Gilliam and a stenographer, confirming that yes; of course he'd placed his son in Evergreen Terrace under an assumed name. He didn't know who'd hurt Blair like that, and he wasn't taking any chances with his son's life.

It was a good story, but Chaz Strickland didn't need fifteen years on the force to recognize when somebody was shoveling a pile of BS. Having asked thousands of people millions of questions, he admitted he might not be able to spot a lie as well as he thought he could, but this one was obvious. Wheeling's eyes were as blue as Sandburg's but held none of the honest warmth of the younger man's, informing Chaz's gut instinct. Their suspect was one ice-cold motherfucker; his disdainful tone and arrogant attitude practically daring them to prove his guilt.

"And how did Doctor Sandburg come to be in your custody, Mister Wheeling?" Chaz had asked. The older man had smirked at him.

"He's my son. To whom else would he go when he's hurt?"

It was beginning to look like the best case they were going to make would be unlawful restraint instead of kidnapping.

They needed more evidence. Police in Grand Rapids, Michigan - Wheeling's home - had been asked to toss Wheeling's residence and office, and Chaz hoped they would find some corroboration.

"Where's his luggage?"

"Forensics," Henri replied, already standing. "Let's go check it out."

"The man who did this to Blair, you think it's the same man who-" Charlie began, feeling a little out of his depth once Naomi had eventually calmed.

"He has the same name." She moved away from him and turned, face wan, arms crossed over her chest. "Simon said that without Blair's direct testimony, which he can't give right now, the kidnapping charges might not stick.

"Tell me, Charlie, do I go to my son, who's been so terribly injured, or do I go to Memphis and make sure Wheeling pays for what he's done... and risk Blair finding out the truth?"

Charlie considered carefully.

"I vote Memphis, Naomi, for Blair's sake. If Wheeling's in jail he'll be safer. In fact, call the Memphis PD and tell them you're- We're coming. Then we'll go see Blair. Maybe you won't have to tell him everything."

Naomi tried to smile. It was a poor attempt.

"Maybe. Thank you, Charlie. You're a good friend."

"Thank you for trusting me with the truth, Naomi."

They looked at each other steadily, letting the foundations of their genuine friendship settle deeper, then Naomi managed a better smile.

"I'll make some calls."

"Is he okay, Jimmy?"

Once again, Blair had fallen asleep in Jim's arms. Jim worried about his partner's endurance, reminding himself Blair had had a stressful, eventful day on top of a restless night. Sedative hangover or not, Blair's tendency to nod off so rapidly was proof he'd been sleeping badly.

"He's just tired, Dad. It was a rough day for him."

"Did they take care of him at that place?" William asked next, his tone concerned.

"Yeah, actually, they did ... but he- he was hurt pretty bad," Jim whispered the last. It was a tribute to the Continental's acoustical engineering that William and Stephen heard him at all.

"Does he have a personal physician, Jimmy? Doctor Gallegos can see him in in the morning, if not."

"No, he usually sees whoever's on duty in the emergency room." Jim managed to infuse his tone with a little wry humor, thankful for his dad's prosaic questions. "Doctor Gallegos would be fine, thanks, Dad." Jim had even met the man once, after the Foster case, when Gallegos had come to the ER to check on William. Gallegos had been competent and compassionate, two things Blair would definitely need.

They pulled onto Prospect and this time Jim didn't wait for the last minute to awaken Blair. He stroked Blair's face lightly, calling Blair's name, pleased when Blair roused easily.

"Jim?"

"Almost home, buddy."

"Good. Need to pee," Blair announced. Jim was so excited to hear Blair make such a long statement that he didn't notice Blair had been overheard.

"We'll be there soon. You gonna make it?"

"Yeah, sure."

"I hope that damned elevator is working," William muttered as he parked, remembering small boys with impatient bladders.

"That husband of yours ought to be here. It ain't right, him leaving you alone at a time like this," Aunt Mavis proclaimed in a sour voice from her 'throne' at the head of the kitchen table, where she'd established herself like visiting royalty earlier in the day.

Well aware she was exhausted and making an effort to hold her temper, Sharice Brown hung up the phone gently, Henri's 'I love you, baby girl' still ringing in her ears.

From the corner of her eye she saw her older sister Jane - who'd insisted since Sharice was nine on having her name pronounced 'Jah-NAY' - steadily nodding her head in agreement.

Sharice's divorced older sister Jane, just arrived from New York City. Jane, who couldn't stop having things her own way long enough to sustain a marriage despite three attempts.

"Henri is exactly where he needs to be," Sharice declared firmly, seizing the reins on the aggravation that raced through her. "Family has been coming in all evening, including you two, Malcolm, and Toni. I'm hardly alone."

"All I got to say is, Henri is a lucky man," her brother Malcolm said from the kitchen door. "Toni would kick my ass if I-"

He was interrupted by a sharp smack on the back of his head, lovingly administered by his wife Toni, who was directly behind him.

"You better check yourself, Malcolm Embrey," she said sharply, rolling her eyes at Sharice in commiseration. "Sharice knows what she can handle."

"Well, I'm gone say something to him," Aunt Mavis decreed, and Sharice felt those reins slip out of her grasp so fast they smoked.

"The hell you will. You'll keep your mouth shut and treat Henri with respect or you can take your wrinkled old ass right back to West Memphis tonight."

"Sharice Marcella Brown, you can't talk to Aun-"

"The hell I can't!" Sharice was shaking mad and shouting now, neatly cutting short Jane's protest. Malcolm tried to rub her shoulders, but she shrugged him off. Planting her hands on her hips, she frowned at them all. "This is Henri Brown's house, by God! You got yo' nerve coming in here sticking out your lip and talking about my husband! Henri Brown took a pay cut so we could move down here and take care of Mama and Daddy! Henri Brown helped Mama to the doctors and picked her up when she fell out of bed at night! I didn't see not one of y'all up in here when Daddy got upset and knocked me down, but Henri Brown was with me! Just like he was right there with me when Daddy passed!"

By the end of this tirade, Sharice was weeping angry tears. Her sister-in-law drew her aside and hugged her tightly, sending an icily repressive glare over Sharice's shoulder at the rest of the family, who had the grace to look a bit shame-faced.

"That's right, baby, your Henri's a good man," Toni soothed, petting Sharice's back and skillfully leading her out of the room. "Come on now and let's get you off your feet for a while."

Sharice had stopped crying by the time Toni steered her to the bedroom she shared with her husband. Tired now, and grieving dully, she let Toni strip her down to her slip and tuck her under the covers.

Retrieving a damp washcloth, Toni sat down beside her and wiped her face like a child's.

"I know Henri would be here if he could."

"This case he's working on involves his friends from Cascade. He had to be there, he's the one who found Blair. Blair was kidnapped," Sharice explained wearily, having temporarily forgotten that her sympathetic sister-in-law was a well-connected newspaper reporter for the Memphis Commercial Appeal.

"Is that right," Toni Embrey said, careful to sound disinterested.

"Yes, girl, and can you believe that poor man was a patient in Evergreen Terrace with Daddy? He looked so different I didn't even know him ... Henri said he can't even talk..."

Sharice drifted off at last.

Toni sat there for a while, wondering how upset her spouse was going to be when she went off to work.

"Stop the presses," she murmured as she left Sharice sleeping.

Elevator - which had indeed worked - and bathroom successfully managed, Blair Sandburg was drifting around the living room of the loft. Stephen watched him as he occasionally paused to handle some object; a framed photograph, a worn book, a carved stone fetish, a CD. There was such reverence in Blair's touch, so plainly refamiliarizing himself with a home he must have believed he'd never see again.

His eyes stinging, Stephen looked over at Jim, who was standing near the balcony doors and also watching Blair. Jim's face was filled with an unbearable mixture of sadness and relief ... then he tilted his head and looked towards the door.

"Dad, company."

William started then visibly shook himself, shooting them a rueful grin as he set the tea kettle on the stove and turned on the heat.

"You used to do that when you were a kid, Jimmy. I really regret the way I handled it then." William went to the door and opened it, thus missing the astonished glances Jim, Stephen, and Blair exchanged.

"Changed," Blair whispered softly - but not too softly for Stephen to hear - his gaze so full of 'I told you so' that even Stephen could read it.

"You were right, Blair," Stephen said before Jim could.

Jim grinned, shaking his head as he turned to greet Simon, Conner, and Joel.

"Took you long enough," he said mildly.

"I have more than one division to run, Detective, and I've been out of town all day. I had to make some calls," Simon replied, his tone a bit hard. Jim winced apprehensively, recognizing from his friend's demeanor that Simon had heard something badly upsetting.

It was Joel Taggart who took Simon's shoulder and squeezed it.

"I'll tell them. You go sit down."

Not surprisingly, Blair came over and took Simon's arm, leading him to the sofa. Sitting beside Simon, Blair shook a finger at him, pointed to his heart, then made a 'to the moon, Alice' gesture.

"He says-"

"Ellison, I can tell what he says, damnit! Simon, you've got to calm down, man, think of your blood pressure, you should be drinking some weird-ass Ethiopian grass seed tea-"

This was the point at which William Ellison set a cup of fragrantly steaming tea in front of Simon.

Blair broke up laughing, clutching his stomach, the sounds rolling out of him the same way they always had - so infectiously that soon all of them were chuckling.

"Joel, whatever it is, it's not that bad," Jim said, his eyes bright.

"You're absolutely right, thank God."

Repercussions

Simon laughed with the rest of them, but beneath his very real joy at Sandburg's alert humor, his heart was aching; for a brutalized seventeen year old girl and a brutalized thirty year old man.

Both victims of the same man, if Naomi Sandburg was to be believed - and he'd heard her gut-level conviction through the phone. She was telling the truth, a terrible truth, and he couldn't have been more certain of that if she'd been standing in front of him at the time.

And no matter what Joel said, it fell to him to decide how much was told and to whom. Naomi had made it his job.

//"Captain Banks? Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot your promotion. This is Naomi Sandburg. What do I-"//

"Why don't you just call me Simon, Miss Sandburg?"

//"Naomi, please. Is Blair with you?"//

"He and Jim are in another car. Joel Taggart and Megan Conner are with me," he added slowly, hearing the unadulterated fear in her voice. "Are you all right?"

She'd been silent long enough for him to wonder if they'd lost their connection, then she cleared her throat softly.

//"No, no, I'm not. I just got off the phone with Detective Brown and I'm about to leave for Memphis."//

"I don't understand."

But he did now. She'd told him the entire story; voice thinning in places, sometimes so weak he could barely hear her.

He wished he hadn't heard her.

//"He stalked me for a week. Followed me home, got to know my routine ... he bragged about that. He thought he was so smart. Said everybody else had paid for minority hookers - not that he called them that - but he wanted a virgin Jew girl because I would be- cleaner."//

"Jesus, Simon had breathed, waving Joel into pulling over at the first available stop.

//"I want you to understand what type of person he is. He's- he-"//

"Naomi..."

//"He told me he'd be watching me, and if I turned up pregnant, he'd kill the baby before he'd father a bastard on a Jesus-killer." Her voice was almost dreamy now. Simon winced, aware from her tone that she was caught in those memories. "All I need is a clothes hanger, little slut."//

"Naomi! Is someone with you?" He'd almost shouted, her gasp making it clear he'd startled her. "Naomi, do you have someone with you?"

//"Yes. Yes, Charlie is with me. Charlie Spring. You'll remember him. He's been very supportive. Oh, and there's an airport terminal full of passersby, too. I'm not about to 'eat my gun', isn't that the phrase you people use?"// She asked with some asperity.

Simon thought with faint amusement that he'd never been called 'you people' in reference to his career and not his race.

At least Naomi sounded more like herself, now.

"That would be it," he'd agreed mildly. "You okay?"

//"Yes, thank you, Simon,"// she'd said, tone apologetic. //"That's the third time today I've told that story. I can't say it's getting any easier.

"I think Drew Wheeling probably saw Blair's press conference and put it together, figured out who he was. I think he stalked Blair, kidnapped him, hurt him, and tried to kill him. I don't know why he didn't kill him, actually."//

She'd sounded genuinely bewildered.

"Why are you going to Memphis?"

//"I'm going to make Wheeling tell the truth. He'll tell me. He'll want to brag about what he did. You do understand why I never told Blair about his father?"//

"God, yes."

//"I don't want him to find out now, Simon."//

"I don't know if I can keep that from happening, Naomi."

//"You have to. Please, help me protect him from this knowledge. I'm begging you."//

"Oh, hell."

He'd thought about it before he'd answered ... for about a minute.

"I'll do everything I can short of compromising the case."

//"Fine. I'll- tell Blair I'll be there as soon as I can. Maybe- maybe I can call him later?"//

"I'm sure he'd like that, Naomi." He found himself trying to reassure her tentative question, hoping Sandburg would remember Naomi from her voice on the phone.

//"Our flight's being called. Goodbye, Simon."//

"Goodbye, Naomi. Take care of yourself."

As he watched Blair's laugh fade into occasional snickers, Simon couldn't imagine being the one to tell him everything his mother had said.

Maybe Sandburg wouldn't ask about the case. It was a bald term for an ugly reality, but Blair Sandburg was brain-damaged. It might not even occur to him ... which left Jim.

There wasn't a snowball's chance in hell that Jim Ellison wouldn't ask about the case.

Which brought him right back to square one.

How much did he tell, and to whom?

Simon Banks promptly decided it could wait until after he'd had some sleep.

God knew, Sandburg needed rest - he was shakier than he'd been earlier, with bruised circles darkening under his eyes from fatigue. His burst of laughter had apparently drained the last dregs of his waning energy, and he looked startlingly pale.

Simon was about to point that out when William Ellison stepped in, perching on the coffee table beside that ridiculous cup of tea.

"I made that tea for you, Blair. You look a little drawn."

Simon wasn't sure if the collective surprise in the room came from the fact that William Ellison had noticed it, had acted to do something about it, or made the effort to speak of it ... then William frowned at Jim, who was sitting on Sandburg's other side.

"Jimmy, you do, too. Simon, is there anything they need to know that can't wait until morning?"

"I was just about to suggest that, actually," Simon agreed a little grumpily.

He and William stared at each other for a moment, until each realized he was waiting for the other to announce he was leaving. Not unmindful of Blair Sandburg's interested, faintly amused blue eyes, they turned to look at Jim expectantly.

"Well, Detective? Where's everybody going to sleep?"

"You really should consider a bigger place, Jimmy. Real estate is an excellent investment and-"

"Daaaaaad," Jim whined. Blair swallowed a giggle that threatened to choke him for a second, which ended with Jim rubbing his back lightly. "As a matter of fact, Blair and I have discussed it. We're looking for something with a couple of acres, though. Blair wants a garden."

Blair poked him in the side.

"Yeah, yeah, so do I. You happy now?" This was said to Blair, who grinned at Jim wearily and sighed. "Yeah, I'm tired, too.

"Okay, Dad, you take the futon in the downstairs room, Simon, you get the big sofa, Stephen-"

"Just give me a sleeping bag and a pillow, big brother."

"And Conner and I are standing watch," Joel said in a very effective 'I am the Captain, don't argue with me' tone.

"Yeah, mate, we'll sort ourselves."

There was a brief flurry of movement as people shifted around, finding extra linens and such. Jim took advantage of the moment, hands on Blair's head to make sure he had that curious, wandering attention.

"Do you need to make another bathroom visit before we go up?" Blair shook his head, pointed to Jim then upstairs. "Just me and the bed, huh? You need your med-"

Blair frowned at him, his face falling.

"Will it make you feel any better if I tell you I remember every word of the fourteen anti-Western-medicine lectures you've ever given me? Just the anti-convulsant, baby, and just until we see if it's safe to stop it. Not the sleeping pill. I can wake you before the nightmares get too bad. I've done it before."

The smile that curved Blair's mouth was impossible to describe. Jim didn't try; just smiling back and letting the memories roll through them both. They'd become lovers after one of Blair's nightmares, comfort turning to spontaneous passion before better judgment could prevail. The intensity of what they'd felt had scared them both into stepping back from any kind of commitment ... and since they avoided talking about it - at all - their friendship became strained as a result.

The situation didn't reverse itself until the night Jim's dad came to the loft, laying out his master plan to mitigate the effects of the press conference on Blair.

That night - and every night afterwards until Blair had vanished a few months later - were Jim's best memories; the ones with which he'd often comforted himself, lying in bed alone, scripting fantasies of having Blair back in his arms.

And now he could, and did, paying absolutely no heed to the people around them as he wrapped Blair up and pulled him close, burying his face in the side of Blair's neck.

"I missed you so much," he breathed, and felt Blair cradle him near.

Toni Embrey tapped her fingers and waited. The night editor scrolled through her article intently before glancing over at her.

"You can verify all this?"

"I have statements from four employees at Evergreen Terrace, a hard copy of Sandburg's discharge papers, and a source within the PD who confirmed what I was originally told and then some. It's all there."

"It's too late for today's edition-"

"Don't give me that shit, Ted. We both know you keep an empty space on page one until the last possible minute."

"This isn't page one material."

"That's shit, too. You read it. This is the same Blair Sandburg who said James Ellison had super-senses and later held a press conference, calling himself an academic fraud."

"I remember that. I also remember the fallout. Sandburg was never guilty of any charges, his press conference was a ploy to get the media off the Cascade PD's back, he was reinstated at Rainier U and he won a nice fat settlement against a lot of people, including the Cascade Daily News, for printing unauthorized excerpts from his book."

Ted lifted a warning eyebrow at his reporter, who responded with an irrefutable argument.

"This is a good story, Ted."

"Yeah, but keep the sentinel crap out of it and let it stand on its own merits. It's bad enough. The guy's own dad?" Ted slapped his hand on his desk. "Do a rewrite and we'll run with it."

"Give me fifteen minutes."

"Make it ten, Embrey."

She'd always enjoyed flying at night. Naomi looked out her window and tried to find the magic in the bright lights scattered like diamonds against the dark earth so far below. Charlie was a warm weight at her side, an occasional soft snore breaking the quiet in the dark cabin.

For once, a man's proximity didn't bother her; didn't give her that skin-crawly feeling that had fueled her restless life.

How many times had she met someone, tried to make a relationship, and subsequently moved on ... merely because she couldn't bear to be physically involved with a man.

Too many times.

There were a few men to whom she didn't react badly; something Naomi automatically covered by acting flirty and superficial. Charlie was one; Jim Ellison was another - and what had she done the first time she was alone with Jim Ellison? Talked about Blair.

And there was Blair himself, of course, but part of her would always see Blair as her baby, not as a man grown. Hadn't that frame of mind been ultimately responsible for everything that had happened, last year and since?

So many mistakes, because she hadn't been able to get past what Drew Wheeling had done to her.

Drew Wheeling had always had too much power over her life - and still had, she admitted to herself, acknowledging the fearful dread of seeing him that had her stomach in knots.

This time, however, he'd gone too far, and she was finally going to make him pay.

For everything.

Sharice Brown woke up out of a dead sleep, her blood running cold as her brain politely supplied the memory of her talking about one of Henri's cases ... to her sister-in-law, the reporter.

Henri was asleep beside her. She hadn't even heard him come in. He looked worn out, heavy bags under his eyes and his chin all bristly.

Mother of God, he was going to be furious if Toni-

She slid out of bed cautiously and knew Henri was tired when he didn't so much as twitch. Grabbing a robe, she checked through the house. Mavis and Jane were sleeping in the spare rooms, but there was no sign of Toni or Malcolm.

Going to the kitchen phone, she dialed her brother's number. He didn't pick up until the ninth ring.

"Toni, izzatchoo?" He mumbled, and Sharice hung up the phone, grinding her teeth.

She would tell Henri right away, but she already knew she was too late.

Reclamation

"No, baby girl, I don't blame you. I just wished it hadn't happened."

That had been the last thing Henri said - to her - for the longest time after Sharice woke him up and explained what she remembered saying to Toni. After a brief flurry of conference calls, it was established that yes, the story was in the morning edition and already being delivered, and no, there wasn't any way of stopping it, and Toni Embrey plainly had a contact inside the PD because she knew a lot more than Sharice had told her.

That made Sharice feel a little better, but not much.

After Henri had hung up the phone for the last time, he crossed his hands behind his head and lay back, staring up at the ceiling; just beginning to brighten with the pearl light of pre-dawn.

The house was endlessly quiet as she lay beside her husband, who eventually sighed and told her a few more things she didn't know.

"We were fighting a lot last year, do you remember?"

"Of course I do, baby."

It had been a horrible time - her parents increasingly ill and too feeble to keep living alone, but refusing to move halfway across the country and give up their home, either. She'd been living in Cascade and flying to Memphis almost once a month trying to make sure they were all right.

By whatever mystical force of conscience that directs those matters, she'd become the 'responsible kid', despite the fact that she wasn't the oldest and her brother - her brother! - lived right there in town. There was one in every family, Sharice knew. She'd passed some diverted time one night in a hospital waiting room discussing the subject with Blair Sandburg; the psycho-social dynamics that shape some children into parental caregivers and others not regardless of birth order.

That had been the night Simon Banks and Megan Conner were shot. She and Henri had barely been speaking because she was pressuring him about moving to Memphis and he didn't want to leave Cascade. He didn't want to leave his job. He didn't want to leave his partner Rafe.

And then a few months after that, Rafe left him.

She and Henri had been living apart by that time; the distance between them a lot farther than twenty-five hundred miles.

Then after Rafe's death, Henri had joined her in Memphis. She'd flown - to Cascade - for Rafe's services, and she and Henri had talked some, but she was still surprised when he'd shown up a couple of weeks later.

And they hadn't talked about it, really. Just reconciled and got on with the daily business of living.

"The night Rafe was shot- The clerk at the convenience store said-"

//"It all happened so fast! The- the robber had his gun in my face and I was trying to empty the register when the other man, the cop walked in. The robber just shot him, BANG! He dropped and the robber took his wallet, you know, rolled him, then threw the wallet down and yelled "Shit, he's a cop!" and ran out the door. I'd already hit the silent alarm so I went over to him and he- he was- he was dying, you know, the blood- blood was just everywhere and he whispered something, like 'eight' or 'aitch' then he quit breathing and just- he was dead, you know."//

"-and part of me died too, Sharice, when I found out Rafe died calling for me. The next day, after I'd gone with Rafe's sister to the morgue and helped her with the funeral home arrangements, I sat in that little efficiency apartment with my gun in my hands. I blamed myself. I hadn't been with him. And I'd been looking for a way out of the mess you and I were in. You were gone and Rafe was gone and it felt like 'be careful what you wish for' - like it was my fault he was dead."

Henri reached out and took her hand. Wiping her wet face with her other hand, Sharice remained silent, knowing somehow that her husband wasn't finished.

"Jim and Hairboy saved my life that day. They talked me down. Hairboy- Blair- Blair reminded me that this life isn't the end of it, that something comes after and Rafe's still out there ... and Rafe didn't call my name because he blamed me for not being there, he called it because I was his friend and he loved me and I shouldn't dishonor that by- Well, you get the idea." Henri snorted out a tiny laugh. "Hairboy talked his ass off. That's what he does. Did. I knew he was telling the truth, because I'd been at that fountain."

Henri turned to look at the bedside clock, and sighed.

"I've got to go back to the station soon. Sandburg's mother is going to be here in a couple of hours to identify the suspect and try to get him to talk. This suspect ... he raped her, Sharice. That's how she got pregnant with Blair. She didn't want Blair to ever know ... but now that the press is involved, there's going to be zero chance he won't find out."

"I'm so sorry, Henri. It's my-"

"It's not your fault, baby girl. Toni- babe, she played you, but I can't even blame her, not really. You can't blame a snake for acting like a snake. Besides, you think I didn't notice you glossing over the argument you had with your family? You were upset-"

"And I'm sorry for that. It wasn't you, baby. Mavis and Jane," and Sharice pronounced the name the way Mama had given it to her sister, "got to fussing about you being gone and I knew- I mean, I really did get why you had to be there. Jim and Blair are your friends - our friends - and I'm glad you could help them."

Sharice sighed and reminded her husband she'd been close to finishing law school in Cascade before dropping out to come home.

"As for Blair's mother, maybe we can keep the rape allegations out of the case and away from the press. She can't file sexual assault charges against him because there's going to be a question of venue between where she files the charges and where the crime was committed, plus, the statue of limitations has probably expired."

"She's going to use it as a lever to get the suspect to confess to what he did to Blair," Henri whispered so quietly Sharice almost didn't hear him. "We may be able to keep that in-house, but it'll be public record if it works."

"Damn. So that's where Blair gets his nerve," she remarked, rolling over on her elbow and smiling at her husband, even if it was a little watery. Hearing Henri talk about killing himself had just about stopped her heart. "Is he home yet?"

"Yeah," Henri smiled for the first time in what felt like decades. "I talked to Simon. He's remembering and talking more."

"That's wonderful. I can't believe he was there that whole time and I didn't see him."

"Sharice, don't go there," Henri begged, hearing the guilty note in her voice. Nobody could do guilt like a middle child, both coming and going. "I don't think you would have recognized him. I almost didn't. From what I was told, Hairboy spent most of his daylight hours in the day room, and you had no reason to go there. Your daddy was only there for the last six weeks, and he never left his room."

"Oh, I like it when you lay out a case, Henri James Brown," Sharice murmured, her smile lazy and her eyes heavy-lidded.

She was tired, Henri knew that. She'd hadn't slept any better than he had.

Still, as he looked her over; hair mussed, black satin slip framing her lavish bosom, the straps dangling off her shoulders, the sweet curve of her lush ass...

"You a fine woman, Missus Brown-" he reached up and touched her hair and watched her shiver "and you're beautiful to wake up to."

"Oh, Henri," those deep chocolate eyes washed over in tears, her lower lip trembling. "I love you."

"Come on over here and show me how much, darlin'," he said with his best Barry White imitation because he knew it would brighten her smile - which it did. To his delight, she gave him a flirty little glance.

"Aunt Mavis and Jane will hear."

"Let 'em hear. They can be mad in the same clothes they got glad in."

Sharice rolled over atop her husband as they started to laugh.

Jim awakened early, as was his habit, the smell of coffee in his nose.

He felt good. His sleep had been more peaceful than he could remember in months. So perceptive were his senses toward Blair that he had caught Blair's nightmares and soothed Blair out of them without either of them ever waking fully; giving them both a good rest. Plus, he had enough faith in Simon, Joel, and Megan to take advantage of their guardian presence ... which left him free to look at Blair.

He really couldn't look at Blair enough, actually.

Moving carefully, he shifted his position until he could see Blair's face. Blair had been spooned up against him, one hand on the pillow by his face, the other draped behind him over Jim's hip.

Without all that hair to hide behind, Blair's amazing bone structure was displayed full-force; high cheekbones, wide set eyes, broad forehead, stubborn chin. Jim let himself float on the fringes of a zone as he took in that fine-grained skin and stubbled jaw. The dark bristles and crooked nose lent Blair an almost dangerous aura ... not to mention, it was sexy as hell.

Blair smiled, startling Jim out of the near-trance he'd fallen into.

"Caught you," he said, lashes lifting to drown Jim in blue as he shifted onto his back. "Thank you," he added softly, his expression warm and loving.

"For what, baby"

"Best- that was best- that was the best sleep." For the first time, Blair's face betrayed his aggravation with his speech impairment. Jim wondered how incredibly debilitating it had been for Blair, who loved words so, to have been silenced so thoroughly.

"Your speech is getting better. You're getting better."

"You help- help me know me," Blair replied, hands framing Jim's face. "Want- I want better- want to be well." For you. Blair didn't add it, but Jim heard it anyway.

"You will be," he said, shaping the fine curve of Blair's skull with his palm. "But I gotta tell you, Chief, I'll take you any way I can get you."

Blair smiled so beautifully Jim had to taste it. It was a while before he became aware of throat clearing from below.

"Boys, I hate to interrupt, but sound really carries from up there," his dad remarked quietly, proving that it worked both ways.

Blair flushed a bit.

Sighing, Jim looked over the railing to find his dad and Simon having coffee at the dining table in apparent harmony; their backs politely turned his and Blair's way.

He shrugged at Blair apologetically.

"Timing need work," Blair groused, having apparently abandoned his effort to recall proper grammar.

"I'll try to do better," Jim promised, grinning.

"You do that," Blair said, shoving his ass against Jim's interested groin before climbing out of bed.

"That was just mean."

Blair belted his robe and started carefully downstairs, pausing to wink at Jim over his shoulder and add a secret whisper.

"Shower. You help. Water. White noise."

"Now you're talking, Chief!"

There was a muffled thump from the direction of the bathroom. William grinned at Simon who rolled his eyes.

"I don't know who they think they're fooling," Stephen muttered with the bone-deep crabbiness of those who believe 'morning people' are some bizarre alien species. He squirmed free of his borrowed sleeping bag and helped himself to a cup of coffee.

William coughed to cover a snicker. He hadn't thought someone in bare feet and boxers could stomp.

"It wouldn't do for Sandburg to fall in the shower," Simon pointed out, hiding a grin of his own from the younger man.

"I'm sure Jimmy will hold onto him."

"Geez, Dad, don't take me there," Stephen protested, but he was clearly in on the tease, his eyes suddenly laughing.

Stephen's initial opinion about his brother's gay relationship was admittedly hetero-centric in a "that's okay for you and I love you anyway and Sandburg's an all-right guy but I still think you've lost your mind and don't give me any details. Ever." kind of way.

Jim hadn't exactly appreciated Stephen's attitude - particularly when their dad's was so matter-of-fact - but Blair had assured them that it was good enough to maintain a relationship if all parties were willing. Once Jim was assured that Blair was sincerely amused by Stephen's expressed point of view, they'd all begun to socialize more frequently in varying combinations.

Jim and Stephen had each come to find he actually liked his brother, to their mutual surprise. Before Blair's disappearance, they'd get together two or three times a month; meetings to which Blair would sometimes accompany them. Additionally, Stephen found he was now welcomed to Major Crime-related events like the occasional fishing trip, poker night, or Jags game at a sports bar.

There'd even been a couple of times when Stephen and Blair had plans of their own: a foreign film festival, lunch at the track.

And to Stephen's wonder, he found he also liked his brother's lover. Sandburg was funny, irreverent, intelligent, and in some ways, more Stephen's contemporary than his own brother. Stephen wasn't precisely at the 'oh, he's family' stage of acceptance, but he was getting there.

The more often he'd seen Jim and Blair together, the more plainly he could see the intense emotions each felt for the other, and the more obvious it was that Jim was happier than Stephen had ever seen him ... but it wasn't until Stephen had had a few drinks one night with Rafe, Brown, and Megan that he'd heard some things that cemented his understanding forever.

Their story of what happened beside a fountain at Rainier would always stay with Stephen, making him extra-watchful when Blair had disappeared.

Losing Blair had nearly killed Jim; something Stephen had feared after hearing how Jim had reacted to Blair's drowning. For a while, Stephen, their father, or Simon Banks had stayed with Jim almost twenty-four/seven, afraid for Jim's life as his senses had whacked out badly.

They'd reached a crisis point two weeks after Blair vanished. The trail - what little there was - had grown cold. No ransom demands had been made, no leads had panned out, and it was as if Blair Sandburg had simply vanished off the face of the earth.

Stephen had awakened that night to find Jim standing on the balcony, in the cold December air, totally and completely zoned. Fortunately, Blair and Jim had explained the senses to him and Stephen remembered some things from his early childhood which were finally explained. It took him almost half an hour, but he finally got Jim inside, wrapped up by the fire, and back to awareness.

"What did you zone on?" He'd wondered curiously, knowing Blair would have asked.

"I just- my senses were looking for Blair and they got away from me." Jim scrubbed his face with his hands then took the tea Stephen handed him; Blair's favorite herbal blend. "They do that. Sometimes, I think they'll just keep doing it until I don't come back."

"Damn it, Jim, don't you dare give up! Blair told me once that he was convinced he could feel you in his mind, you're that connected. Can't you feel him? Not with your senses, but with your heart?"

"Are you sure you're the same Stephen Ellison that William Ellison raised?" Jim had asked almost mockingly, trying to distract Stephen from the pain in his eyes. Stephen ignored him.

"What does your gut say? What do you feel?"

"I don't-"

"Yes, you do!" Stephen said, hand on Jim's shoulder shaking him out of frustration. "Is Blair dead or alive?" He'd asked bluntly.

He'd thought for a moment that Jim was going to hit him, then Jim had focused on some inner voice, his face going oddly blank.

"He's- not dead. Something's wrong, though. He's not in Cascade." Jim's tone was eerily level, almost mechanical.

"Then you'd better be here when he gets back," Stephen had said to his brother's eventual jerky nod.

Jim had controlled himself ruthlessly after that.

If he were a little out of control now, Stephen couldn't blame him.

"You know, I wouldn't let Blair out of my sight either if I were Jim," he mused into his coffee mug; thus missing the smiles William and Simon exchanged over his head.

Reciprocity

Joel knocked on the door, a morning paper in one hand and wrath in his heart ... along with a genuine feeling of dread, because this news wasn't going to make anybody happy.

Simon was expecting him, and opened the door quickly.

"Good morning, Joel. Coffee?"

"Not everything is good about it, but yes on the coffee. Are Jim and Blair up?"

"Jim's helping Sandburg in the shower," Simon said with an admirably straight face. "What's wrong?"

Joel handed him the paper while Stephen got Joel's coffee.

The headline - complete with picture; from Blair's press conference, of course - announced in large type 'Missing Consultant Found Alive'. The photograph was labeled file photo with a caption that read 'Blair Sandburg, allegedly abducted six months ago, was found yesterday in a Memphis, Tennessee nursing home, as a patient under an assumed name, where he was admitted by a suspect in custody now claiming to be his father'.

"Damn it!" Simon scanned the article quickly then tossed the paper onto the table. He wasn't sure if he was angrier about the story being released at all, or the way the Cascade Daily News had slanted their contribution in an obvious dig against Blair. That they were still stinging from the lawsuit they'd lost was obvious to him, and he made a mental note to get the PD's own media relations people on this today with a formal statement.

The cat was out of the bag now. He only hoped the rest of it was kept confidential.

William turned the paper and began reading.

"The AP in Memphis," Stephen noted, handing Joel a mug before coming around to peer over his father's shoulder. The wire story itself was balanced and informative.

Very informative.

"The only detail that's not in there is the one Naomi told us about last night," Joel murmured softly in Simon's ear. Simon rubbed his face with his hand and took a deep breath.

Jim walked out of the bathroom still dripping, wearing only a towel.

William and Stephen blinked. This was rather more than they'd seen of Jim's body since he'd been skinny teenager living at home, and they hadn't quite appreciated the kind of condition Jim kept himself in.

While it was true he'd lost some weight during Blair's disappearance, Jim hadn't lost any definition; at least not since the night Stephen told him he'd better be here when Blair got back. He'd passed a lot of that time exercising, disciplining his body while he disciplined mind, emotions, and senses.

"Christ, I've got to work out more," Stephen said into his father's ear, rewarded when William snickered.

For himself, William felt a sweet little thrill of pride for having fathered Jimmy. Looking past his son, he saw Blair trailing Jim out of the bathroom. Bundled throat to midshins in a robe, Blair had taken the time to dry himself that Jimmy hadn't; that short hair damp and spiky.

"Simon, what detail? What's wrong?" Jim asked tersely to their shared winces.

William grimaced. He just couldn't get used to the way Jim openly used his senses around his coworkers.

"Jim, you might want to wait to ask," Joel said softly with a bare tilt of his head towards Blair, now standing at Jim's side.

Blair paused; regarding each of them with a surprisingly speculative expression, then went upstairs, presumably to get dressed.

"Something in that paper I need to see?" Jim asked in a near whisper. Simon gestured him towards it and sighed.

Jim read it from where he stood, his face darkening angrily.

"This is the last damned time they get away with this," Jim muttered under his breath, obviously irritated by the slant of the photo caption. "They make it sound like he was committing fraud."

He re-read the story, frown giving way to a marked pallor.

"Is this story accurate? Is this information what you were so upset about last night, Simon? And what's Naomi's detail?" Jim glanced over his shoulder at the upstairs room. "Blair's almost dressed. Maybe this should wait. He needs his medicine and some breakfast. He's too thin."

"Yes, Mother Ellison," floated down to them gently. "Help please."

"He sounds better," Joel noted, pleased when Jim grinned.

"He is better. Excuse me." Jim went up the stairs and found Blair mostly dressed except for buttons, zipper, and shoe strings; items with which Blair's fine motor control had difficulties.

"Need a hand, Chief?"

"Need you in clothes. Can't think."

They grinned at each other.

"Our timing still sucks, huh, babe."

"Be alone sometime," Blair replied philosophically, standing still while Jim finished fastening his flannel shirt and jeans.

Jim knelt at his feet and tied his shoes, aware from Blair's scent and body heat that Blair found the position intensely provocative. Looking up at Blair, Jim smirked.

"Tease," Blair accused.

"Would I do that to you?"

"Damn right, you would." Blair sounded so much like his usual self that Jim had to laugh. Snugly tying Blair's laces, he rose in a quick surge, dropping a brief kiss on his lover's mouth before efficiently dressing.

"Why Simon- why was Simon yelling?"

"Just some developments in a case," Jim attempted, caught by Blair's fingertips on his jaw. He was never going to be able to fool Blair, and he wondered why he bothered to try as Blair inspected his face.

"My case?"

"Blair-"

"My case. You hide- Are you trying to hide- hide case from me?"

Jim sighed. One thing he couldn't do was lie to Blair's direct questioning.

"Not hide, just ... put it off for a while, maybe," Jim admitted slowly, unable to dissemble under that solemn blue gaze. "I don't want you hurt by this any more, baby."

"I understand, but things- there are things I know about- about- what happened."

"You haven't brought it up."

"You not- you haven't asked."

Already visibly tiring with his efforts to improve his communication skills, Blair grimaced. Buttoning his own jeans, Jim shoved his feet into a pair of lined moccasins and took Blair by the arms.

"You don't have to work at it so hard. Everybody is going to understand, even if your speech is a little holophrastic."

"You remember!"

Blair laughed, and Jim gave himself a mental pat on the back. They'd talked one night while on a stake-out about how difficult it was to learn sentence structure in some indigenous languages, based as it frequently was on getting across the main points without a lot of the extraneous grammar construction that 'good English' contained.

"Need practice, Jim," Blair said, sobering, a worried frown wrinkling the bridge of that crooked nose, revealing small creases that hadn't been there six months ago.

"I know you do, and I'm not trying to coddle you ... but Chief, you've only got so much energy. Don't waste it on something that's not important right now. You trust me to interpret, don't you?"

"Course I trust you. Just don't- don't- I don't want to sound stupid," Blair whispered a little hoarsely, gazing at the floor.

Wrapping Blair up in an embrace, Jim nuzzled that soft, thick hair, still faintly damp from their shower - the one so rudely interrupted earlier, just as Jim was finishing his close inspection of every inch of Blair's body and moving towards experiencing it.

That Blair thought he might sound stupid to any of them, who found his living voice nothing less than a miracle, disturbed Jim badly.

"I promise you, baby, nobody who matters can possibly think you're stupid."

"Damaged," Blair pointed out gravely, the word almost too soft for even Jim to hear.

"Alive," Jim corrected, his tone almost harsh as his hands tightened on Blair's upper arms, pushing Blair back so he would meet Jim's eyes. "You're alive. That's what matters."

"What if- if I can't- if I'm- I don't get- normal, again."

"You were never normal, Sandburg," Jim said, kissing him before sliding his hands around Blair's back. "And neither am I. We'll get you through this. We'll deal with it together."

"You good cheerleader," Blair said into his throat, mouth curving into a warm smile that Jim could feel against his skin. "Except 'never normal' part."

"This smart guy I know taught me that normal is overrated."

"Smart, huh."

"Absolutely brilliant," Jim said, tilting Blair's face up for another unhurried kiss, pleased by the healthy flush his actions produced. "Breakfast and medicine first, then we'll get to the other stuff, okay?"

"No hiding my case. You trust me to handle it."

"Always, Chief."

Naturally, thanks to the acoustics of the loft, everyone downstairs had heard most of that conversation.

Joel and Simon in particular exchanged a long, level glance, plainly, painfully aware that Sandburg was going to insist on knowing what was going on.

Simon rubbed his forehead. Blair was not to know about the rape, unless and until Naomi said otherwise. He'd promised to do everything he could to keep that knowledge away from Blair. That meant that Jim couldn't be told, either, because Simon didn't want to put that kind of secret between Jim and Blair.

Simon knew Jim's feelings on this, having discussed it one night at his own home; over a good bottle of tequila, shortly after the Alex Barnes affair.

They'd each had a significant amount to drink - as in, the bottle was nearly empty - when Simon had looked at Jim and asked bluntly.

"When the hell are you going to tell Sandburg how you really feel about him?"

"I'm keeping it a secret. I fucking hate secrets. When we were working on his body beside that fountain I swore to God that if Blair lived I'd never keep another secret from him. Swore I'd never lie to him again if he'd just come back ... but I can't tell him about this one, Simon."

"Why not?" Simon had asked, genuinely frustrated, and just a little louder than he needed to be. Jim had winced - this well-lubricated, his control was a little slippery - and dropped his glass to cover his ears.

Fortunately - or not - it, too, was almost empty; the small amount left within splashing over Jim's shoe, Simon had noted, knowing Ellison was going to smell like a brewery when Sandburg picked him up the next day. He was curious to see if the younger man would give Jim a hard time about overindulging, especially given the lethal hangover Jim would likely have.

Simon had been willing to bet not, and he'd been right.

He'd looked at his miserable, silent friend, and tried again.

"He worships the ground you walk on, Ellison! God help me, I never thought I'd hear myself say this, but he loves you! What the hell are you waiting for?"

"I'm waiting until I can figure out how not to fuck it up," Jim admitted morosely. Simon's jaw had dropped.

"Did it ever occur to you that it might not be so fucked up if you would both admit how you feel and just be happy together?" Simon had asked exasperatedly. "The good Lord knows I have no business giving relationship advice, but you know what Sandburg would say!"

"I can't tell him, not yet. I didn't say never," Jim frowned at his captain, blinked the double vision out of his eyes, and crossed his arms sulkily over his chest. "I'm not a complete idiot."

"I was starting to wonder," Simon had noted amusedly. "Don't wait too long. Don't waste too much time. Stop keeping secrets."

"Someday I'll never keep another one from him," Jim confessed sadly, which was the point at which Simon had poured his sad, drunk friend into Daryl's unused bed for what was left of the night.

No, he couldn't do that to Jim, tell him this particular secret and then expect him to keep it from Blair ... so he'd have to reserve it to Joel, Conner, and himself, and come up with something just as significant to tell Jim and Blair when they asked.

He knew just the thing, and gestured to Joel to let him handle it.

For the second day in a row, Henri Brown had been out to the airport. This time he and Chaz were there to pick up Naomi Sandburg and Charlie Spring. Henri didn't know Naomi well - oh, he'd heard Hairboy talk about her travels, and he'd seen her a few times, but they'd barely spoken. He remembered her as looking remarkably young to have a son Hairboy's age.

She didn't look young this morning; eyes heavily shadowed and hair rather mussed.

"Detective Brown. It's so kind of you to meet us."

"Miss Sandburg, I'm sorry it's under these circumstances. This is my partner Chaz Strickland."

She looked at Chaz sideways for a moment, sighing gently when he greeted her in his lazy drawl.

"You have a kind aura, Detective Strickland. This is my friend Charlie Spring. Charlie, you remember Detective Brown."

"Fellows," Charlie shook their hands briefly.

"I understand you lost your father-in-law yesterday, Detective Brown. Please accept my condolences."

"Thank you, Miss Sandburg."

Naomi didn't offer to shake hands, and Henri wasn't bothered by that. None of this could be easy for her.

"It's good to see a familiar face," Charlie remarked as they started for the luggage carousel. "Do you like Memphis, Detective Brown?"

"It's all right. Have you been here before?"

"Blair had just gotten his Masters the last time I was here. He flew out for 'Elvis week' and we went through Graceland for the third time together, then down to Beale Street to listen to the blues ... we had such a good time," Naomi volunteered. She stopped walking and turned to grasp Henri's arm. "Simon told me you were the one who found him. Thank you, Detective Brown. How did he look?"

And so, for the second day in a row, Henri Brown found himself describing what had happened; how he'd found Blair, how Blair had looked.

Naomi's eyes watered when he mentioned the broken nose and the hair, but she smiled when H described watching Blair recognizing Jim and the rest of them. By the time the luggage was retrieved and they were in his car - illegally parked once again - she seemed less tightly wound, to Henri's relief.

The easier mood lasted until they pulled into the Metro PD's parking garage, then Naomi covered her face with her hands and sat silently for several long minutes. When she lifted her head, Henri found the set of her jaw very familiar.

"All right, I'm ready," she announced firmly. "Let's get this over with so I can go see my son."

"Yes, Ma'am," Henri said, hoping for the best.

Retribution

"Wheeling's arraignment is in an hour. He'll bond out after that unless we can file additional charges."

Naomi nodded to acknowledge she heard Brown, but the gnawing fear in her gut was the only thing of which she was really aware. It was taking all her strength to maintain a calm facade.

She couldn't afford to think beyond the moment.

"Detective Strickland will go into the interrogation room with you. Captain Gilliam, Mister Spring, and I will be behind the mirror, watching and listening."

"That's fine," she breathed in a barely there voice.

"Naomi," Henri Brown's tone was gentle, and she realized he was perfectly aware of her frame of mind. "Your son is one of the strongest people I've ever known. My guess is he gets that from you."

That reached through her terror. She glanced up at the tall detective's kind smile and offered a tiny nod.

"You're absolutely right, Henri. Thank you."

She took a few deep breaths to compose herself, burying her fears deep inside. If her son could stand up in front of the world and throw his life away for the sake of love, then she could do this, for the same reason, because her son was alive and that's what she had to hold on to.

Knowing, as she did, that Wheeling would have preferred Blair dead, Naomi cleared her throat and mentally girded her loins.

"Miz Sandburg." Strickland led her and Charlie to a door. "Ah'll stay witchoo," she heard, and that honeyed drawl made her lips twitch despite the situation.

They stepped in and another detective stepped unobtrusively out.

And there was Wheeling, handcuffed to a chair, smirking at her.

For an instant her memory of his face - wearing that same expression - floated across her mind. Naomi swallowed against a sudden surge of nausea.

He didn't look much different except for some weathering lines in his face. Same dark hair, same blue eyes - Blair's eyes - looking back at her.

She'd have to watch herself there. She'd stopped seeing Wheeling's eyes in Blair's almost three decades ago. She didn't want to chance seeing Blair's eyes in Wheeling's.

"Drew Wheeling, as I live and breathe," Naomi said in an uncannily accurate imitation of Strickland's accent, determined not to be put on the defensive. It gave her the advantage of being able to use that ice-picky tone of mocking contempt that Southern women did so well.

"What a nice surprise. My little Jew slut."

His voice hadn't changed, still the same cool mixture of arrogant breeding that the very wealthy seem to infuse into their children.

"I've heard quite enough of that cracker accent already," Wheeling said, rolling his eyes at Strickland before inspecting her closely, coldly. "The years have been kind to you, little slut, but I miss the hair. It was so convenient."

Her hair had fallen straight to her low back in those days. The first thing she'd done after leaving town was chop it off, unable to stop remembering the way his his hands had wrapped it around her own throat - strangling her with it controlling her holding her captive while he forced his way down her throat using her cursing her hurting her - and she hadn't worn it long since.

Enough, Naomi. Blair. You can do this for Blair.

"I'm surprised you cut Blair's since you seem to have such an obsession with it," she said evenly, seating herself across from him.

"Jesus, what did you do to that boy? Turned him into some long-haired faggot swindler. Was that your revenge?"

"Blair is a brilliant, loving, compassionate man. Nothing you would understand or appreciate," she shot back frostily.

"Was. Was brilliant. He ain't too bright, now." This time Wheeling was the one who mimicked a drawl.

"Is that what you think?" Naomi shook her head. "You don't know Blair at all, not even after six months."

"Hardly six months. He broke after one, being a weak hybrid." He crossed a leg, lounging in that chair as he favored her with a distasteful sniff. "Mud people, isn't that what you call them down here, Detective? They're weakening the human race."

"What happened to you? What made you this way?" She wondered when Strickland refused to dignify Wheeling with an answer. "You've always been so angry. Why?"

"Funny you should ask. A year after I fucked you-"

She felt herself pale, and bit her tongue.

"-I had an accident. It left me sterile."

She jerked, instantly controlling herself, but not quickly enough for Wheeling to have missed it.

"Yes, I thought you would find that significant. Here's something else you may find amusing. My father entailed his estate to go to my children. He cut me out of my inheritance when he found out about you. Your parents raised quite a stink over your disappearance. Accused dad and I of your murder ... shame you missed it, really."

He sounded so unutterably bored it took her a moment to assimilate what he was saying, then she had to squeeze her eyes shut to keep from crying.

She'd never looked back after leaving home; never followed the news or checked in on the family she'd left behind. She'd made herself dead to them because she thought that was what they wanted ... and now, to find out that they'd cared, and to learn it from this source.

Focus, Naomi.

"That's why you kept Blair alive in that nursing home? Because he's your heir, and you can't control the estate without him?"

"Blair. What kind of name is that? I certainly didn't want him for his looks. He resembles your father, had you noticed?"

"Of course I had." Her voice was tight and she cleared her throat. "Your father threatened me."

"My father likes to make threats." Wheeling rattled his handcuffs, suddenly furious; eyes glittering and lips in a snarl - as if the mention of his father had flipped some kind of switch.

Maybe it did.

"It was so simple, just like you were, little slut. All I had to do was hit him enough to make him mentally and legally incompetent-"

stop fighting or I'll hit you again

"-once I proved who he was - my son and heir, DNA certified - I had total control. I was quite the sympathetic figure, in fact, 'poor Drew Wheeling, with his retarded, institutionalized son'. Everyone thinks I'm a saint'."

"You son of a bitch," she hissed, beyond angry.

"It felt so good to hit him, Naomi," Wheeling crooned, leaning towards her, something slick and oily in his gaze. She felt Strickland step forward and waved him off. "I slapped him a few times like I slapped you, then I used a tire iron to crack his skull. I used to visit our little mistake in that home just to watch him lie there and drool-"

She moaned, averting her face.

"Oh, but wait, you haven't heard the best part. We're going to have grandchildren, Jew girl, in a few more months. Then it won't matter if your little bastard dies. And he will. So will you."

"Are you threatening me, Drew Wheeling? Your father was much better at it," Naomi sneered back. Think about it later, not now!. She glared at him, head held high. "Your father told me you were an idiot. He was right."

Wheeling lunged up out of his chair at her, hung up by his cuffs. Chaz Strickland pushed him back by the shoulders.

"Settle down!"

"Did you stalk Blair too? Did you take him off the street? Did you make him your whipping boy because you hate yourself and you know your father's right?"

"Shut the fuck up, you goddamn whore! Yeah, that's how brilliant your bastard was. He never saw me coming and I snatched him right out of his stupid little car! You never warned him, did you, Naomi. Didn't tell him about the boogey man that hides in the shadows!"

"Ah thank we have mo' than enough," Chaz Strickland said into her ear quietly, startling her. Her knees were so weak he ended up lifting her bodily, his hands firm on her upper arms as he murmured, "Come on, Miz Sandburg. That old boy ain't going nowhere jus' yet"

He hustled her out the door while Wheeling was still ranting, another detective slipping past to take their place.

Charlie opened his arms and she walked right into them, letting out a couple of heaving sighs on his shoulder.

"You did great, Naomi," Charlie said, patting her back gently. "You did great."

"Thank you, Miss Sandburg," Captain Gilliam said gravely. "I'm sorry you had to go through that," he added, and she raised her head to look at him.

"That was nothing compared to what he did to my son."

While giving Blair his medicine last night, Jim had noticed - but only in passing - that Blair swallowed differently now.

This morning, while seated alone with Blair at the table - the newspaper relocated to atop the fridge by Joel, who was downstairs talking to Conner - and eating the breakfast his dad had cooked, it dawned on Jim that Blair had to work to swallow, particularly the liquids. Each mouthful was managed with conscious deliberation, as concentrated as Blair's efforts to speak.

This reminder of how terribly close to death Blair must have been to have had to be re-taught something so basic as how to swallow robbed Jim of his own appetite, and he pushed away his plate of scrambled eggs, bacon and toast.

Blair looked at him and lifted one peremptory eyebrow.

"You eat," he ordered, after methodically cleansing his palate with a sip of juice. "You finally faster AND got heart attack food. Be happy."

Jim grinned despite himself and shook his head. Pulling his plate back and picking up his fork, he resumed eating, somehow relieved to know that fundamentally, Blair hadn't changed a bit; still monitoring his moods and health.

William and Stephen, who were cleaning up the kitchen, exchanged an amused glance when Jim paused to sniff at the bacon.

Blair rolled his eyes.

"Low cholesterol eggs, turkey bacon, whole-wheat toast and unsalted butter," William related. "I brought it over myself, yesterday. Some of the Ellison men listen to your nutritional advice, Blair."

"See? Smart," Blair said, pointing at William.

"Turkey bacon... That's just plain wrong. It's a contradiction in terms," Jim replied, making his habitual argument. Last time the subject had come up, Blair had asked him if he was seriously going to avoid turkey bacon merely because he found it semantically incorrect.

"Gastronomically incorrect," he said now as he'd said then, knowing from the faintly wistful shadow in Blair's eyes that Blair remembered their usual lively debate, too.

"Still good," Blair said mildly, bending back to his plate.

"Thanks, Blair," William acknowledged to a 'no problem, man' wave.

Jim wondered how much Blair missed supplying his usual chatter. As much as Jim missed hearing it?

Still, with his ears, Blair's voice was only part of the aural symphony of Blair's life that Jim could appreciate, and not as dearly longed for as that constant heartbeat.

Finishing his breakfast, Jim squeezed Blair's knee and rose to clear his dishes, retrieving Blair's medicine while he was up.

Blair ate most of his food then swallowed the tablet cautiously, his upper lip curling in a disgusted sneer.

"Don't like," he informed Jim irritably.

"You have to see a doctor if you want to stop taking them," Jim said bluntly.

"Yes, and you have an appointment at eleven," his dad informed Blair from where he was washing dishes, apparently unfazed by the glare Blair cast his way.

"Who see?" Blair asked sharply.

"My doctor, Luis Gallegos. Jim's met him. He's an excellent physician," William added complacently.

Blair frowned thunderously.

"High dollar."

"Don't you know you're worth any amount of money to this family?" William shot back in a stern voice. Blair gaped at him then turned away; hiding tears that Jim could smell.

Taking Blair's plate to the sink, Jim kissed his father on the cheek.

"You're all right, old man," he said, meaning it. "Look out, Sandburg. You're in the Ellison zone, now," he teased, to give Blair a moment to recover control.

"Ooh, scared," Blair said a bit unsteadily. Jim saw from the looks on his father's and brother's faces that they weren't a bit fooled, but were willing to play along.

"'Be afraid, be very afraid'," Stephen quoted with a smirk that eased the last of Blair's discomfort, judging from the way Blair's napkin hit him in the chest. "Everybody's a critic."

Simon emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam; his suit slightly limp, but the larger wrinkles gone.

Blair patted the chair beside him, throwing the Deputy Chief an expectant glance.

"Ready. Stop puh- pro- putting off, Simon. Tell," he demanded to three apprehensive faces ... well, four, Jim corrected silently.

He was sure his own expression was no different.

Sharice Embrey Brown was sitting on her brother's front steps when her sister-in-law came home. She hadn't bothered to wake Malcolm up and let him know she was there.

She didn't have business with him, after all.

She watched Toni get out of the car, with her rumpled silk suit and tired eyes.

"Busy night?"

"Sharice! I'm sorry, I wasn't expecting you." Something in Toni's face said that was only true as far as it went. There was a vaguely self-conscious guilt in her pale amber eyes.

"You should have been."

Sharice stood. For once, she was glad to be a big, tall woman ... particularly when it meant she could stare down her nose at her sister-in-law.

"I used to think you were too good for my brother," she said slowly in the kind of tone that would have sent her husband ducking for cover. "Now I think he's too good for you."

"Sharice, what-"

"What you did was wrong, and you know it," Sharice informed her sister-in-law. Without warning, she bitch-slapped Toni with some enthusiasm, knocking the smaller woman to the ground. "Don't come back to my home. You won't be welcome."

"I'll call the cops on you!"

"Go ahead. I'd love to stand up before a judge and tell him how you used our personal relationship for a lead on a newspaper story. Taking advantage of me in my time of sorrow." Sharice pulled out her cell phone. "You want me to call them?"

"Get out! Get off my property!" Toni screamed, hand on her face and eyes watering furiously.

"Gladly. And in the future? I wouldn't count on anybody within the PD to spare you the time of day, 'sistah'. Word gets around on users."

Sharice walked off, hearing her brother come to the door behind her, yelling her name as she got in her car and drove away.

Her palm stung some, but she decided she felt better than she had in months.

Remediation

Incoherent with rage.

Jim was familiar with the descriptive phrase and had never seen it so pointedly, painfully illustrated. Blair was so angry he literally could not speak; blue eyes flashing and face growing redder as he tried and failed.

Blair was pacing near the balcony doors, hands on his head - and Jim was certain that if Blair's hair hadn't been so short, Blair would be yanking at it furiously.

Simon was sitting on the sofa rubbing his face, also upset. Informing Blair about the suspect the Memphis PD had in custody as well as filling him in on the story hitting the media had been hard for their friend.

Then Simon had told Jim and Blair that Naomi was in Memphis to confront the man about his claims of being Blair's father.

That was when Blair had leaped off the sofa, hands waving as he tried to speak, madder by the second. His inability to express himself was terrible to see, particularly when measured against his former volubility.

Jim watched, judged the best moment, and when Blair glanced his way, he held out a hand unselfconsciously.

"Chief?"

Blair sighed and shook his head, but came to Jim anyway, patting Simon on the shoulder as he passed.

Blair took his hand, and Jim squeezed it reassuringly.

"Close your eyes for a minute and take some deep breaths. Focus on the air moving in and out of your lungs, relax, and let it come to you."

Blair's eyebrows lifted and he gave Jim a scorching look. Until then, Jim hadn't realized how long he'd wanted to say something like that to Blair, and his lips twitched in spite of himself.

Blair noticed, squeezing his hand with a tiny snort before complying.

And it worked, just like it always worked for Jim when the words had come from Blair.

He could feel Blair calming; skin and breath cooling, heart rate and respirations slowing, blood pressure coming down ... he could even hear Blair's stomach settling as the taut muscles around them lost tension.

Blair squeezed his hand again. Jim became rather distantly aware he was breathing in sync with Blair and had been on the edge of a zone, trying to determine whether or not he could hear the actual muscle fibers themselves as they expanded.

"Thanks, Chief," he murmured, adjusting his senses automatically. "You always know, don't you."

Blair made a weak effort to smile, still obviously distressed as he stepped away, moving to sit at the base of the stairs.

It didn't escape Jim that this put a wall at Blair's back and gave him a position from where he could watch them all - Jim on the other end of the sofa from Simon, William and Stephen at the table; all of them watching Blair in return.

"Look, Sandburg-" Simon began, and Blair waved him quiet.

"Minute," he said, holding up one finger and taking a few more deep breaths before he went on. "Simon. You cop. What- what w- w- were you thinking? You got witness. Me. Not Naomi."

"Blair, she wanted-"

"Shh." Blair touched his head. "You think- you think I- I'm too stupid to say? Don't know who hurt me? Maybe not re- re- remember? I remember. He- he visit me. Gloat. Tell stuff. Never let me forget. Pictures, even. Bad man. Angry. Know who-"

Blair paused, cleared his throat, and went on.

"I know who he is, why he- he- his motive. I can identify him. Witness."

Blair tapped his chest and looked at them, anger gone and leaving an awful sadness in its place.

"Understand, you wanted home. I wanted- want- wanted home. You you're good- a good friend, Simon, but you and Jim, you're cops. Take witness away, make Naomi- You know what he did to Naomi? Rapist. Hurt her."

"Jesus," Simon moaned, his dark complexion assuming a grayish cast. "She doesn't want you to know that, Blair," he said, and Jim felt the blood drain out of his own head as the implication became clear.

"Oh, no," he whispered, staggered.

"I know!" Blair flung up his hands, eyes full of bitter knowledge. "How I not know! Was told- I was told- You not- you answer me. You- Did you take me out- out- away here-"

Pausing to wring his hands, Blair tried again. The more agitated he became, the worse his speech got, and he kept stopping to breathe and think.

"Am I too stupid to be witness? Not- not com- com- Jim?"

"Relax, Chief. Competent?"

"Yeah. Not competent testify. You think that? You're wrong." Blair crossed his arms over his chest and glared at them all. "Love you all, but man, you fucked up."

Jim felt his own face grow warm at that blunt assessment, knowing it was partially true. He hadn't given a cold damn about the case as such; he'd only wanted Blair home, and he knew Simon had felt the same way - a fact Simon confirmed.

"I admit we weren't thinking like cops, Blair. We wanted to get you out of that nursing home. We weren't sure who put you there and we had to get you to safety. That was our priority," Simon said slowly, his color improving a bit. "And the truth is, from what Henri described, we didn't think you were- you'd be in any condition to-"

"Okay," Blair held up a palm in a 'stop' gesture. "I get it. Thought I was- you thought I was a vegetable. That's- he wanted that, you know, the bad man. Wheeling. Perp. Need to- I need to go back to Mem- Memphis," he finished gravely.

"No," Jim repeated, quite suddenly caught up in his own terrified anger at the thought of Blair going anywhere away from home, let alone near Wheeling. "No. Absolutely not. You are not going back there. You're not getting anywhere near that bastard."

Blair jumped to his feet; eyes wide and hands fisted.

"You- No? You- you- you're not the boss of me, James Ellison!"

"The hell I'm not! I've even got the papers to prove it!"

Blair's mouth dropped open, an absolutely stricken expression crossing his paling face. Not for the first time, Jim cursed his own reactive temper; even as Simon was muttering "God damn it", his father's head was shaking resignedly, and Stephen was adding "Nice going, bro" under his breath.

"Jesus, Jim, you are an idiot," Simon said irritably. He rose, intending to take Blair by the arm. "Sit down, Sandburg, before you fall down."

Blair jerked away, almost tripping over his own feet as he stomped towards Jim, who'd also risen.

"What papers?" He demanded of Jim.

"An emergency decree of temporary guardianship," William said when Jim didn't - couldn't answer. "Judge Takei signed off on it as a personal favor to me. Blair, look at me."

Blair turned away, eyes glittering too brightly. Jim had to put a hand over his stomach; suddenly nauseated by the pain he'd unintentionally inflicted, smelling it on Blair so strongly he could almost taste it.

"I didn't mean- I'm-"

"Jimmy, shut up," his dad ordered, standing and moving to Blair's side. "Look at me, son."

Blair swiped at his eyes and obeyed with evident reluctance. William took his hands and held them loosely, keeping Blair's attention.

"We were afraid the feds had grabbed you. Jimmy needed documentation that would give him the authority to take you out of the care center and keep you with him in the event he was challenged legally. No one, no one is questioning your intelligence or your competence. Put this in the context of how it happened and remember that when we got the decree, none of us knew who'd hurt you or how bad it was."

William's hands went to Blair's face. Ignoring Blair's involuntary, reflexive flinch - and how many times had Blair been struck in the face, to instill that kind of reaction? - William gently wiped his cheeks dry.

"It would be reasonable to wait until we hear from your mother or Detective Brown before we rush off to the airport, so you might as well keep your appointment with Doctor Gallegos first," William continued firmly to Blair's protracted sigh.

"Treat like kid," Blair groused crankily and William smirked at him, leading Jim to wonder when his dad had gotten so damned good with people. He couldn't even find it in himself to resent that William had waited until this stage of his life to act like a father or that casually issued "shut up" earlier. If it made Blair feel better, he was all for it.

"Hey, I've been practicing. How am I doing?" His dad teased with a sideways glance at Jim.

"Pretty good," Blair allowed with a faint grin that faded as followed William's gaze. Leaving William, Blair drifted in Jim's direction slowly.

Jim met him halfway.

Blair's apology was in his eyes.

Jim stared at him mutely and mouthed "I'm sorry, too", not sure what else to say.

"We- we're okay," Blair said. Jim just wished he didn't sound so unsure. "I get why, whole thing, but don't like- I don't like it."

"Yeah, we could tell," Stephen put in, exaggeratedly wiping his forehead. "I thought your skin was going to turn green there for a minute."

"Funny, Stephen. Not." But the corner of Blair's mouth tipped up as he leaned his forehead on Jim's shoulder. "You go with?"

"Where else, Chief? I'll stay with you every minute if you want. We'll tell them you're under police protection if we have to," Jim promised quietly and felt Blair relax a bit.

"Don't want- shit. Sound like a two-year old. Hate this, Jim!"

"I know you do, buddy, but tell me something. Before yesterday, when was the last time you spoke? The aide at the home said she'd never heard you talk before and you were there for five months." Jim said to Blair's nod. Jim's fingers skimmed over the scar that he could feel on Blair's scalp. "Five months or longer, maybe. Since this happened. The fact that you can talk at all is a miracle. Give yourself time."

Jim was very afraid that Blair would become so self-conscious about his hesitant, troubled speech that he would stop trying to speak at all.

And God, he'd missed that voice.

"Blair, what is it you don't want?"

"Strangers. I'm so sick of strangers, touching me," Blair whispered, perfectly clearly.

"Aw, Chief." Jim cupped his hand around the back of Blair's neck and held him close. "I won't leave you," he murmured.

"Thanks, Jim."

They stood together quietly for a few moments then William looked at his wristwatch ostentatiously enough for Jim to catch it from the corner of his eye.

"Time to go."

"Yeah."

Henri hung up the phone and looked at Naomi.

"That was Chaz, Naomi. Wheeling was denied bail and remanded for a psych eval. That's a mandatory thirty days minimum. By then we'll have an airtight case, and thanks to his threats, probable cause to deny bail."

Naomi sighed long and low, tilting her head back and staring up at nothing.

"Has Blair ever talked to you about karmic debt, Henri?"

Currently alone, they'd been waiting in Captain Gilliam's office for word from the courthouse. Gilliam had been called to the chief's office and Charlie Spring was out somewhere foraging for lunch.

Henri had learned that Hairboy's mama liked tea and weird subjects as much as Hairboy himself. Neither brought up Wheeling's statements, although Henri had a hundred questions about that 'grandchildren in a few months' remark the man had made.

Now here was Naomi asking him about karmic debt; something he might have found amusing under other circumstances, but not now. If he understood the concept correctly - and as a matter of fact, he had discussed it a time or two with both Hairboy and Rafe - there was nothing funny about the inference that either Sandburg had earned what happened to them by wrong-doings committed in a past life.

"No one deserves what Wheeling did to you and Blair," he found himself saying a bit sternly. Naomi looked at him and smiled, suddenly five years younger in her relief.

"I meant Wheeling's, actually."

Henri thought about that and kept silent, hoping she'd go on. It took her a few minutes.

"He picked Memphis for Blair because it was the first place I came after I left Grand Rapids. I suppose it's a private joke to him now, his proof that he'd kept track of me. I don't know what would have happened if I hadn't met someone here who ... specialized in the underground relocation of domestic abuse victims," she said evenly, standing to look out the window.

"She took me under her wing. I spent a lot of time traveling with her, back and forth across the country anonymously. I met a lot of people, good people who helped me, but I missed my family so much - that was one of the things that made Blair such a blessing to me. I knew he'd be my family and no one could take him away from me.

"That's why I was so jealous of Jim, of course. And this is why I know that what goes around comes around, Henri, so I guess I am talking about my karma. I sent Blair's dissertation to that publisher. I told myself it was for his own good but I knew it was wrong and I did it anyway.

"And look what happened. Andrew Wheeling comes back into our lives. For decades I protected Blair from him. I don't even know now what I was thinking when I hit that 'send' button. I just- lost it. I was so angry with Blair for staying with Jim and getting hurt and putting himself right back in danger over and over again and when I found out they were lovers-"

Naomi leaned her forehead against the glass, her eyes closed.

"When I found out they were lovers, it felt like Blair had abandoned me and I had no family again. I would have done anything to separate him from Jim ... I don't think I was consciously that malicious but maybe it was in the back of my mind when I sent- Anyway, you understand why seeing Andrew Wheeling again was so important to me? It was my penance, so to speak. And I'm sorry for talking your ear off, Henri. You're a very good listener."

"Thank you, Naomi. It feels real good to hear a Sandburg run off at the mouth." Henri grinned, relieved when Naomi relaxed. He wasn't about to make any judgment calls on the way people felt about their families right now - his own was filled with enough drama for a soap opera. He'd managed one quick phone call to Sharice all morning; just long enough to have heard about her altercation with Toni. He'd congratulated her and was dodging the calls from his in-laws.

"I hope you feel better, Naomi," Henri added sincerely to her hesitant smile, and it occurred to him she had expected him to condemn her.

Well, that was bullshit, he decided. It wasn't his place.

"I need to call Simon and let him know how the arraignment went," he said instead. "Would you like to speak to him?"

"Yes, thank you, Henri. I'd like to hear how Blair is this morning."

The exam was going well until Gallegos came to the prostate check. When the doctor raised the tail of Blair's gown and touched his bare hip, Blair rolled off the exam table like he'd been shot from a cannon - backing into a corner so abruptly that both Jim and the doctor were badly startled.

"Chief?"

"No. No. No. No."

Blair was almost chanting the words, hands warding them away, eyes blank and unseeing in his white face. The acrid scent of fear rose up all around him.

Jim's heart rate lurched, accelerating to match Blair's rapidly pounding rhythm.

"Mister Sandburg-" Gallegos began and Jim literally growled at him.

"Leave him alone."

Approaching Blair slowly, Jim started talking; trying not to think about the last time he'd seen Blair this freaked out, after the Golden.

"Chief, hey, now, it's okay. We're okay, you're safe. No one is going to hurt you. We're going to go home and everything's going to be all right..." He kept up the quiet patter, waiting until Blair's head tilted to listen. "Look at me, buddy, I'm right here. No one's going to hurt you again, not without going through me. Come on back, Blair. Come on, buddy, I need you here with me."

"Jim?" Blair's gaze cleared gradually as he focused on Jim. "Shit. Had- had a flashback."

"Yeah, I could tell," Jim said, waving Gallegos silent when the doctor opened his mouth. "What happened?"

Blair shook his head minutely, face sad.

"Sorry. Didn't want- I didn't want you to know."

"Whatever it was, it isn't your fault."

"Yours either," Blair said with his usual piercing accuracy. "Know you feel bad you didn't find me sooner. Stop."

"If you'll stop trying to change the subject," Jim replied to Blair's wry sniff. He wondered how Blair knew - he'd barely even acknowledged his guilt-filled remorse to himself, well aware that Blair didn't need that from him right now. "What didn't you want me to know? Did he- were you-"

"Wasn't raped, not exactly," Blair said, reaching for Jim with trembling hands. Jim pulled Blair into his arms, soothing the convulsive shivers that wracked Blair's frame.

"He- he had- he paid man to- to- use- use-"

"Shh, babe, take a deep breath first. You can do it, the words are there, just relax and let them out slowly." Ignoring the doctor's not unfriendly speculation, Jim did his best to calm Blair down, stroking Blair's tense back and arms.

"Thank you, Jim. Love you," Blair said so quietly that Jim barely heard it.

"I love you, too," he whispered directly into Blair's ear. "Nothing will change that. We'll deal with it."

"Tied me down, made me- took sam- sam- sperm samples using some kind of elec- elec- He shocked me inside. It hurt, Jim."

"Oh, baby." Jim turned his face into Blair's hair, blinking furiously against the burning in his eyes and forgetting the doctor's presence altogether. "I'm so sorry."

"Scared me so bad. Buried memory. Came back." Blair waved in the direction of the exam table then straightened, turning within the protective circle of Jim's arms to look at Doctor Gallegos. "Sorry. Not personal."

"I understand, Mister Sandburg. You've been through quite an ordeal, but it's even more important that I check you internally and I think you know that. I can promise to be gentle, and I will, but I can't make it completely painless," the doctor's voice was kind as he matter-of-factly handed Jim and Blair each some tissues.

They each wiped their faces with the same prosaic lack of self-consciousness.

"Yeah, know that- I know that." Blair sighed and pulled out of Jim's hold, moving back towards the exam table. "Get over- get it over with."

Jim stayed in front of Blair, bending over so his face was in front of Blair's. This won him a tiny, strained smile.

"You're so brave, Chief."

"Not- not a spineless goober?"

"No way," Jim assured, taking Blair's hands. "Hold onto me. I'm right here."

"Ready."

"Okay, Blair, take a deep breath and bear down," Gallegos instructed.

Blair flinched so hard his spine popped noisily, but he fixed his gaze on Jim and complied, face pale and sweaty.

The doctor finished fairly quickly, something for which Jim's back was grateful. He straightened with a grunt and helped Blair sit.

"I'll leave you to get dressed. The nurse will show you into my office and we'll talk," Gallegos said and left them.

"Why didn't you want me to know?" Jim had to ask.

"Feel dirty," Blair answered very quietly. "Feel like every part of me ... unclean. Tell self- goddamn it. I tell myself that it's only my shell- only a shell- but-"

"But it's your shell."

Jim took Blair's face in his hands, stepping in between Blair's bare knees and tilting Blair's head backwards. Blair still melted when he did that and Jim rather believed that would never change.

He scented the truth in that subtle yielding and felt his nostrils flare.

"And mine?" He asked needlessly.

"Yours. Need you to reclaim me," Blair whispered, breath sweet on Jim's mouth and tongue.

Jim lowered his head-

-and the door swung open.

"Oh, I'm sorry! I thought you'd be dressed by now, Mister Sandburg. Do you need help? Doctor Gallegos is ready for you in his office."

Blair started laughing, managing a garbled "your timing still sucks" that Jim heard all too clearly.

He tried to straighten his own face with little success, pleased to note that he was doing a pretty good job of making Blair feel better, too, come to think on it.

"I'll help Mister Sandburg and we'll be right there. Promise," he said to her lifted eyebrow, rolling his eyes when Blair kept chuckling intermittently. "Come on, laughing boy," he said, taking Blair's arm as Blair hopped off the table and heading for the curtained-off dressing area.

"Jim! Gown! Ass!"

"Who you calling an ass, Sandburg?"

Reconciliation

"I hate this case. Have I mentioned that I hate this case?" Captain LeMaster Gilliam remarked conversationally as he entered his office. "No more than you do, Miss Sandburg, of course," he added hastily, as if just remembering to whom he was talking.

Gilliam exchanged a glance with Chaz and Henri, who were unofficially keeping Naomi Sandburg and Charlie Spring company until it was time for them to leave for the airport - and officially, protecting them from the press; which was collecting en masse down on the ground floor and expected to be a problem.

And the press had gotten a pretty cold shoulder from the department that day, which made the potential for something ugly pretty high.

No one within the Memphis PD appreciated the spotlight thrown on this particular case by this morning's Appeal article. The grapevine carried its own remarkably accurate version of events - Wheeling wasn't exactly a silent prisoner down there in lock-up - and sympathies were running high for his victims, as well as concerns that public exposure of so many details could compromise the case.

Heads were going to roll - were rolling. The chief and the commissioner of police were furious; the Mayor, with his own axe to grind against the press, was taking their side, and the shit was rolling downhill on LeMaster Gilliam, who'd managed very little sleep in the last two days.

"There are four people downstairs who claim an urgent need to see you. You need to know you're not obligated to see any damn body while you're in my department and I will defend your right not to do it should you so desire," he told her bluntly.

Naomi eyed the weary Homicide Captain with wry humor. She hadn't realized how much like Simon Banks the man could sound, she thought with an internal grin - and she had to say, she found it reassuring. She'd come to respect Simon Banks deeply over the years. Intransigent as she often found him, he was a good man and a deeply loyal friend to Jim and Blair, although she'd never understood why he made such an effort to hide it.

"Captain Gilliam, may I ask who they are?"

"You may. They showed identification in the names Matthew Wallenberg, Birgit Wallenberg, Ruth Schusterman-"

Naomi gasped, her hand going to her throat.

"My mother-" she rasped through a mouth gone dry as dust. "Ruth is my mother's name. You don't suppose-"

"Good Lord," Gilliam said, surprised. "I don't know. Here, Brown, get her some water!"

Charlie leaned against her shoulder while Henri got her a cup of water, patting her cautiously on the back. She was glad she was sitting down.

"Are you all right, Naomi?"

"I just- who's the other person?"

"Marian Cohlmia."

"Oh, God. Marian is my sister's name."

Naomi burst into tears so suddenly that she didn't have time to push it back down, her hands coming to her mouth, covering a sob she couldn't restrain. She turned into Charlie's chest and huddled, fighting to control herself. He held her, carefully sheltering her without making her feel restrained.

She appreciated it. Charlie had been a rock for her through all this, since the day Jim Ellison had called her,,,

//"Naomi, it's Jim-"//

"Oh, God, something's happened to Blair," she said, as much from her own intuition as the suddenly horrified look on Charlie's face. He'd gotten one of his 'hits'.

He'd never told her exactly what he'd seen.

//"Blair's been missing for two days. You need to know-"//

His voice broke; hardcase cop Jim Ellison, who'd been so goddamned cold to her boy just months before ... only Jim Ellison really cared. Naomi heard it, accepted it and believed it at last. Jim loved Blair deeply. She could hear it in the pain and the fear and the grief saturating his words, though he tried to control his tone.

She started weeping silently, terrified of how bad this was going to be.

Until she'd seen it in the news coverage of Blair's life - the news coverage that she'd caused - she'd never realized Blair had drowned, been shot, beaten and overdosed during his time with the Cascade Police Department ... with Jim. And Blair had never told her. Never called her, never let her know how bad it had been.

He hadn't even told her that he'd died. She'd had to read it in the paper. An enterprising young reporter who'd been on Rainier's student newspaper at one time had written a particularly piercing condemnation of the greater media's treatment of Blair, including the incidents that occurred at Rainier; the Ebola, the Ventriss case, Blair's drowning- That writer had vividly illustrated the possibility that Rainier's administration could reasonably be suspected of having a problem with Blair Sandburg, and the suggestion that they'd practiced willful disregard of the intellectual property rights of their most junior staff was certainly one of the things that had contributed to the ongoing media circus.

She hadn't heard about any of that from Blair. Neither had she heard from Jim, but he'd called her then.

//"-we're running out of leads and- and I-"//

"You're scared," she'd divined. "I'll be right there."

And she had been, and she'd stayed close - not in the loft - for five solid months before going to Charlie's house, at Jim's insistence. Her friend had welcomed her company and insisted she do nothing but walk the beach and meditate.

Ironically enough, she'd done exactly that, and her own fears had felt relatively balanced until she'd gotten that call from Simon Banks, telling her what had happened to her son.

Naomi straightened slowly, leaning her head on Charlie's shoulder just for a moment.

If these women were her mother and sister, how would they react to Blair, knowing what they did about his parentage?

"Do you think- do you think it's really them?" She whispered too quietly for anyone but Charlie to hear.

"I don't know, Naomi, but it's possible, isn't it?"

"Detectives, let's give Miss Sandburg some-"

"No. No, I'm all right." She sat back and wiped her face furiously. Swallowing back a lump of old grief and confused hope, Naomi took a deep breath and accepted the big old-fashioned linen handkerchief the captain handed her. "Thank you. It's been a ... difficult day."

"Yes, Ma'am."

Still, it took her a few minutes to calm.

"Is there somewhere near where I could meet with them? A conference room? I don't know-"

"Of course. Detectives Strickland and Brown will stay with you unless you wish otherwise."

"Yes, and Charlie, too. If it's- if it's really my mother and sister, I haven't spoken to them in over thirty years," she managed as her throat closed again, not sure whether or not she even wanted it to be them. If it was, she didn't think she could bear it if they still blamed her for everything. Not today. She'd had to face entirely too much ugliness, both from Wheeling and in her own behavior. "I'm a little afraid."

"Thayat's undah-standable," Chaz said in his comforting drawl, giving his captain a faintly challenging stare. "Ah heah you keep a nice bottle of Johnnie Walker in yo' bottom draw, Captain."

"That's a vile rumor, Detective Strickland," Gilliam said, but produced the bottle anyway, and three glasses. "Miss Sandburg? Mister Spring?"

"I would love to, Captain, but no thank you. I can't face my mother with whiskey on my breath," Naomi said with a forced smile, steadily reminding herself that whatever her family said - if it were even them - in light of the big picture, it wouldn't matter.

Blair was alive, safe with Jim, doing fine and getting better. That's what she had to hang onto, that and the prospect of seeing him tonight.

Gilliam grinned at her sympathetically.

"I feel the same way about drinking around my mama and I'm almost sixty years old. The conference room is in here."

He started for the door in the far wall across from his desk. Naomi stood slowly - deciding that she could, in fact, walk - and followed him, genuinely amused when he turned back to retrieve the bottle and glasses, taking them with.

He set them on a sideboard in the other room. Dominated by a large rectangular table, there was another entrance directly from the bullpen.

"They'll be escorted in through that door. Should you feel the need to escape, Miss Sandburg, two things. Number one, bring the booze, and number two, feel free to use my office. I'll be in a meeting. I expect I'll need a drink myself afterwards."

"Thank you, Captain," Naomi shook Gilliam's hand. "You and your men have been very supportive."

"You're welcome, Miss Sandburg. Good luck with the reunion, if that's what it turns out to be." Gilliam paused to cast a level stare at his detectives. "If you need me, call me. I don't care who I'm with. Understand?"

"Yes, Sir," said Henri, echoed by Chaz's lazy "Yassuh!" H looked at his partner wryly, then shook his head.

"Man, I want to stick you out in a cotton field with a bag every time I hear that. 'Yassuh'."

"It ain't like Ah'm sayin' 'Yassuh, Massa," Chaz replied, giving Naomi a friendly, teasing wink.

He was pleased when she smiled.

"Too bad, Detective, it has a nice ring," Gilliam said on his way out. "I'll escort your visitors up, Miss Sandburg. About five minutes."

"I'll be ready," she promised - most of all, to herself - and took a seat.

"Evergreen Terrace faxed me a complete copy of your records- what they had, anyway. I understand the original diagnosis was fabricated-"

"As long as you understand there was no fabrication of anything by Blair himself," Jim snarled at the doctor sitting behind the heavy oak desk.

He was a little tense.

"Of course I understand that, Detective. I read. I've also been your father's friend for almost forty years and I've lived in Cascade for thirty of them."

"Chill with the B.P., man," Blair said out of one corner of his mouth like some kind of cliched movie gangster.

"I beg your pardon," Jim said reluctantly.

Luis Gallegos hid a grin, and wondered if young Ellison there had any idea how like his father he was with that temperament. And Blair Sandburg - the man was a delight, both professionally and personally. William's description hadn't done him justice.

"I mention it only to point out that I am reluctant to rely on anything within the records themselves and would prefer my own observations. It's quite obvious that the person I'm looking at is not the person described in these notes." Gallegos tapped the folder in front of him and addressed them both.

"You've given me a lot of information. You've told me about Mister Sandburg's prolonged absence, his aphasia, his amnesia - both of which appear to be reversing, his concerns about the anti-convulsant, and the fact that the original assault was related to several episodes of what could be considered torture, his subsequent admission to a care center - which, by the way, apparently took better than adequate care of you, Mister Sandburg - and the fact that you were molested."

"Not molested. Was not sexual."

Gallegos looked at the traumatized young man and decided to allow him that little rationalization.

"In a sense, you are correct. However, you may find you have the same types of reactions that a victim of a sexual assault might experience. Detective Ellison tells me that you have a minor in psych and that you've done volunteer work for our local Rape Crisis center, so I'm going to assume you're familiar with PTSD."

Post traumatic stress disorder. It was a given that Blair had it - he'd already demonstrated symptoms. Gallegos could see from Jim Ellison's face that Jim knew it, too.

"Because you're physically and emotionally under a lot of stress right now, and because it's my feeling you need to consult a neurologist to supervise weaning you off the seizure medication, I'm going to recommend that you stay on it for now. I'll give you a prescription." Gallegos regarded Blair intently. "Abrupt cessation of this drug could very well result in a grand mal seizure. The worst case scenario is a condition called status epilepticus, in which the seizures begin and continue indefinitely. Your record reflects that you've had a previous seizure, so these are real possibilities. You don't want to set your recovery back, Mister Sandburg. You should continue to take the medicine."

Blair sighed noisily, visibly aggrieved.

"Understand. Another doctor?"

"I'm recommending Ming Chen. She's in this building and she's an excellent neurologist. I took my wife to her last year. Doctor Chen will probably want to do some tests; CAT scan, MRI, EEG. Maybe even a PET scan. With your permission, I'll discuss your case with her and we'll make some recommendations."

Gallegos smiled at the disappointed young man.

"Your recovery is astonishing. Had the nursing home not included your picture and description, I would never have believed these were the correct records. I urge you not to become discouraged about your speech. I also think you should resume your speech and physical therapy routines as soon as possible. I can refer you to some reliable professionals. So can Doctor Chen."

Blair stiffened, his demeanor suddenly hostile.

"No! No more strangers! Not yet! Need time!"

Jim opened his mouth and Blair stuck a hand over it.

"No! Not stupid, will think- I will think about it, but not right away. Will take med and be for a while."

"That's fine," Gallegos replied smoothly. "Shall I consult Doctor Chen, at least?"

"Fine," Blair said, in a definite sulk, and Jim didn't blame him.

He didn't like the prospect of Blair enduring more strangers, either.

The door opened, and Naomi clenched her fists, turning from where she stood near the window. For a long, long moment, she didn't recognize the plump little silver-haired woman who stepped through, then the woman gasped and stumbled towards her.

"Naomi? Oh, Naomi, you're beautiful! My baby girl!"

"Mama?" Naomi swayed, seeing her mother's face as she recalled it, under this woman's lines and wrinkles. "Is it really you?"

She was swept into in a strong embrace before she could think properly, paralyzed when the woman's scent filled her nose; beloved and familiar. Cooking scents - her mother had baked biscuits this morning - and Chanel ... still the same, even after all this time.

"Mama. Mama." It was the only word she knew, her own arms wrapping around the ample figure as she held on and sobbed. "Mama."

"My baby. My baby," her mother kept saying, petting her everywhere; head, face, shoulders, and arms, crying along with her just as hard. "So long. It's been so long. I missed you. I love you so much."

"You do?" Naomi caught herself asking, and was given a little shake despite her mother's shorter stature, hazel eyes boring up into hers.

"Of course I do, Naomi. How could you doubt it?"

"But when Daddy said-"

"Your father went to his grave hating himself for saying that to you, sweetie. He's been dead for almost twenty-five years."

"Oh." Naomi absorbed that blow and found she wasn't nearly done crying.

Resilience

"You hungry? We can go by Wonderburger."

Blair didn't seem to hear, gazing past him out the window as they circled downtown for the bay.

Jim's dad glanced at him over Blair's head - only briefly, because William Ellison truly was anal about correct driving. He didn't like to make a lot of conversation in the car when the traffic was as heavy as it was now, during rush hour.

Jim gave an internal sigh, aware he'd recently started paying more attention to his own driving habits. It was amazing how cautious a person could become when they found out they had somebody to live for.

He looked out the window, following Blair's line of sight, blinking when he noticed the way the watery sunlight glinted beautifully off the glass in the tall buildings, making them glow against the thickly clouded horizon.

The fact that Blair had longed to see his city was written all over his face.

"It's going to storm tonight," he remarked quietly, his voice as somber as Blair's mood.

"Want to- I want to stand in it. Wash it all off me," Blair whispered back, the pain behind the words too audible. "Need to let the earth take it away, Jim."

"If that's what you need, Chief," Jim promised, knowing the sound of a shaman thing when he heard it. "Whatever you need."

"You not- You aren't gonna lecture me about getting struck by lightning?" Blair asked, sounding a little brighter.

"You won't be." Jim knew that, too, feeling it deep inside at the level of sentinel instinct; that level that reliably informed him that shamans were, by definition, tied to earth and sky and elemental.

Jim didn't doubt Blair, no matter what. He'd promised them both he never would again ... and Blair could handle whatever he wanted and needed to. He always had.

"Might get the sage out," Blair pondered out loud, sudden pure mischief filling his eyes. Jim grimaced, wrinkling his nose.

"That part is negotiable, I hope."

"Oh? Make offer?"

"Yeah," Jim nodded firmly. "The eye doctor and glasses are non-negotiable but the rest of it is up to you," he decided, shifting his mental gears and verbally laying out his cards.

During a simple test with an old-fashioned eye chart, they'd discovered with Doctor Gallegos that Blair's vision had worsened to the point that there would be no reading at all without new, stronger glasses, which would mean a trip to the eye doctor.

Blair regarded him evenly, as if assessing how sincerely he meant the words. Jim meant them. He understood Blair's earlier words about feeling dirty; handled too casually and too carelessly by uncaring hands. It wasn't merely Blair's rape by instrumentation - and that's what it was, Jim knew, whether Blair wanted to call it by the legal definition or not. It was Blair's entire experience, starting with Wheeling himself and exacerbated by every stranger's touch since.

"Deal. Will take medicine and see neurologist, next week or two."

"Deal."

"Pleasure doing business," Blair said, sticking out his hand,

Jim shook it ceremoniously ... then kept hold of it the rest of the way home.

Henri monitored the weeping reunions between the Sandburg women, while Chaz waited out in the bullpen with the Wallenbergs, who disclaimed a family relationship and still hadn't explained why they were there.

If he hadn't been a big, tough, homicide detective, Henri supposed he might have been bawling right along with Naomi, Ruth, and Marian. It was impossible not to be affected, and he couldn't help but worry that the day's events had birthed an equivalent rift between Sharice and her family.

Hopefully, it would heal in less than thirty years.

Marian Cohlmia looked enough like her sister to assure Henri that she was who she said she was - not that he was paranoid or anything, but this was the Ellison and Sandburg Zone and you just never could tell.

Short and stout, like their mother - which made Henri wonder where Naomi got her figure; not that he had a preference for smaller women, but damn! - Marian had light hazel eyes and Naomi's bone structure and carried herself like somebody who was accustomed to being listened to when she spoke.

"You remarried?" Naomi asked her mother, and if there was any hint of accusation in the question, Henri couldn't hear it.

"I'm a widow, again," Ruth Schusterman said wryly, sadly. "Abram Schusterman and I married twenty years ago. You have an eighteen year old half-brother named Isaac who's a sophomore at UCLA. He's having finals and couldn't get away or he'd be here, too."

"Abram was a good man, Naomi. He died three years ago. He always wished he could meet you," Marian put in.

Something about her attitude told Henri she was just beginning to ladle guilt on her sister's head.

"I've been a fortunate woman to have been married to two good men," Ruth said, audibly pouring oil on the waters in the kind of mom tone that said 'don't go there, girls'. She reached into her handbag - and despite knowing it had been X-rayed downstairs, H found himself tensing - and pulled out a small photo album. "Let me show you Abram's and Isaac's pictures, Naomi."

Naomi smiled ruefully and looked over at Henri.

"I think Charlie and I are going to need a later flight. Unless you-" she turned to Charlie, who was standing a little behind her.

"I'll stay. Why don't we sit down?"

Charlie seated the ladies, and H approved when he noticed that Charlie stayed at Naomi's right and put Marian to her mother's left.

H went to the wall phone and asked the captain's PA to take care of the airline reservations.

"I can't believe how much you've changed," Naomi was saying to her sister. "You look like the way I remember Mama looking."

"It's been a long time, Nay," Marian Cohlmia replied. "We've all gotten old."

"Speak for yourself, Mare," Naomi said, looking at her. "How have you been, really?"

"Busy. You have two nephews and a niece," Marian informed her with a tentative smile. "Micah is twenty-six, Jake is twenty-three, and Naomi is twenty."

"Oh!" Naomi's hand went to her mouth and Henri observed ruefully that the waterworks weren't over yet.

He retrieved a box of tissues from Captain Gilliam's office and promptly dropped it on the floor when he returned to the conference room and heard what Naomi's mother was saying to her.

"-when we realized you'd kept his baby-"

"Blair was never his baby! Blair is my son!"

Shouting this, Naomi pushed back from the table and jumped out of her chair. Charlie reached for her but it was Henri who caught her loosely by the upper arms, giving them a gentle squeeze.

He remembered everything she'd said to him, and understood this was a conversation she didn't need to have.

"Blair's a fine man and a good friend of mine," he announced, and if it sounded like a warning, good, he thought. His eyes locked on Ruth Schusterman's, who sighed, holding out one imploring hand in Naomi's direction.

"Sweetie, I wasn't criticizing your choice to keep him. I'm just- I was a little surprised to find out I have a thirty-one year old grandson. Do you have a picture of him? CNN made it sound like he'd been in some kind of coma-"

"Drew Wheeling fractured his skull with a tire iron," Naomi said sharply before her tone softened. "He's having some problems with his speech but everyone keeps telling me he's doing well otherwise. He was having a check-up when I called earlier. I have pictures, but- but-"

"They won't look like Hairboy, not with that haircut he got!" Brown teased lightly, settling her back into her chair and retrieving the tissues.

Naomi looked at him gratefully.

"That's right. I don't know when Blair's hair has been that short - when he was a baby, maybe."

Henri cleared his throat gently.

"We have a more recent picture. I'm sorry, Naomi, I should have thought of it sooner." He looked at Chaz, who'd poked his head through the door when the shouting commenced. Chaz nodded at him and stepped through to the captain's office.

"He looks- don't let the picture upset you. It's the one from his nursing home file. They took it right after he was admitted. He looks a lot better now," H said, not sure this was a good idea after all.

"I'll keep that in mind," Naomi said quietly, visibly preparing herself as Chaz came back in with the photograph.

Two of them, actually. Like mug shots; Blair's too-thin face, front and side. The profile view illustrated the livid scar on Blair's head, visible under the fine stubble of a buzz cut. The front view-

Ruth sucked in a gasp that made Naomi jump.

"God help me, he looks just like your father."

"He looks so sad," Naomi whispered, sounding as if her heart was breaking for her son's shadowed, frightened eyes. "His nose..."

"It was broken at some point, probably early on. Naomi, he wasn't sad when he saw Jim. He- he practically lit up," Henri reminded her softly, Chaz beside him, nodding. Neither liked the stricken tone of her voice and hoped to reassure her. "He even made a joke about Graceland when we drove by. He's doing all right. You'll see."

"Thank you, Henri," Naomi said, flinching as her sister looked over her shoulder.

"Wow, he really does look like Dad. I'd love to meet him, Naomi. We all would."

"When he's ready," Naomi answered firmly. "I'll let you know."

She looked up at Henri, and he could see the worry in her eyes.

"Sandburg, call your mother! She needs to hear your voice!" Simon ordered the minute they walked through the door, handing Blair a business card that Blair promptly passed to Jim.

"Dial for me?"

"Sure, Chief."

"Memphis has Wheeling six ways to Sunday. Gilliam told me that Naomi had him so riled up he started screaming at the judge during his arraignment about killing all the Jews - the judge's name was Cohen, by the way," Simon told them with a snort. "He's not going anywhere and there's no reason for Blair to go back there. Not until trial, maybe not even then. Naomi said she'd be here in a few hours. Charlie Spring is with her."

"Thanks, Simon," Blair said distractedly, pointing at the card then the phone. "Jim?"

"Okay, buddy. Listen, dad, Stephen, Simon, thank you and go home."

"Harsh," Blair remarked disapprovingly and Jim rolled his eyes.

"Honest. I love you guys, but we don't need a babysitter."

"Oh, God, you're going to do gay stuff, aren't you?" Stephen said in a mock-horrified falsetto. Jim lunged for him and Stephen dodged into the kitchen while Blair caught Jim's arm.

"No running in house, boys. Guys, thanks, I love you, too, but Jim's right-"

"See?" Jim sneered at Stephen, who stuck out his tongue. The exchange had Simon and William shaking their heads.

"-go home. You good- you're good family but need rest. Leave. See tomorrow."

William studied Blair closely.

"You need rest or we need rest?"

"Both. All. Flee, go, unwind," Blair replied, miming shooing them to the door. Those terse answers revealed the fatigue behind Blair's humorous gesture, and they all nodded, gathering up a few things and starting for the door.

Simon was last out.

"Don't forget to call your mother."

"Geez. Won't forget, promise."

"Jim, I'll call you tonight."

"In the morning, Simon. After eight," Jim said calmly, closing the door.

"Ten," Blair put in before it shut all the way.

"Fine, fine. After ten. Did you hear that, William?" Simon's voice carried clearly.

Jim could have listened to them all the way to their cars, but decided not to, focusing on Blair, instead.

"Act of Congress," Blair muttered, and Jim grinned.

"Detective Strickland, can you show the other couple in? I'm ready to hear what they have to say."

The wall phone rang, and Henri told Chaz to wait while he answered it.

"Brown."

//"H, hi."//

"Speak of the devil! How are you feeling, Hairboy?"

//"Good, so better say nice things! Listen, H, is Mom still there?"//

"Hey, you're talking great, babe. Hang on and I'll put her on, okay?"

//"Thanks, H. Thanks."//

"No problem, man," Henri said with a smile, turning to Naomi, who was watching him hopefully. "Line two for you."

She picked up the receiver and pushed the blinking button of the table phone, her heart in her throat.

"Blair? Sweetie?"

//"Mom! You turned off your cell phone!"//

It was such a familiar, frequent scold that she automatically smiled. Blair sounded wonderful; tired, but so bright and content.

"It's so good to hear your voice," she said and sobbed once, unexpectedly, covering her mouth too late.

//"Yours too, Mom. I'm right- all right, honest. Speech- my speech is- little slow but it's getting better. Listen. You- Are you all right? I know you saw him. I- I'm sorry-"//

"Oh, Blair." Naomi felt her insides congeal, instantly realizing that Blair knew. And since she'd given thought - how could she not? - to what she'd say to him if they ever had to discuss it, she knew what she had to say next.

"It wasn't your fault then and it's not your fault now! It was never your fault, baby. You hear me?" She sent a hard look in her mother's direction and waited until the older woman nodded at her.

//"I hear you. I'm okay, Mom. Not your fault either, you know," Blair replied sternly. "We- We're okay, too. When you- when are you coming to Cascade?//

"Well. Ah, you wanna hear something good?"

It had been a game of theirs when Blair was smaller, and she could hear the smile in his voice when he said //"Sure."//

"My mother and sister are here - your grandmother Ruth and aunt Marian."

//"Wow."// He was silent for a moment. //"Is it good? Are they- You sure you okay?"//

"Yeah, sweetie, I am. We're catching up. I'll be in Cascade by early morning, though, if that's all right."

//"Be fine, Mom. Will be- It will be good to see you."//

"You, too. I love you, Blair. Tell Jim I said hello and thank you."

//"Okay. Love you too, Mom. See you soon."//

"Very soon. Bye, sweetheart."

//"Bye-bye."//

She cradled the phone with delicate care and became aware she was smiling through tears.

"What have you told him about us?" Marian asked curiously.

Naomi felt her smile fade, and dried her face slowly. Since so many truths were apparently out, she'd just keep up the trend, she decided.

"He knows you exist. I told him I ran away from home when I was seventeen. He thinks it's because I was pregnant and the family didn't approve. I let him believe that because I never wanted him to know about-"

She stopped then, far from willing to tarnish the happy glow she'd gotten from hearing her son's voice on the phone by rehashing the circumstances of his conception.

It was bad enough knowing that he knew.

Her mother reached out and patted her hand.

"You're very proud of him."

"He's ... an amazing man. Smart, brave, loving-"

"Just like his mother," Charlie put in with a fond grin and Naomi startled herself by blushing.

Jim listened to the conversation shamelessly, using the tone of Blair's voice and the ease of Blair's speech to let him know how Blair was handling things with Naomi.

He'd been happily surprised to learn that Blair was telling the truth, and didn't blame himself or Naomi for anything that had happened - not that either should have, but Jim had been worried Blair might.

"So, you have a grandmother and an aunt," he said quietly as Blair ended the call, not hiding the fact that he'd eavesdropped. "You never said."

Wandering over to the balcony, Jim watched the gathering storm as it darkened the horizon. It would be a couple of hours, yet, he judged.

"Never felt relevant. Like you and your family used to be," Blair remarked slowly, coming to stand beside him and warming him subtly.

The strain of the day was too evident on Blair's tired face, so Jim elected not to remind Blair how aggravated Blair had been with him on discovering Stephen's and William's existence.

"Chief, how do you feel about what Wheeling told you ... about what happened to Naomi?"

"Hard to answer," Blair said, opening the door and stepping out on the balcony, turning his face into the wind. Jim followed instantly, standing beside him. "Not hard to talk about, just don't know- I don't know if I find ... right words."

Jim waited. It was something he'd become very good at doing.

"When I was little kid, Naomi worked with do- do- Crap. Bad homes where they got hurt. Damn it, Jim-"

"Domestic abuse victims?"

"Yeah, thanks. It's like word is there and won't come out. Domestic abuse victims. So many sad people. So many sure they deserved bad things. Deserved hurt, rapes, beatings. Even little kids. Naomi good- worked well with them. Taught them, taught me, can only- It's important what you do in life, not what is done to you. Take respons- res- responsibility for your own soul, only, not allow self to be victimized, but learn. Grow past bad."

Blair speech was slow and hesitant, but he forged on determinedly, to Jim's relieved pride.

"Drew Wheeling bad man, did bad things. No soul. Worse than Lash."

"How do you mean?" Jim asked curiously, his interest caught by what seemed to him to be a non sequitur. He moved behind Blair and took his lover in his arms, crossing his hands in front of Blair's belly. Blair rested his own hands over Jim's, welcoming the embrace, sighing as he leaned his head back to rest on Jim's shoulder.

"Lash had damaged soul, wanted to be stopped," Blair said softly, having apparently given the subject some thought. "Lash hated what he did, set himself up, taunted PD ... not cry for help on purpose, but sub- sub-"

"Subconsciously."

"Yeah, thanks. Subconsciously Lash wanted punish- punished- punishment. He felt like he deserved it, you see? Victimized. Bad mental place I won't go, not for Drew Wheeling. He's not even human as Lash. Wheeling likes to hurt people. Not just me, not just Naomi. Bet he hurt lots more."

Jim would remember Blair said that, later.

Restoration

After some time alone in Captain Gilliam's office - with a cool, damp cloth over her sore, swollen eyes - Naomi felt prepared to take on the Wallenbergs. The elderly couple was finally ushered into the conference room.

The Wallenbergs sat at one side of the table, the Sandburg women - and Charlie - the other, with Chaz and Henri making self-appointed bookends. Henri had been introduced by Naomi as "a friend of the family" in addition to his position as a Homicide detective.

Chaz Strickland had been identified as the detective who made the arrest in the case, and an uneasy silence had taken over at that.

Matthew Wallenberg was indeed old. Tall, thin, and frail, his upright posture belied by a persistent faint Parkinsonian tremor, he'd informed them he was ninety years old and Naomi certainly believed it. Under a head full of wispy white hair, faded blue eyes had peered at Naomi a long, long time before Wallenberg took his seat, nodding his head at her politely.

The woman he'd introduced as his wife was equally thin, but on her it merely looked elegant. With smoothly upswept silver hair and her own advanced age revealed by crepey skin and slender, arthritic fingers, she gave the impression of warmth and class as she reached across the table to briefly grasp Naomi's hand in greeting.

"You and your boy have been treated very badly by the Wheeling clan," the old man stated regretfully as he looked across the table at Naomi, who looked up at him in shock. "I apologize for that. Drew is my nephew. I was born a Wheeling."

Naomi paled, barely aware when Charlie took one of her hands while her mother grasped the other.

"In May of 1945 I was there when the camp at Mauthausen, Austria was liberated. The things I saw... That experience changed the way I felt and thought about racism and anti-Semitism. I actually met Birgit there- Wallenberg is her maiden name. I adopted it as my own shortly after we came back to the States.

"My father was outraged by our marriage. He treated Birgit badly- well, he tried to have her killed, actually. I decided I didn't want to be a Wheeling any more." Matthew Wallenberg's gaze on Naomi's was tired and pained. "There was a terrible scene. I was thrown out of the house and disinherited at gunpoint. I never saw my father after that. Rumor had it that he never got over what I'd done to him. That's how he saw it, anyway - something I did to him. He remarried and had another son. Andrew Wheeling Senior was my half-brother.

"I never looked back ... until a little over a year ago, when Andrew died. I met him once, shortly before his death. Andrew Junior- Drew -is my nephew, as I said. Again, I've met him once, at the reading of my brother's will.

"One could argue the case that I precipitated this entire debacle. I would understand if you thought so."

Henri twitched but kept silent, while Chaz seemed to melt even further into his chair, gaze sharp and watchful. The Grand Rapids Sandburgs seemed to be holding their breath, waiting for Naomi's response.

"You aren't responsible for acts committed by other people," Naomi said. They were words she'd offered as counsel most of her life. Somewhere deep inside herself, she finally believed them.

She wondered if Blair's eyes would look like Wallenberg's when Blair reached ninety; world-weary, wise and kind.

She suspected they would. The thought made her smile.

"I won't hold you responsible for the things Andrew and Drew Wheeling did to my family and me. It would feel too much like holding Blair responsible ... and I don't do that. I never have." Taking the picture of Blair, she slid it across to table for Wallenberg to see.

"That's my son Blair. Your great-nephew Blair. That's how he looked after Drew Wheeling finished with him."

"You don't really believe Drew was finished with him, do you?"

Looking at the regretful dismay in that rheumy blue gaze, Naomi flinched as some sense of warning crawled between her shoulderblades.

"What else," she asked, lifting her chin. "What else do you know?"

"Drew is a sociopath. Andrew was afraid of him, you see, and periodically had him watched by private investigators until Andrew's death just over a year ago. We're not entirely sure that Andrew died from natural causes, although no evidence against Drew could ever be found.

"Drew learned how Andrew really felt about him at the reading of Andrew's will when Andrew let him know he couldn't inherit - except by administering it in trust for a living child. Andrew was bitterly disappointed in what he considered Drew's ... personality defects ... and blamed me. Naming me executor was Andrew's revenge.

"Drew, of course, was bitterly disappointed in Andrew's will, and blamed me as well."

Matthew Wallenberg sighed, and Henri got him a cup of water. The old man looked rather longingly at the bottle of Johnnie Walker and slid a sideways glance at his wife, who raised an eyebrow at him.

He took the water.

"Thank you, young man. It's hard to admit at my age that my blood relatives scare me so much, but the truth is, after the will was read, Drew threatened to kill Birgit and me. It was clear to us that he'd lost what was left of his mind, and given our concerns about Andrew's death, we were convinced Drew would find a way to do it, so we went into hiding.

"A friend on the police force in Grand Rapids let us know Drew was here in custody. Birgit and I went to Grand Rapids and turned over all the information we had on Drew. They've been looking into his recent movements fairly intensely, tracing finances and such. I'm afraid we heard some disturbing information."

Wallenberg ran his hands over his head. They were shaking badly.

"I'm sorry to tell you this. Drew is suspected of having abducted a sixteen year old girl in Buffalo, New York. Using assumed names, he institutionalized her at a psychiatric hospital in Detroit. They were told she was a drug addict put there to stay clean ... during her pregnancy. She's twenty-one weeks along. The baby is allegedly Drew's grandchild, Miss Sandburg. Your grandchild. The girl was inseminated against her will-"

"You're not implying that Blair-"

"Not at all. In fact, your son's participation was reportedly not ... consensual, either."

"Oh, sweet Christ on the cross," Chaz muttered furiously while Henri swore under his breath. Even Charlie cursed, and Charlie rarely used bad language. Ruth gasped, and Marion let out a choked sob, but Naomi barely heard any of them. Struck mute by Wallenberg's words, she was too lost in her own shocked horror to shed another tear.

She'd so hoped that Drew Wheeling had merely been raving to upset her; that he'd lied, that it wasn't true.

'Not consensual'. Dear God. Lowering her head, Naomi struggled to control her sudden fury.

"Your DA should be getting official notification at any time," Wallenberg went on, speaking now to Henri and Chaz. "The girl's identity had to be confirmed and her family notified to arrange her release. The police in Grand Rapids and Detroit have been sitting on it to keep it from the press - nobody wants her privacy compromised since she's underage and there's already so much media scrutiny. I expect Michigan will extradite Drew as soon as possible."

"How is it you know so much about this, Mister Wallenberg, and why are you here?" Naomi's sister Marian asked with some suspicion, diverting Naomi from her shock, anger, and grief.

"Miss Cohlmia-"

"It's Doctor Cohlmia, actually," Marian corrected automatically.

"You're a doctor, Contrary Mare?"

"No one's called me that in forever," Marian murmured, giving Naomi a wondering smile that faded as she turned back to the old man. "Mister Wallenberg?"

Birgit Wallenberg shot her husband an anxious look when he didn't reply. The old man's head was nodding, energy apparently spent.

"Is he all right?" Henri Brown asked.

"He does that when he gets tired. Traveling is very difficult for him these days," Birgit explained and answered Marian's questions herself. "Matthew and I are retired attorneys, Doctor Cohlmia. We practiced in Lansing for forty years. We know people. We actually came to supply Drew's doctors and the court with copies of all the information we have. We want him to stay in custody."

Birgit switched her gaze over to Naomi.

"We certainly didn't come to represent Drew, in case you wondered, and we have absolutely no claim on the Wheeling estate. I also want you to know that we tried to find you after Drew attacked you. We were going to help you prosecute but we were too late. You were already gone."

"Andrew Senior threatened to burn down our house and kill everyone in my family if I didn't drop the charges. I didn't- I didn't know what else to do but leave. I was seventeen," Naomi offered woodenly.

"That's why? Oh, Naomi."

Her mother started to pet her arm, and Naomi jerked it away, her skin crawling as the ramifications of the Wallenberg's news continued to unfold inside her head.

A second generation rape victim - or third, counting the child itself. Another baby forced on an unwilling mother.

Unwilling parents.

If she'd been brave enough to press those charges; brave enough to do what her father wanted, brave enough to defy the Wheeling's threats, wealth and influence, would any of this have happened? Would Blair's situation be so like her own had been? Anticipating the birth of a child conceived in an act of violation...

Then again, had she pressed charges, had she testified, she'd likely be dead now, her mother and sister dead with her, and Blair never born.

No, she wasn't going to forget that or second-guess any of the decisions she'd made at seventeen, Naomi mused. She'd done the best she could - as she had all her life, with the notable exception of her handling of Blair's dissertation.

And she was learning from that mistake.

"I think your son should hear about the pregnancy from you, Miss Sandburg," Birgit Wallenberg said quietly. "And I'm sorrier than I can say."

"You aren't going to tell him, surely?" Marian burst out, surprised. "What good would it do? Her pregnancy isn't his responsibility-"

"That's not necessarily true, legally speaking. I spoke with her parents. They indicated that they weren't willing to consider abortion, which in Michigan would be illegal at this point in the pregnancy, anyway. Unless the young lady goes out of state for one, in about five months it will become young Blair's problem," Matthew announced, startling them all.

They hadn't even noticed he'd awakened.

"Sorry about that," he apologized ruefully. "Hell of a thing."

Naomi wasn't sure if he meant his having fallen asleep, making them all jump, or the situation itself ... but she agreed with him completely.

Hell of a thing, indeed.

By virtue of calling in a few favors - and after assuring both Simon and William they'd be back in the morning - Jim and Blair had managed to get some uniforms to clear a path through the reporters that were congregated outside the loft. Their back trail blockaded with equal efficiency, they'd made a successful getaway in the truck and headed for Joel Taggart's fishing cabin in the mountains.

Blair had promptly fallen asleep, not even stirring when Jim stopped to pick up a few supplies along the way.

He pulled up to the small frame building, keyed off the ignition and then gently shook Blair awake.

"Chief? We're here."

"Ah, good," Blair said in a hoarse whisper, climbing wearily out of the truck. "Anybody around?"

Jim listened.

"Not for miles, babe."

"Good," Blair said again, toeing out of his socks and shoes to stand barefoot on the grass. He sighed hugely, audibly relieved. "Tired of people- not you, Jim," he added quickly.

"I hear that," Jim teased easily. In truth, he needed the solitude as much as Blair did. Loosening the grip on his senses that he had to maintain in the city, Jim allowed the peace of the deep woods to seep into him. "Storm's a half-hour out."

"Perfect timing," Blair said to him with a wryly amused grin. "Thanks, Jim."

"Coming here was a good idea, Chief."

They carried in the supplies. Jim didn't bother trying to get Blair to let him do it all, although it would have been faster - Blair's obvious fatigue was making him clumsy - but Jim wanted Blair to know he still saw Blair as an equal.

Soon enough, they had everything put away and had gone out onto the back deck, which looked over a clearing that sloped gently down to the side of the lake. No one was on the water as far as Jim could see; all apparently avoiding the approaching storm.

"Still alone?" Blair asked as the gust front started to kick up, pushing against them with the scent of rain.

"Still alone," Jim confirmed.

Blair stripped, walking skyclad onto the grass as the first sprinkles of rain began to fall. Jim undressed, too, pitching their dry clothes into the cabin before joining Blair in the clearing.

Blair stood, face and palms upturned, his eyes closed as the rain slowly intensified; still-distant lightning flashing white fire, followed by low booms of thunder.

Jim ignored it and merely watched Blair.

Blair started speaking, and a startled Jim listened as the Quechua flowed easily and freely, with none of the fits and starts of his recent attempts at speech.

The words translated easily in his mind. He'd heard Incacha say similar things, many times.

"I call upon the Spirits of the Four Directions, the Four Corners of the World. I call upon the Four Elements. Earth. Air. Fire. Water. I call upon That Which Created All Things. Be with me now. Cleanse me. Heal me. Free me. Fix me up in a good and gentle way, take this negative energy-" and Jim had to grin, because only Sandburg would have figured out a way to say 'negative energy' in Quechua, which more literally translated into 'poisoned vigor of body'. "-from my spirit that I may be innocent once more. Take this hate off me. Take this anger off me. Take this sadness off me. I ask you, please. Give me the strength to return bad with good, seventy times seventy."

He spoke another few words that Jim didn't recognize but thought might be one of the American Indian languages.

Another sudden gust of air pushed against them, this one warm and scented with pine. Jim sighed, delighting in the pure clean smell.

Blair smiled, face upturned to the sky, and the heavens opened up. The pouring rain was just cool enough to feel refreshing instead of cold. Bright lightning continued to strike at a distance; and somehow Jim knew it wouldn't come any closer. The thunder was just loud enough to be interesting, and not so much as to be painful, and he sent up a silent 'thank You' of his own.

"Jim," Blair said quietly, happy eyes watching his pleasure.

"Enqueri," Jim corrected, and Blair's eyes filled with such delighted and loving pride in him that Jim felt himself flush and go hard.

"Enqueri. Come to me and wash this off me. I want no hands but yours."

"Yes, love."

Stepping obliquely into Blair's body, Jim lifted his hands to Blair's head, fingertips stroking through the spiky strands of wet hair to the soft scalp beneath. Methodically, he touched all of Blair's head; carefully around the ears, lingeringly over Blair's face, thumbs gentle on nose and cheekbones.

Blair went erect, too, which Jim anticipated. Blair was a sucker for having his face touched the way Jim was touching it; just softly enough for Jim to savor the fine grain of Blair's skin and just firmly enough to fully appreciate the muscle and bone beneath it.

"I love you," he said and repeated the words in Quechua just to see Blair smile again.

"I love you too, dearest heart, my beloved. When I despaired of all else I dreamed of seeing you and found the will to go on. I could not leave this life without you, and I could not see you leave it so soon."

"What are you saying?"

"We are one soul, sentinel, and there is no life for one without the other. Did you not know?"

Jim closed his eyes, but continued to stroke Blair's shoulders, upper back, chest, and arms, taking each hand in turn to carefully smooth over each finger and thumb.

"This part of me knew," he whispered, not sure if he was speaking English or Quechua. "Enqueri knew."

Dropping gracefully to his knees, Jim turned his attention to Blair's ass, rubbing the rainwater over each cheek and trailing his fingertips along Blair's crease.

"When you brought me back in the fountain our souls bonded forever."

Blair was speaking English - well, whispering it between an occasional gasp, Jim noted distantly as his hands shaped Blair's tender places, cupping Blair's scrotum, combing through soft, wet hair.

"Yes," Jim said, smiling up at Blair. "And the water's nice."

"I love you."

"Every part of me knows that," Jim informed him, hands measuring a hard, needy length ... then moving on to Blair's thighs.

Blair didn't complain. He nodded approvingly, his face content as Jim's palms slid down his legs, over his calves, and to his feet. Just as Jim had done with Blair's hands, he picked up one foot at a time, Blair balancing himself with a light hand on Jim's head.

Blair stifled a giggle when Jim slid his fingers between Blair's toes and sighed with appreciation when the soles and heels were rubbed.

"Nice. Thank you, Enqueri. Please stand behind me and spill my offering to the earth."

Jim pressed himself against Blair's back, touching every part of Blair that he could.

"You can't think of a better place for that offering?" He murmured into Blair's ear suggestively, feeling, more than hearing, the low chuckle that moved through Blair's body.

"Next time, love."

Jim moved his hands down Blair's chest, pausing to tease each nipple - something else Blair, sensualist that he was, actively enjoyed. Blair rubbed backwards against him, catching Jim's erection in the top of his cleft.

"I have plans for yours, too," Blair warned huskily, his tone of voice alone making Jim groan.

"I'll try to restrain myself."

Hand wet with rain, Jim jacked Blair slowly at first, holding Blair against him with his other hand; occasionally tweaking a nipple as his mouth found Blair's neck. Jim found he was enchanted with that bare accessible nape, testing his teeth on the strong tendons.

The effect on Blair was noteworthy. He shivered and melted against Jim's front, pre-ejaculate slicking Jim's grip into a faster rhythm.

"Tell me," Blair managed, the heat coiling at the base of his spine. Jim could feel it.

"Come, shaman. Give your offering."

"Yes!" Blair roared, erection pulsing in Jim's hand as he shot, so fucking powerful in that moment that Jim had to fight not to come with him - "Yes! Yes!" - shouted like a benediction and a prayer.

Jim watched the rain wash the pearly fluid into the ground as he gently worked Blair through the last spasms. Blair had barely finished shuddering when he knelt before Jim, taking Jim's cock deep in his throat.

So dramatic was the contrast of Blair's hot mouth after the cool rain that Jim came almost instantly, crying out as his climax struck like the lightning around them. Blair's strong hands held him up as he curled over Blair's head and staggered, knees weak.

"God, Blair, so good!"

Blair hummed around him and swallowed easily, nearly killing Jim with another surge of pleasure ... knowing just when to back off before it got to be too much. When he released Jim, Jim went to his own knees, letting Blair hold him as he trembled with aftershocks.

"God," Jim said again, slowly becoming aware Blair was smiling against his neck.

"There's some advan- advantages to impaired gag reflex, huh?"

"I feel better," Blair murmured.

"You feel wonderful." Jim needed a bigger word than better to describe holding Blair. They lay naked, warm, and comfortably dry; wrapped in each other's arms atop the mattress Jim had earlier moved to be nearer the fireplace.

The thunder had quieted but outside the rain still fell in heavy sheets, giving them each a feeling of peaceful seclusion.

"This what- this is what I needed. Just you."

"Just us," Jim corrected, not caring at all if that sounded sappy. He was pretty sappy where Blair was concerned - always had been, really - and was well aware that Blair enjoyed it when he let it show.

Blair shifted a bit, leaning up on one elbow to look down into his face.

"Thank you," Blair said, blue eyes deep and mysterious, pupils wide, mouth still just a bit swollen from their earlier activities.

"I needed this, too," Jim protested mildly, one finger tracing that crooked little nose.

"I mean, for waiting. For staying alive."

"It was so hard." Jim was sure the truth of that was written all over his face. "I missed you so much, Blair."

"You were the only thing I knew. Kept me alive. I knew we'd be together again some day. Knew it, Jim."

"It wasn't easy to hang onto that." Jim waited to see if Blair was going to get upset, but Blair's expression was filled with luminous, compassionate understanding.

"How close? How close did you get?"

"To letting myself die?" Jim asked to Blair's solemn nod. "Pretty damned close. I was having a lot of trouble with my senses. It would have been easy to zone ... really zone. Stephen helped a lot. Gave me a kick in the ass."

Jim shivered at how close it had been for them both.

"I will thank him." Moving with deliberate care and being clearly mindful of elbows and knees, Blair crawled on top of Jim; covering him until they were lying face to face, chest to chest, and groin to groin. Jim could not possibly remain unaroused, pleased to note that Blair was equally affected.

"Feels good," Blair said, hands on Jim's face. "We'll never be parted. You know that," he promised seriously.

"I know now," Jim said, smoothing his palms down Blair's back, intent on filling them with the sweet curves below.

He hesitated, and Blair licked across his lower lip.

"Touch me."

Adoring that autocratic tone, Jim grabbed Blair's ass and arched into his body the way they both wanted, taking the kiss Blair offered.

"Yes," Blair said into his mouth. "Yes, yes. Yours."

"Mine," Jim agreed, and proceeded to prove it.

Recovery

Four and a half months later, they were at Sisters of Charity Hospital in Buffalo; there to take custody of Blair's as-yet-unnamed baby girl. They went to visit the mother first, having become well-acquainted with Drew Wheeling's other survivor, Michelle.

It was Michelle who'd insisted they were survivors - not victims - the first time they'd met her some three months previously. Blair, still recovering himself, had been anxious and apprehensive, but Michelle had shown no such reservations...

An obviously pregnant but otherwise slender teen answered Blair's knock, flipping pale blonde hair out of pale gray-blue eyes and giving them each a welcoming smile.

"You're Blair, right? Hey, you're cute! This ought to be a good-looking kid! Blue eyes for sure!"

Blair blushed, amusing both Jim and Michelle.

"Michelle!" Another woman, who looked around Jim's age, stepped up beside her. "Try and teach them manners," she said mournfully.

It took Blair a second to catch on to the tease then he smiled with tentative humor, taking the hand the woman offered and shaking it warmly.

"Please, come in. I'm Michelle's mother Ellen Gilbert. We talked on the phone. Doctor Sandburg and Detective Ellison, correct?"

"Blair and Jim, please," Blair said easily. His speech had improved enormously since he'd been found in Memphis, but there were still times when he couldn't find the word he wanted; times when his coordination was poor and his limp more pronounced. Still, he'd tolerated being weaned off the anti-convulsants, was getting stronger every day, and was chomping at the bit to go back to work at the PD with Jim.

"Call me Ellen and this, of course, is Michelle." As blonde and slim as her daughter must have ordinarily been, the woman grinned wryly as she shook Jim's hand and ushered them inside. The Gilberts lived in a comfortable home in an established residential neighborhood in one of Buffalo's better areas. "Dave was called into work. I think I mentioned he's a respiratory therapist." Ellen Gilbert herself worked as a nurse. Jim knew she'd taken a leave of absence since the time of her daughter's abduction.

"So, you're like, life-partners, right? That's so cool," Michelle enthused, leading them into a well-appointed but homey living room and waving them towards the sofa.

"It doesn't bother you?" Jim asked, more of Ellen than Michelle.

"My brother is gay," Ellen said before Michelle could answer, giving Jim a faint shrug. "Dave and I used to disapprove, but that was before Michelle disappeared. We're so grateful to have her home that things like sexual orientation seem pretty inconsequential now, no matter what Rome says. Believe me, it isn't a factor."

"I understand," Jim said, a bit taken aback by that frank honesty.

They sat, Jim and Blair on one sofa, Ellen and Michelle on the other. Ellen poured them each a cup of coffee from the service she had waiting.

Michelle reached for a cup and Ellen swatted the back of her hand.

"Milk for you, young lady."

"Come on, Mom. It's decaf."

"You can have coffee after the lump gets here," Ellen said, briefly patting Michelle's swollen tummy. She caught their startled expressions and shook her head. "I'm sorry, I don't mean anything by it. It's a family nickname."

Michelle rolled her eyes in that over-dramatic, exaggerated way endemic to teens.

"Watch. When she knows you better, she'll sniffle and say 'Michelle used to be my lump." The teen rubbed her rounded belly soothingly; something Blair observed with some surprise.

"You ... are you doing okay?" Blair meant more than her physical condition and they could all hear it.

"I've been going to counseling," Michelle said with a small, wry grin as her fingers italicized the word. "Your mom helped me more than anybody," she answered him seriously. "She's like, totally amazing and has this great perspective. Wheeling tried to make us victims, but we're not. We're survivors - your mom, you, me, and the lump here. We aren't victims unless we let him make us victims."

Blair smiled then, that brilliant teeth-and-gums smile that made its recipients blink for shade.

"Yeah, she taught me that, too." Jim could tell Blair genuinely liked the teen and was trying to resign himself.

"Have you decided to keep the baby?" Jim asked as gently as he could, hoping his face was hiding the sudden disappointment he was feeling. Michelle had promised them an answer by the time of their visit, and he was very much afraid of her answer.

He and Blair had discussed all the possibilities and he knew what Blair wanted deep down inside.

He also knew what he wanted, which was the same thing as his 'life partner'.

Personally, Jim preferred 'soulmate'.

"No," Michelle shook her head. "I've given this a lot of thought. I think I could get past how she was conceived-"

"'She'?" Blair asked.

"Just a feeling I have." Michelle grinned and rubbed. "The thing is, I'm about to turn seventeen. I've got two more years of high school left and then college, and I really didn't plan on the whole kid thing this soon, if ever. So ... if you decide you don't want to take her, we can give her up for a private adoption. We know several good couples who have offered to give her a home so she won't go to strangers. That's important to me, because I want to know her. I want her to know me. I want her to know I love her, even if I couldn't keep her."

Blair closed his eyes briefly, relief pouring off him so strongly that Jim expected Michelle and Ellen could feel it, too. Ducking his head, Jim hid an uncontrollable grin, afraid to curse this by wanting it too much.

And he did want Blair's baby. They both did, with a ferocity that had shocked them both when they'd talked about it and admitted how they felt. Jim didn't know if it was a sentinel thing or a Jim Ellison thing - he just knew he wanted to raise Blair's child, that it should be their son or daughter.

"This- you- you and your husband agree?" Blair asked Ellen doubtfully, obviously as scared as Jim of getting his hopes up. Despite his status as the biological father, he wasn't taking anything for granted and given the circumstances, gaining custody without the Gilberts' support could become difficult.

"We do," Ellen said, voice equally sincere. "We'd like to remain part of his or her life, but we aren't interested in raising the baby ourselves. Michelle is our youngest. We were rather looking forward to the empty nest," she assured with a small grin. "Do I take it you definitely want the baby?"

"Yes," Blair breathed, and if his earlier smile had been bright, this one was radiant.

Michelle's eyes filled and she sniffed indelicately.

"Darned hormones."

"Hey, egg donor!" Blair called, knocking on the open door of the hospital room.

"Hey, sperm donor!" Michelle called back gaily to her parents' amused snickers. "Come on in! Have you seen her? Her? Huh? Told ya!"

"We came to see you first," Jim said and handing her a tall plastic thermos cup with Starbucks emblazoned on the sides.

"Aw, man, thanks! Let me guess, it's decaf?"

Jim grinned and shrugged.

"You tell me." In one of the biggest ironies of the entire situation, they'd discovered that Michelle Gilbert had better than average senses of taste and smell.

She sipped at the coffee carefully, and a broad grin spread over her tired features.

"The hard stuff! Cool! You're a god, Jim!"

Had they been alone, Jim would have told her that Blair had said the same thing to him last night. Michelle adored innuendo, the more ribald the better, which was something she was at pains to hide from her parents. Jim suspected they weren't at all fooled, judging from their grins as he exchanged a speaking glance with the teen and winked.

"She's an absolutely perfect baby," Naomi announced, tapping lightly on the door to announce her entry. "She looks a lot like you did, Blair sweetie, except she's as blonde as Michelle! Just gorgeous! Hi, Jim!" She came in and hugged Jim and Blair tightly. "How was the flight?"

"It was okay, and I think you- you're biased, grandma," Blair said after the Gilberts had returned Naomi's equally effusive greetings to them.

"Of course I am! That's in the grandparent rule book," Naomi explained to their shared laughter.

"How was labor and delivery?" Jim asked.

"Horrible," Michelle groaned. "I screamed. You try passing an eight pound bowling ball through your rectum!"

"She did fine," Naomi said airily, exchanging a woman's knowing smile with Ellen while the three men blanched.

Naomi had been in the delivery room, coaching Michelle right along with Ellen, at Michelle's request. Michelle and Naomi had bonded over their experiences at Drew Wheeling's hands; something the Gilberts respected, wanting their daughter to have whatever and whoever she needed to heal from what had happened.

Henri Brown was the one who'd informed Jim that Naomi blamed herself for what Wheeling did to Blair, and by extension, to Michelle, too. According to H, Naomi believed she'd "put Blair on that psycho's radar" by her meddling with Blair's dissertation, which had led directly to the press conference.

If Naomi sought atonement, Jim felt she'd earned it, at least as far as he was concerned. Between the Gilberts, he and Blair, his family, Simon, Naomi's own mother and sister, and the Wallenbergs - who'd expressed a natural interest in the outcome of Michelle's pregnancy due to the impact it would have on the Wheeling inheritance - Naomi had done a Kissinger-esque job of mediation.

On pointing that out to Blair, Jim had gotten a wry grin and an offhand "Only Nixon could go to China" that had left him a little confused until Blair made him sit down and watch The Undiscovered Country again.

He still didn't know what that meant in terms of how Blair felt about it when he'd heard that particular theory of Naomi's guilt. Blair had pointed out to Naomi that she'd had no reason to suspect that Drew Wheeling would still be interested, let alone alive; and neither was she responsible for his press conference. In retrospect, he'd made a lot of stupid moves, and he'd definitely fucked up when he hadn't told Jim right away.

That had been the same conversation during which Naomi had told them about Michelle Gilbert's abduction and subsequent pregnancy. Naomi had apparently forbidden her mother and sister from flying to Cascade with her, sending them home to Grand Rapids from Memphis, instead, with clear instructions that she or Blair and Jim would let them know when Blair was ready for visitors.

They already talked over the little that Blair would admit of his suffering at Wheeling's hands, Naomi's own, her reunions with her mother and sister, and then worked through her unnecessary - in Blair's opinion - guilt. They'd also cried and hugged and did all those Sandburg things; and worse, they'd failed to exclude a faintly uncomfortable Jim from any of it - so Jim had no warning how big a bombshell her next topic was going to be until it landed.

"There's no easy way to tell you this so I'm just going to say it. Drew Wheeling also kidnapped a sixteen year old girl named Michelle Gilbert from her hometown of Buffalo. He put her in a mental institution and told the staff she was his sister, addicted to crack cocaine, involuntarily committed to stay clean through her pregnancy. He had forged papers from a Grand Rapids judge. Wheeling had her artificially inseminated with your semen, sweetie. She's just over four months along and plans to continue with the pregnancy."

Jim felt himself pale and watched Blair go almost gray, pulling Blair against him when Blair swayed at his perch on the edge of the sofa.

"Oh, my God," Jim said for both of them, because Blair couldn't speak. For the first time since their cleansing ceremony in the rain, Blair was so upset that he could not say a single word. Blair turned into his chest, burying his face in Jim's neck and letting out a single shuddering sob.

"Is she- is she all right? Did he hurt her?" Jim asked for Blair, who absolutely could not but had to know. "Was she-"

"I spoke to her myself," Naomi assured them both. "I called her and her parents this morning. Beyond the insemination itself she wasn't- wasn't violated. Even the abduction was fairly gentle as abductions go," she added wryly with an arch look at her son, who was trying to remember how to breathe. "Blair, she's ... actually, she's quite a remarkable young woman, very bright and articulate. Not a spirit that's been dimmed. They invited me out so I'm going to see her when I leave here.

"As far as the baby is concerned, everyone will decide what to do together, I have their word. She and her parents understand you're still recovering and they'll wait for your call."

Blair turned to stare at his mother. Jim couldn't see Blair's expression, but he sensed the sudden pain Blair felt. Naomi must have seen it on Blair's face, because she reached out her hands to squeeze his, her voice watery.

"Honey, no one blames you. And no one wants this baby to grow up without a father like you had to, either. The extent of your - and Jim's - involvement is entirely up to you. Michelle hasn't decided yet whether to keep the baby or give it up for adoption, but she was very ... outspoken about acknowledging you as the father. Not in a bad way," she added hastily, wiping Blair's face dry. "It's going to work out, I promise you. You'll see. Please trust me."

"You like her," Blair finally spoke, attention arrested on his mother's face. Jim was surprised to see Naomi smile.

"I think you will, too," Naomi said.

And she'd been right. Jim and Blair had come to adore Michelle like a little sister, constantly amused by her mouthy determined attitude. She had heard, she told them once on the phone, that negative thoughts could adversely affect the baby and she simply refused to have them.

"Even in the nuthouse - yeah, not P.C. of me, sorry - I kept my spirits up. It isn't the baby's fault and I don't want it to feel bad."

She'd won them over at that moment. In months since their first meeting, they'd spent time together on several occasions; Jim and Blair flying out to Buffalo and spending a few days. One weekend they'd gone to Grand Rapids, too, with Naomi, to meet Blair's grandmother and sister, which had also gone surprisingly well.

There was also irony to be had in the fact that it was Andrew Wheeling Senior's estate that made all the air travel and time off from work possible. Due to an airtight codicil in the will, once Drew Wheeling had been indicted for a capital crime - not convicted, but merely indicted - he was out of the will ... which meant the Wheeling estate went directly to Blair, and through him, to the baby.

Blair, deciding that he quite liked the justice in that, covered Michelle's medical expenses as well as his own, any of their travel expenses, and gave substantial gifts to friends, family, and assorted charities. In short, if Blair saw a need, he felt no compunction towards relieving it with his father's family's wealth.

After giving the Wallenbergs the Wheeling family home and two vacation houses over their protests-

("Don't care- I don't care what you do with the real estate. Sell it, keep it, give it away, burn it to the ground, whatever. It's yours.)

-Blair had placed the bulk of the estate in trust for the baby and any half-siblings she might possibly have someday, setting up a college fund for Michelle, as well.

Jim thought it was all money well spent.

And now that they had even more reason to want a larger home with a yard, he and Blair had begun seriously looking at real estate in Cascade.

Michelle picked up her phone and dialed the nursery nurses' desk.

"Yeah, this is Michelle Gilbert in eighteen. I'd like my baby, please, her dads and grandparents are here."

Jim could hear the acknowledgment on the other end of the line, and exchanged an amused grin with Blair.

"'Her dads', nice ring," he murmured to Blair.

"Yeah, it does, but..." Blair shook his head. "You can be Dad. I want to be Papa."

"Have you picked a name?" Ellen asked, obviously bursting with curiosity.

"As a matter of fact, we have," Blair said.

Jim started. It was news to him.

"Tamia Michelle," Blair said, spelling Tamia for Naomi and the Gilberts while Jim grinned delightedly.

It was derived from the Quechua word for 'rain'.

"That's if you don't mind," Blair asked Michelle, who was smiling brilliantly, delighted herself.

"That's so pretty! And thank you!"

The nurse wheeled in the small cart that carried a clear plastic bassinette and a gold and pink baby. Noting their surprise, the nurse grinned at them all. "We got her ready when we saw you coming. Who's first? Dad?"

"Oh, wow," Blair whispered, sliding his hands under the squirming bundle. Under a fringe of pale hair so blonde it looked like she wore a halo, a pair of intense deep blue eyes blinked open and fixed on Blair's, going cross-eyed with concentration.

He lifted the baby in his hands, staring back at her with equal fascination.

"Oh, Jim. She's amazing." A tiny rosebud mouth smacked at him reflexively as he cradled Tamia close to his chest and brushed her cheek with one finger. "Wow, Michelle. You- she's-"

"I know. I must have looked at her for hours earlier. It's like magic, isn't it? God made a new person through us. I feel just ... amazed is a good word."

Michelle's voice was quiet, but her tone was sincere.

The nurse, who'd been listening, smiled with appreciation. The story behind the birth of baby Gilbert had unfortunately made the news after all, and although no reputable reporter had mentioned her name, the staff at Sisters of Charity had put two and two together on learning of Michelle Gilbert's situation. Her giving up the baby to an openly gay male couple had raised a few eyebrows, though no one had the nerve to say anything to her face.

"Tamia Michelle Sandburg," Naomi nodded approvingly. "Strong name."

"Tamia Michelle Ellison-Sandburg," Blair corrected, carefully turning towards Jim. "Here ya go, Dad."

Jim took Tamia with equal care, cradling her slight weight in one arm while his fingertips brushed over that hair.

Looking into another pair of blue eyes, Jim Ellison fell in love again.

Epilogue ***

Two AM, and despite the fact that they were both exhausted, Jim and Blair grinned at each other in perfect understanding. One month into parenthood and they still hadn't reached the stage where they traded off the night-time feedings, preferring to care for the baby together while they were still both on family leave.

Jim, bare to the waist, cradled their fussy daughter against his chest and danced her lightly around the living room while Blair was warming a bottle with newly acquired skill.

"I'm walking the floor over you," Jim crooned, and Blair smiled, so full of love he thought he might burst.

Jim and Tamia made a perfect picture; Tamia, her blonde hair sticking straight up, kicking her demands in her tiny white fitted sleeper, little face scrunched pink and tight as she grunted and fussed ... looking small and fragile in Jim's well-muscled arms; protected and defended with the same incredible strength Jim lavished on everyone he cared for. It was so powerful a sight that Blair could only sigh and admire it.

"I can't sleep a wink, it is true," Jim sang, and winked at Blair, who laughed quietly just because he was so damned happy. He tested the warmth of the formula on his inner forearm and held the bottle out in Jim's direction.

"Are we gonna have to start wrestling over who gets to feed her?"

"You have the best ideas," Jim said, coming over to him and landing a serious kiss on his mouth - at least, until Tamia squawked hungrily at them.

"Best two falls out of three?" Jim asked as he drew away, his handsome face soft with contentment, blue eyes bright and clear in spite of the hour.

"As soon as she goes back to sleep," Blair promised.

They sat together on the sofa, leaning against each other while Tamia sucked greedily on the bottle Jim gave her.

"The closing's at ten, right?" Jim's question was softly murmured into Blair's hair. They'd found a four bedroom house on ten acres not too far from Jim's dad - who as a grandfather was gleefully reconnecting with his inner child and dying to spoil Tamia rotten - and they were due to sign the papers today.

"Right. I'm gonna miss this place."

"I'm sure Daryl will let us visit," Jim said, a grin in his voice that made Blair snicker. "How do you feel about getting a dog?"

"Every kid needs a dog," Blair replied agreeably, looking at the big kid sitting beside him. "When did Dan Wolf say the litter would be weaned?"

"How did you-" Jim cut himself off and shook his head, glaring at Blair with fond exasperation. "We're not gonna be able to get anything past you, are we?"

"You're gonna have to get up pretty early in the morning, Ellison."

"That's not so hard to do when you've got a good reason," Jim said, staring into Blair's eyes. "Two good reasons."

"Yeah," Blair said with a big smile.

It was worth it, what they'd gone through.

Worth everything.

End

July 24, 2005 - August 23, 2005

End The Retrieval Series by Polly Bywater: [email protected]
Author and story notes above.

Disclaimer: The Sentinel is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount.

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