"By Light and Dark and all things living 
No prison exceeds 
Memories Existing...."
 

"And our retention figures are up 19%, due in part, I believe, to our innovative policies in enrollment management. Now, the list I'm passing around will give each of you a set of students who are enrolled for the current semester but not for Fall 2000."

Blair Sandburg, Ph.D., Associate Professor -- make that TENURED Associate Professor of Anthropology -- make that the politically correct Curriculum on New World Indigenous Cultures -- stifled a yawn and didn't need a surreptitious glance at his pocket watch to tell him that this staff meeting was already at least half an hour over its planned limit. Jennifer Morrissey-Ashoke, Ph.D., tenured Assistant Professor of Anthropology and recently appointed Acting Vice President in Charge of Enrollment Management and Student Retention Facilities (due to dedicated political butt kissing on her part) was chairing the meeting. Her handout was a spreadsheet printout showing that the numbers of students staying put at the University of the Mid-Atlantic were breaking all previous records. "Jen," he said, ignoring her slight frown; They'd worked together as equals for four years and he wasn't going to start "Dr-ing" her just because she was temporarily an Acting VP, "just exactly what are we supposed to do with these student lists?"

"Phone them, find out why they haven't registered for classes in the fall. Offer any help you can to get them registered."

"I see."

"I realize that you all have other duties, but let's not forget that without students..."

"There is no university." Blair and the six other profs around the conference table chanted the end of her sentence in unison. 

"Damn right we've got other duties." Next to him, Barbara Shakira, Blair's counterpart in forensic anthropology, exploded. "I've got all I can handle dealing with the students who are enrolled, without hounding the ones who haven't got around to signing up for Fall." 

"Yes, does our cretinous President really think that this phoning thing is going to get the stupid little pinheads in here any faster?" The speaker had a nasal, flat voice that was irritating just on account of the tone, never mind what he actually said.

Blair frowned at the annoying voice's owner, Robert Kermitt, a short, potato shaped man who headed up the archeology section of the anthro department. Robert was not much beloved of either his students or other faculty; he thought everyone else was a pinhead, an opinion he took no trouble to hide, and the attitude wasn't one that won friends and influenced people. Blair had spent odd moments during the last four years trying to figure out just what kind of scandal the guy had on the President. It had to be negatives involving a goat and lots of cottage cheese, because otherwise how the hell anybody so incompetent and obnoxious could get tenure...Kermitt didn't even bother to play politics very well, for God's sake. "Thank you, Bobby, for your usual insightful summing up of the subject at hand."

"Can it, Sandburg. You may be a prissy asshole, but you know damn well I'm right. Most of our so-called students don't know an enrollment form from their sweet mother's butt."

"I really doubt that they're quite that hopeless, Bobby." Blair kept his temper in check from long practice and was happily aware that the diminutive of his name thoroughly annoyed the other man.

"Look, Sand-dune -- that politically correct crap is all very well for a nice little Jewish prissy boy like you, but the rest of us know that..."

"That's enough." The voice was quiet, but held a wealth of authority. It did not come from their erstwhile meeting leader, but from a man sitting at the opposite end of the oval table. "I believe the question posed had to do with the efficacy of telephoning students. Not their intelligence levels or Dr. Sandburg's religion." Jerry Anselm, head of the paleoanthropology division seldom said much in meetings, but when he did, in his clipped, British accent, most people listened. Kermitt subsided, glaring round the table.

Barbara Shakira noddded. "I agree. Dr. Kermitt is out of line. As usual."

"Now, look who's at it, you..." Kermitt started up. 

"Shut up, Robert." Jerry Anselm could out-glare anybody, any time, when he put his mind to it.

Kermitt subsided.

Aware that somehow the meeting had gotten away from her, Jennifer Morrissey-Ashoke stood up. Time to be firm. She was an Acting VP after all. "You'll call the students on your respective lists. Find out what you can do to get them in here. And that is the end of the discussion. Bottom line -- the President wants the numbers to be up and stay up. Any objections if I email the date and time of the next staff meeting?"

No one objected. 

"Blair -- wait."

Blair stopped, but sighed all the same. He'd been hoping to make a swift and unimpeded getaway, but no such luck. There were days he loved his job and wouldn't think of doing anything else and days when he wondered if he'd been out of his mind to pursue a career at the university faculty level. Today was one of those latter days. "What do you need, Jerry?"

Jerry Anselm grinned at him. "Now, why do you think I want something?"

"Because I'm psychic. Because I know you. And because I cannot imagine you calling up a bunch of students and asking them why they haven't signed up yet."

"Drat. Cover's blown. The thing is, I wouldn't mind doing the telephoning, but I'm due to leave for home day after tomorrow, and there really isn't time..." He trailed off looking as hopeful as a 50 year-old former Oxford don could manage. 

"You need to work on that hopeful expression thing, Jerry. You resemble a sick Basset Hound right now."

"Blair, old chap, do be helpful. I've not got all that many students, after all. Most of 'em sign up straight away because they're caught in my hypnotic spell."

Blair stuck out his hand. "Hypnotic spell? Have you been inhaling your tea leaves again?"

If Jerry had possessed long floppy hound ears, they would've been drooping all over the place. 

Blair sighed loudly. "All right. Give me the list."

The Sick Basset Hound instantly transformed into Happy Basset Hound. "I say, I owe you another one. I've been looking forward to this Spring Break for ages. Going out to a dig on the Salisbury Plain for part of the time. And what are you doing during the next four weeks?"

"Apparently calling students who haven't registered for Fall."

"That'll take you about two days. How about the other 26?"

//Trying to keep my mind too busy to think.// Aloud he smiled and shrugged. "Catching up on my reading."

*****
He'd been too busy, the last week, getting in the end of semester grades to even look at the Carnegie Sentinel/Times. The title of the local newspaper often caused Blair a bit of rueful amusement. Now, he settled down on his comfortable sofa, in his rambling, tastefully decorated house just across the street from the campus, opened up the first newspaper from his stack and started to drink his nice, hot coffee. The first sip went down smoothly. He abandoned the sports section as being a week old and therefore useless and picked up the "Around Town" local news page instead. He took a large sip of coffee, idly scanning the "New Arrivals & Happenings" column. This usually contained light gossip and local business happenings of import (the paper's banner proclaimed: All the News in Carnegie, Pennsylvania's Third Largest City!), reported in a clipped, breezy style. 

Then he froze. His large sip of coffee went down entirely the wrong way, sending him into a spluttering, coughing fit. When he'd recovered somewhat, he dabbed the coffee he'd spit out off the paper and re-read the blurb that nearly choked him. 

"JANUARY'S dull, gray days, have been somewhat lightened by the arrival in Carnegie of our new Chief of Police. James J. Ellison comes to this corner of the world from a stellar career as a detective with the Cascade Washington, Police Department. He'll certainly be a breath of fresh air after the scandal attending his predecessor's departure."

He put the paper on the floor and got up, taking his cup into the kitchen, rinsing it thoroughly and placing it with exquisite care into the dishwasher. Basky, his orange tabby cat, jumped up on the counter. Blair rubbed the cat's soft ears. "No, Basky." Basky continued to look at him with great big green eyes. The cat's theory of life was simple: If Blair was in the kitchen, it had to be supper time.

"No, Basky," Blair repeated, reaching into the cupboard and pulling out a can of Fancy Feast TROUT SURPRISE. Absently he put it on a plate and left an ecstatic Basky to it.

"So much for keeping too busy to think." 

"Ok, your computer is on-line, fully operational, all that good stuff."

Jim Ellison smiled at tech. "Thanks."

"You're welcome, sir. You have no idea how nice it will be to have somebody sitting in this office that we can stand to work for."

Ellison raised an eyebrow. "Thanks again. I think."

The tech grinned. "You know what I mean -- after all the stuff that went down with Chief Angstadt, just about anything at all would be an improvement. Wait, I didn't mean that the way it sounded...oh shit...sir."

Her new boss laughed. "I do know what you mean -- and you're right. Anybody would be an improvement. Have I got email capability?"

Relieved the tech nodded. "Yes, sir. And all the databases will answer to your password and userid. Anything else?"

"Not right now."

He waited until the tech had departed closing the door carefully behind her before allowing himself to let out the breath he was holding and sitting down in his chair. Behind his desk. In his private office. 

//The CHAIR, The DESK, the OFFICE, Ellison.// he corrected himself. Simon and Ryf had been so pleased for him; well, they should be. The two Cascade cops had practically written his CV and cover letter for him and Ryf had accompanied him to the post office to mail the damn thing. Simon had rounded up an embarrasing number of VIP glowing references. And by the time he went in for in-person interviews his competitive streak was up and flowing and he'd gone out of his way to sell himself to the City Commissioners. If there were possible repercussions in moving across the country, he stomped them down and refused to review them. 

His last conversation with Simon as he waited to board his plane was as unsettling in memory as it had been in reality.

They'd been in waiting area at Gate 67A, waiting for the boarding call of United Flight 167 departing Seattle with stops in Chicago, Illinois, then on to Pittsburgh and, finally, Carnegie, Pennsylvania:

"I don't know if this was altogether wise, Jim."

Jim stared at Simon. "It is a little late to raise doubts, Simon."

"I know -- But I pushed you into going for this job and now I wonder if I was right."

Jim studied his friend, then shrugged. "Nobody pushed. If I hadn't really wanted it, I could've blown the interviews. Or not sent out the damned CV in the first place." He examined the airport carpet, noting that it needed a really good cleaning. "Time for me to move up and all. Carnegie's a good-sized city without the heavy duty problems of Philadelphia or New York. Good place to start. And I'll love the clean-up process."

"Yeh, that's what I thought. I know. But that was before..." 

"Go ahead, Simon. You can say his name."

Simon reached for one of his cigars, remembered where they were and satisfied himself with playing with their expensive leather case. "Ok, Jim. That was before we found out that Carnegie is also the home of the University Blair is tenured at."

He'd refused to give Simon any help. "So?"

"So what happens if you run into him?

"I'll give him your best wishes and dearest love."

"Don't be a smartass, Ellison."

Jim stood up, hands thrust deep into his pockets and looked down at Simon impassively. "What would you like me to do? Go down on one knee and propose?"

Simon gave in and clamped an unlit cigar between his teeth. Two people sitting opposite assumed expressions resembling pained walruses. He waggled it at them. "Might not have been a bad idea four years ago."

"Oh, right. Leave it Simon. That's water over and under the bridge."

"Is it?"

But Jim had refused to be drawn further. "How often, Simon, do you suppose that the Carnegie PD and the faculty at Mid-Atlantic University cross paths? Probably, not often. If it happens, fine. If not -- that's fine too. Better than fine." He shouldered his one carry-on bag, much relieved to hear the boarding call going out of the loudspeaker. 

"Jim..."

"Simon -- I'll miss you. I'll be calling. I'll email. Take care, buddy." 

A brief hug and he had gone down the ramp, boarded his plane, and never looked back...

"Sir?"

He jumped then returned to the present. "What?"

A slight young man entered the office. "I'm your secretary, sir. Just wanted to introduce myself and bring in a few phone messages that came in this morning while you were meeting with Mayor Keller."

"Oh, right. Come in." He rose and put out a hand which his secretary shook in a nicely firm grip. "And you are?" 

"Devlin Flannery, sir. And yes, I'm a guy. And yes I can really type. And I do not take stereotypical secretary jokes well, though I do have a sense of humor. And yes I am Irish."

Jim eyed the young man's sharply pointed face beneath hair so red it appeared to be on fire. "Cover all the stereotypical bases, there, did you?"

"I try to, sir. Your messages." He handed them over briskly. Jim took them meekly and waited, figuring there was more to come. Devlin took a deep breath. "I also have a black belt in karate and like collecting 18th century porceline figurines." The sharply pointed face had relaxed just a bit, and there was a suspicion of a twinkle in the green eyes.

"Right. I'll keep those in mind come Christmas."

"Uh, oh, fine, sir."

"Anything else I should know, Flannery?"

"Not as of now, sir, except -- do you want me to work for you or do you want a replacement from the City Typing Pool?"

Jim examined the man in front of him thoughtfully. "Seems to me the question is -- do you want to work for me? I'm curt to the point of thoughtless when I'm on a case, I don't cut any slack and I'm likely to jump down your throat if you don't think as fast as I do. On the other hand, I give credit where its due and try to play fair."

Devlin Flannery grinned bigger. "I think I can handle that, sir. Chief Anstadt said any guy who was a secretary HAD to be gay and he didn't want any goddamned faggots on his staff, so I got sent back to the main Pool. His hand-picked secretary was indicted when he was. Anyway, I'm still at the top of the class so the Typing Pool Supervisor sent me up. I mean I was next on the Civil Service Promo list. Sir."

Jim had heard all about it from briefings with Mayor Keller and the head of the City Commissioners. "Chief Angstadt is history, Flannery. Personally, I don't care if you wear a bright pink squirrel suit and try to date gray squirrels in the park on your private time -- as long as you don't create a public nuisance. On City time you work your butt off. Got it?"

Flannery saluted. "Yes, sir. Anything you want me to do, sir?"

"Directions to the coffee machine?"

The man relaxed completely. "Absolutely not a problem. I do get coffee, by the way and I have 8 different kinds of coffee on tap at my desk. Including mocha vanilla volcano wake-up." Devlin didn't flinch, but the sudden stony look that came over Ellison's face sent a chill down his spine. He wondered why the mention of a coffee flavor should make his new boss go still as a statue. 

But all the new Chief said was a mild:

"Where'd you get onto that one? Didn't think it was sold here."

"My anthro prof over at U -- he's from the west coast too, you know. Loves that kind. My wife is their department secretary, by the by, I get a discount on classes, which is great, and Blair gave us some for Christmas this year. Want to try it? I am married by the way."

Jim was amazed at how normal he sounded. "Uh, no, thanks, Flannery. Maybe some other time. And I look forward to meeting your wife some time."

Robert Kermitt, MA, Ph.D., kicked back in his chair and watched as the paper airplane he'd made out of his "students to call" list sailed right into his circular file basket. //My God, what a bunch of idiots. If they think I am going to waste my valuable time calling a bunch of half-wits too stupid to get their asses in here to sign up for classes, they're nuts.// He looked around his office, his domain, and smiled. He'd never have gotten tenure, never in a million years, if it just hadn't been his good luck to be in the right place at the right time. Yep, there was a lot to be said for having good timing. It made up for a complete lack of interest in teaching or students or anything beyond getting his name in print in the research journals and snowing 'em all down at Archeology Today magazine with pithy articles on "his" digs. The perks were amazing, look at this cruise/tour of the Greek Islands that he was leaving for in the morning. A whole ship full of people with money and "an avowed interest in archeology..." as the brochure put it. All he had to do was talk his standard bit, schmooze with the fools a little, and the rest was eating, sunning himself and sizing up whatever female talent might be on board. Not bad. 

He reached over and picked up the half a ham sandwich he'd been eating before that stupid staff meeting. The fact that it was stale now, and the bread curling didn't deter him. Munching, he tapped out a couple of print commands, sending his standard "Wonders of Archeology" talk to the printer.

The last thing he noticed was that it was getting very difficult to breathe.

******

Somewhere an annoying bell was ringing at him. Blair tried to ignore it, but it kept on. Swearing, because he'd forgotten to put the answering machine on yet again, he rolled over in the general direction of the sound and hit the floor with a thud. Basky sat on the arm of the couch glaring at him, obviously outraged at being so rudely dislodged from his favorite sleeping spot on Blair's stomach. 

Blair grabbed at the phone on the end table. "Hello?" 

"Blair, where the hell have you been? I've been ringing you forever!"

"Jerry?" Blair groped around and found his glasses on top of his head. He adjusted them onto his nose and looked at the clock on the wall. "Is it 6 AM or 6 PM?"

"AM."

"Then why are you calling me? Its the crack of dawn! Besides, I thought you were leaving for England?"

"I was. Blair -- Robert Kermitt's been murdered."

"What? When? How?"

"Looks like poison. At least -- one of my students moonlights at the coronor's office and he told me that's the preliminary consensus. Nothing official yet, of course. The President started a phone chain -- calling all the faculty still in town and all that. However, the thing is -- he was in our department and everyone knows how much we all detested him."

Strangely, that made sense. "The faculty are suspects?"

"I imagine so -- he was found in his office when security did a routine building check this morning at about 1 AM. The guard called the police."

Blair was fully awake now, wits gathered. "You still have time to make your plane, Jerry. I don't see that this will interfere...will it?"

"That's the sticky wicket, Blair. The President is a good friend of the Mayor. The Mayor is doing his friend a favor by having the new Chief of Police head up the investigation. And the new Chief has asked that no one, er -- how do you Yanks put it? That nobody leave town for the time being."

"Whew. How do you know all this?"

"Shelley."

"Our department secretary?"

Jerry laughed. "Her husband just got the job of administrative assistant to the new Chief of Police."

"Oh. I see. Well, what's next?"

"I imagine they'll interview us all. Try to figure out if anyone has some deep dark reason for murdering dear Bobby." Jerry snorted, "As if anyone who ever spent more than 5 minutes in his company didn't want to kill him."

Blair's smile was wry. "I wouldn't tell that to the Chief of Police, Jerry."

"Probably not the best idea, I agree. Look, I've still got a couple of people to phone. Don't worry about your lot -- I've already rung them. Least I could do, old chap. And I'll call you if I hear anything else."

Blair hung up the phone. One thing about Jerry Anselm -- what he didn't know about goings on (public and private) campus-wide (or in Carnegie in general, for that matter) wasn't worth bothering about. If he said that the new Chief, James J. Ellison, was heading up the investigation at the Mayor's request -- then it was so. Blair shook his head. He could just imagine how thrilled Jim would be in being handed a routine murder investigation as his first "assignment" in Carnegie.

*****

To describe James Joseph Ellison's response to the Mayor's "request" as "Thrilled" was an understatement. "Mayor Keller," Jim began, using his most reasonable tone of voice.

"Phil, please call me Phil."

"All right. Phil -- there are many excellent detectives working in homicide. I'll be happy to assign as many of them as you like to this investigation."

"Jim, Mid-Atlantic U is a very wealthy and prestigious institution of higher learning. President Austen is a personal friend of mine. I assured her that you would personally handle the investigation."

"Mayor Keller, er, Phil, I don't see why one of the homicide team can't handle it."

"Jim, let me put it this way -- politics." Keller's voice had lost its practiced smoothness and carried a dry tone that reached Jim as the oily politico routine had not.

"Ah." He looked at his watch. "Fine. I'll handle it."

"Thank you. And Jim,"

"Yes?"

"I owe you one."

//You bet your sweet ass, you do, Your Honor.// "Don't mention it, Phil," Jim said sweetly.

"So," Jim Ellison said several hours later, as mid-day loomed and his temper hadn't improved much despite the elegant surroundings, "what do we have so far?" President Austen had given them her office as a base for their interviews.

The two homicide detectives, partners Carruthers and Fujitsu, looked as disgusted as their boss sounded. "Basically, Chief -- everybody who anything to do with Dr. Kermitt hated his guts." Judy Carruthers scanned her notes, although she didn't really need to. 

"Right, talk about universally disliked...this guy couldn't get elected garbage man on this campus," Pete Fujitsu chimed in. "I have interviewed 17 staff, 14 faculty -- including the 5 other people in his immediate department, and a couple of grad students who worked for him. Nobody has a good word for the guy. He sounds like an obnoxious bastard."

"Obnoxious or not, if he was murdered, its our job to find out who did it." Jim sighed, "Of course, having a million possible suspects who all hated the man doesn't make my job easier."

"No, sir." Carruthers said.

"Who else is there to interview?" Ellison questioned.

Fujitsu consulted his own notes. "Ah, let's see. A Dr. Sandburg, a Dr. Shakira and a Dr. Anselm."

"Sandburg? Blair Sandburg?"

Fujitsu exchanged a look with his partner. "Uh, yes. Know him?"

Ellison shrugged. "Not very well."

******
Blair was still trying to decide if it would be better to eat lunch at home or head over to the University, when his doorbell rang.

"Be right there!" He called, heading down the hallway. "Basky, down. Basky...get off my shoulders, you're too heavy, and..." He opened the door and looked up. 

Jim Ellison couldn't help it. The picture presented to him made him smile. Blair, long curls going in about ten different directions at once, glasses perched on the end of his nose, was trying to remove an enormous orange tabby cat from its position across his shoulders. "Need some help?"

"Er, no, thanks. Uh, come in." Blair finally got Basky off his back and onto the floor where the cat immediately began taking a bath. "I heard you were in town."

"Bad news travels fast, eh?"

"Yes, I mean -- no. I just read it in the paper." Blair cursed himself for being as flustered as a first time teaching assistant. "Let me take your coat."

Jim hesitated. 

Probably no one else would've noticed the minute hesitation, but Blair did. "All right, keep your coat on. I assume you're hear about Robert Kermitt?" Irritation gave Blair a handle on himself. He was pleased at how calm he sounded. "Living room is through here."

Ellison followed. //Wow. The kid has done well.// The outside of the house -- large and turn of the century elegant was impressive. Now the interior met with his approval as well. The large rooms were done in airy, light colors. Sunlight streamed in through old-fashioned 8 foot tall windows. A fire burned merrily on the hearth. A mix of South American Indian objects and antiques worked, though he couldn't quite put a finger on why. "Very nice."

Blair leaned against the fire place mantle, feeling like he had at least six hands too many and forced himself not to fidgit. "Being tenured has its rewards."

"Pay must be pretty good."

"Yeh, Mid-Atlantic has some very generous alumni. It allows them to pay top dollar for faculty."

"Getting published regularly?"

Blair stared at him, then nodded. "Yes - did you come here about Dr. Kermitt or to ask me how my more recent research projects are doing?"

Jim's face bore no recognizable expression. Just as it hadn't registered any emotion the last time they had seen each other. "I'd hardly be here to discuss old times, would I?"

"I suppose not. Discussing things was never your strong point, was it Jim?" //Damn. That sounded a little too bitter.//

"Guess not." Jim sat down on the couch. Basky jumped up and regarded him intently. "Is he deciding if I'm edible or not?"

"Probably." Blair stuck his hands in his pockets. "All I can tell you about Kermitt is that he was obnoxious and people are probably holding parties all over Carnegie today celebrating his demise."

Jim tentatively reached out a hand to pet the cat. Basky bit him, snarled and raced out of the room. "He doesn't like me."

//Basky, bud, you get real tuna for dinner tonight.// Aloud, carefully neutral, he said "Basky's very loyal."

"Are you?"

"Loyal?" Blair regretted the word as soon as it left his mouth. //Oh, good one, Blair. Play right into his hands.// 

Jim shook his head. "I meant are you one of the ones celebrating Kermitt's demise?"

//OK. Nothing like being Mr. Cool, is there?// "Oh. Not really. I didn't work all that closely with him. And I'm used to ignoring irritating bastards." //Good shot; one point for Mr. Blair.//

"Right. Can you think of anyone who might be less forbearing than you are?" Jim glanced down at his hand; yep. He was bleeding. //Damn cat.//

"At least a dozen." Blair saw the direction Jim's glance had taken. "You're bleeding. Come on -- I'll get a bandaid for it."

"Its nothing."

"You wouldn't say that if you had to change Basky's litter boxes on a regular basis."

Jim thought about that. "Oh. I see your point."

"Come on, the first aid stuff is in the kitchen." Blair led the way from the living room into a wide hallway. The kitchen was a long, sunny room at the very back of the house. Blair opened one of the many glass fronted cabinets and pulled out Betadine and a box of bandaids. There was a large double sink set into the counter/work area along the wall. Another, smaller, sink graced the work island in the middle of the room. Blair gestured vaguely in its direction. "Wash the blood off first."

Jim found himself doing as he was told. 

Blair patted the injured hand dry and applied a small amount of Betadine. Jim's other hand came up and ran into Blair's as he was lowering the bandaid into place. Dry mouthed, Blair fought to get his suddenly erratic breathing under control. Jim knew he should drop his unscratched hand; should move away from Blair's touch. And could not. Was it his extra sensitive hearing or was there really a buzz of electricity in the room, crackling between them?

"Blair/Jim..." They stopped, having spoken at the same time.

"Go on, Blair. Put on the bandaid." 

They pretended not to notice how much both their hands were shaking.

===============================================================
By dint of sheer force of will, Blair managed to get the bandaid on Jim's hand and actually over where Basky'd clawed him. Then he dropped his hands and stepped back, feeling as though he had just come in contact with high voltage wiring.Jim Ellison's face was pale, his mouth set in a firm line. //Mr. Together. If I don't get out of here, I am going to make the biggest fool of myself...// 

"So, you can't think of anyone in particular who might've wanted to bump Kermitt off?"

It took Blair a couple of seconds to adjust his focus. "No. Like I said, people all over town are probably breaking out champaign."

"Right." Jim fought off the sensation of drowning, telling himself that his over-active senses were not going to get the better of him. "Well, if you think of someone, give the office a call. I'm supposed to be working miracles here, you know."

"After Chief Angstadt, all you have to do to be considered a miracle in Carnegie is walk and chew gum at the same time." Blair was pleased at how dry and amused he sounded, even to himself.

Jim managed a grin. "Everybody keeps saying that. Somehow, I have a little higher standard of performance for myself, you know?" 

Oh, yes. Blair knew. "Only too well. I'll walk you out." Jim was on the porch before Blair spoke again. "Take it easy."

"You really mean take a flying leap."

Blair shrugged. "Take it any way you want, man." The door closed, leaving Jim alone in the cold and the sunlight.

"Blair. Oh hell." Jim said softly.

"Cyanide. Impure and simple. And readily available on campus." At Jim's look, the Coroner explained, "Chemistry Labs, Chief Ellison."

"Of course. So, I'm back to square one? Poison identified, but still a list of possible perps a mile long. Thanks a lot, Doc."

Dr. Irina Jaszkowa looked amused. "You want shoe-ins, go watch a Quincy re-run. That Sam -- I'd like to hire him as an assistant."

"Re-runs are starting to sound really good, Doc." 

Somewhere an annoying bell was ringing at him. Blair tried to ignore it, but it kept on. "Oh god, not again." Blair rolled over and fell off the couch with a resounding thump. "We've got to stop meeting like this," he told the carpet.

Blair groped cautiously around and picked up the phone but the dial tone greeted him. And the annoying bell continued ringing. "Ah ha," he said to his carpeting, "the only possibility left is...the door bell. Who the hell is ringing...no," he amended, because now the ringing had stopped and someone was banging on the door, "banging on the door at," he wriggled his arm back around and peered at his watch, "3 AM?"

The carpeting remained mute and Blair reluctantly pushed himself upright and struggled to his feet. "Awright, already..." Casting caution to the winds of annoyance, he flung his front door open and had James Ellison nearly fall on top of him. 

"Have you developed a hearing problem, Sandburg?"

Blair eyed his former partner sourly. "Have you developed a time problem, Jim?"

Jim stalked past him, shrugging out of his coat as he did so. "Time problem?"

"Do come in." Blair threw the door shut and turned to face Ellison, his arms folded protectively across his chest. "Its dark out, Jim. And the big hand is on the 12 and the little hand is on the 3. That means 3 AM. I was asleep. Silly habit of mine, I know, but..."

Jim looked stricken. Then he looked embarrassed. "Oh, hell. Blair, I'm sorry. This whole mess...I'll leave." 

He actually had his coat back on and a hand on the door knob by the time Blair got his mouth open. "Oh for god's sake, you're here now. I'm awake now. If you leave, I'll still be awake."

"Do you always sleep on the couch?" There was nothing wrong with Jim's eyesight. 

Blair shrugged. When he was unsettled, upset, or worried, he would abandon his big, comfortable bedroom upstairs, and spend the night snuggled up on the couch. Usually with the TV on to the History Channel. The voices gave him the comforting illusion that he was not alone and stopped him from thinking -- well, stopped him from thinking quite so much. 

None of which was he about to admit to James Ellison. "Sometimes. And what brings you out here at this time of the night?"

"I hear that you have a supply of Mocha Vanilla Volcano Wake-up on hand."

"Shelley's husband. I gave them some for Christmas."

Jim nodded. "Sherlock Holmes."

"OK. Follow me."

Jim sat at the white pine kitchen table watching Blair, as the Mr. Coffee burped away happily on the table top between them. There was an eerily familiar feel about the scene, as though they'd side-stepped in time. "How many times did we end up drinking caffeine at 3 AM and trying to figure out a case?"

Blair laughed, shoved his hair out of his face, poured out and handed Jim a mug. "Too many nights. We could've done commercials for Volacano Wake-up." 

"Might have worked out better if we had."

"Maybe. I haven't seen you or your minions around campus the last few days -- how's the investigation going?"

Jim rubbed his neck. It didn't help, he still felt as though someone was pulling the muscles out one by one. "It isn't." He watched as Basky jumped onto the table and sat down next to his elbow, unwavering green gaze clearly showing he knew that Jim Ellison was up to no good.

"What a charming cat."

Blair grinned. "He's protecting me. What killed Kermitt?"

"Cyanide. Good old Sparkling Cyanide. In the ham sandwich. And who put it there? We have no leads. There are no prints. No one saw anyone go into or out of Kermitt's office that day or night. No prints in the Chem lab that shouldn't be there. No likely suspect has obtained cyanide in the last year or knows anyone who has done so. To all intents and purposes, if I didn't know it was impossible, I'd say Kermitt did himself in. Except," he ticked off on his fingerse "One, he was too self-satisfied from all accounts to do that." Jim drank some coffee, "Two, he was scheduled to leave the next day to be a speaker on some perk loaded cruise put on by Archeology Today magazine, and Three, I just don't get the feeling he was the type to commit suicide." He thumped the table and Basky growled at him. "Sorry, cat. Nothing adds up, and no one knew him well or really wanted to. I may have to close it out as "unsolved" at least for the timebeing."

Blair nodded. "Its weird, no one seeing anything. Reminds me of a case in Missouri. Town bully drove everyone nuts. Finally, one of the townspeople shot the guy dead in the middle of the street. Broad daylight, at lunch time. Tons of witnesses. And no one saw a thing. The case was never solved."

"Great. I have a feeling that's what's going on here."

Blair considered. "Hm. It is possible. The campus is kind of a world unto itself. And Kermitt wasn't the sort of person you really wanted to hang around with, Jim. I think he must've had something on the President or one of the Board members, because he was too incompetent and obnoxious to get tenure otherwise."

"You used to say that it was all politics."

"Well, yeh, Jim, it is. All other things being equal, like getting published, getting to deliver papers and so on. But the thing about Kermitt was he didn't bother to play the game, beyond publishing not-so-well written articles for various of the less fussy journals. He was just as shitty to the President as he was to everyone else."

"Now, that is interesting. Are you serious when you say he must've had something on the President or the Board?"

Blair considered it seriously. "I think I am. It just doesn't add up unless he did. There are tons of people out there, already tenured and degreed, in archeology. Any one of those people could've done a better job than Kermitt, taught classes, published, and kissed butt too. The fact that he didn't bother and still was granted tenure...there's got to be more to it. He had too much competition without having some sort of inside edge."

"Any idea what his particular inside edge could be?

"No. I've spent the last couple of years avoiding his sarcasm and trying to figure out what it might be, without coming up with an answer. I think 'Prissy Jew-Boy' was the nicest thing he ever called me in public." At Jim's disgusted exclamation he smiled. "Charming guy, wasn't he? Still, I just let it roll on by. You cannot win an argument with a man like Robert Kermitt." He added some cream to his mug and stirred the brew absently. "I guess the Mayor isn't too happy about the lack of viable suspects."

"Nope."

"Doesn't make you look..." Blair stopped, then contemplated his coffee cup once again.

"No it doesn't make the bright new boy on the block look good. On the other hand, if you're right, at least it gives me somewhere to start digging."

"Have you really looked in his office? Yourself, I mean."

Jim knew exactly what he was referring to. "Yeh. I turned up absolutely nothing."

"You'll find him. Or her."

"Thanks for the confidence."

"Any time." Blair debated for a moment and then said "Jim, why did you come here tonight?"

"The case, what else?"

"Sure, the case." A feeling of sudden, overwhelming exhaustion descended on Blair like a ton of bricks. "Well, if its just the case, we've talked about it, and you'd better go get your beauty sleep." He started to get up. Jim's hand on his wrist stopped him.

"The case and ... everything else."

Blair sat. "I see. Sort of."

"Its been four years, Blair. I've had a lot of time to think. We ended on such a lousy note." //Entirely due to you, stupid.//

"It wasn't lousy. It wasn't anything. I said I was offered a professorship back east and you said that was great. The next thing I knew I was at the airport on my way to Pittsburgh."

"I realize that there were things I should've said." //Yeh, like don't go. Or, I'll come with you. Or, I need you. Or...//

Blair's eyes, behind his glasses, regarded him steadily. Jim resisted an urge to squirm. 

"Jim, unless you were telling me what a great opportunity I'd been given and how I couldn't pass it by, you said nothing. And then, you just drove me to the airport, stared straight ahead until I got out of the truck, and then drove off. You never even looked back. I took that to be kind of final." He spread his hands out, studying them as though they belonged to another and he couldn't imagine where they'd come from. "It wasn't like we had any kind of commitment going anyway."

Jim wanted to say something brilliant, something that would explain it all, make sense, capture his feelings and express them clearly to Blair. Wanted to, but instead, as usual when under emotional stress, his mind dried up, thoughts having to struggle through muck the consistency of frozen jello. "Oh." Was all he managed. 

"Oh." Blair sat back in his chair, a disgusted expression on his face. "'Oh' -- four years of total silence and all you can manage to say is 'Oh.' You're going to have to do better than that."

"I wanted you to further your career. You worked so damned hard to get your doctorate. It wouldn't have been fair to hold you back. Besides, YOU were the one who kept going on and on and on about how rare tenured positions were and how you didn't think you could afford to blow off a chance like this. What was I supposed to do?" He trailed off; what was he supposed to say? //Hey, Blair, buddy, old pal - I would've thrown myself in front of the plane and hung on to the landing gear if I thought it'd do any good?// 

Blair was right -- it wasn't as if they had any kind of commitment thing going. They weren't a couple; oh, sure, they'd taken some tentative steps. Very, very tentative. Feeling their way toward each other until there was a point at which they'd almost crossed the fine line. They'd come so close. Just a hair's breadth more and they would have. But, as an old soldier friend of Jim's was fond of saying, 'Close only counts with horseshoes and hand grenaids." While they sat teetering on the edge of new vistas, Blair's new job had erupted into their lives. The moment was lost and nothing had been right, as far as Jim was concerned, since that point.

"Did you want to hold me back?"

//Of course I did! I should've worn a black arm band to your interviews and then tossed myself onto the tarmac after you.// But Jim's brain had turned back into jello. He stared at Blair, mute.

"I assume that means your answer is 'No.'" Blair got up. "Its really late, you should go."

"Blair, you never said that you wanted to be held back! I mean, well, what I mean to say is, you didn't say you wanted to stay." //Just what in hell am I really trying to say?//

"I never said? Why did the big confession have to come from me?" Blair's voice and expression were uncompromising. //You are being so unfair, Sandburg. Because you are so scared.//

"My god, you've grown up." It wasn't at all what Jim meant to say, but it was the first thing that wiggled its way out of his mind. 

"And you have gray hair and more lines than when I saw you last. But you haven't changed at all," Blair snorted. "I grew up a long time ago, Ellison, you just never noticed." He turned away. "By now you know where the front door is. Don't let Basky sneak past you on your way out."

//Blair, don't do this. Please don't do this.// "I...Blair, don't shut me out."

"We shut each other out a long time ago. Doesn't feel very good, does it?" Blair turned back and regarded him calmly.

"No. I'm sorry."

Blair shook his head. "What you say, Jim, and what you do are two different things. Actions speak louder. Or lack of action." //Like, you were a real action hero back then, yourself, Sandburg.//

"I guess you're right." //Give it up, Ellison. He's not buying. And you don't even know what you're trying to sell.// "I won't let your attack cat out. See you around, Blair."

"Uh, sir..."

Jim Ellison didn't look up from his computer keyboard. "What?"

Devlin Flannery cautiously advanced into the Chief's office. The last month or so his boss had been like the proverbial bear with a sore head and Devlin felt that caution was always the better part of valor. "I know you didn't want to be interrupted."

"Then why are you interrupting?"

"There is someone here to see you."

"I'm not seeing people today."

Devlin squared his shoulders. "I'm sorry, sir, but you really might want to rethink that one."

Ellison did look up then, reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. "And why would that be?"

"Because he wants to see you about the murder caper over at U."

"Murder caper? Dev, you've been watching the Charlie Chan marathon on Channel 65, haven't you?"

"Well, yes. And I still think you should see him."

Ellison considered. In the six weeks or so they'd worked together Devlin Flanner had revealed many interesting qualities; being foolish wasn't one of them. "OK. Fine. Since you say so. By the way, who am I seeing?"

"Me." Blair, tired of being patient, bopped around Devlin and sat down in the chair in front of Jim's desk. 

"Coffee anyone?" Devlin asked.

"Dr. Sandburg won't be staying that long."

"Thanks, Dev, I'll have my usual. Make his something without caffeine." Blair answered Jim's sour look with a sunny smile. When the door closed behind Devlin, he went on, "You don't look like you've been sleeping well." Before Jim could think of a scathing enough retort, Blair breezed on, to the point, "I believe we have a witness. Love your glasses, Jim."

"Witness?" Jim repeated, then his brain began to work again. "These are for reading." To his intense irritation he realized how defensive that sounded. He started to take them off, then realized that would be worse. Better stick to business. //So why do these things now feel like they are 7 feet wide and weigh 50 pounds?// "A witness to what Dev refers to as the 'murder caper' over at the U? You are kidding?"

"Actually, no, I'm not. I got to talking to some of the grad students who stuck around during break. They were kind of scared of your cops, but they were uneasy enough to fill me in." 

There was a pause while Devlin came in bearing two cups of coffee with a flourish. While he watched Blair sipping his brew, Jim reflected wryly that Blair had always been able to get people to tell him things. It was a very useful trait, especially in police work. "And what were they uneasy about?"

"Kermitt died about 1 AM Thursday morning, right? At about 6 pm the evening before the grad students -- they're TA's too -- were clearing up their office. Just down the hall from Kermitt's. They heard him arguing with another person, male from the sound of the voice. It got pretty nasty."

"Why didn't they tell us this in the first place?"

"They didn't think much of it. Then. I mean, Jim, arguments with Kermitt weren't exactly unusual. Later, though, one of them came back at about midnight to pick up his laptop and he saw a guy leaving Kermitt's office in a big hurry. Again, not really a big deal, until Kermitt turned up dead."

"So why didn't this person come forward before now? Oh, never mind," Jim held up his hand, "I know. Scared of cops and figured the world wasn't exactly poorer for losing Kermitt."

"Yeh, exactly."

"Will your witness talk to me?" 

"I think so. If I'm there as well."

"I have no problem with that. When?"

"Why don't I bring them by your apartment this evening?"

"Fine. 7 o'clock?"

"Fine."

****

Jim surveyed his apartment, frowning, knowing that even if Blair didn't voice the question, he was going to take one look and wonder why Jim hadn't even begun to unpack. Trouble was, Jim knew the answer to that one, he just didn't want to deal with it. So what else was new?

The door chimed happily. //Trouble with this place is that everything chimes or trills or tinkles.//

"You're early, Sandburg. I'm impressed."

"Five minutes." Blair flowed past him, a slight, heavily coated and scarved figure towed in his wake. "Musical door bell? You have changed."

"Just throw your coats anyplace. I haven't really had a chance to get the place set up yet." Jim ignored the look Blair was giving him, knowing that if Sandburg had been on his own he would've exclaimed "What the hell is wrong with you?" 

//My God.// Blair couldn't believe his eyes. //Nothing is unpacked. Nothing is neat and orderly. This cannot be Jim Ellison's apartment. Not Mr. House Rules.// "This is Steve Pearson; Steve -- Jim Ellison."

"Blair tells me you saw a guy leaving Kermitt's office the night he was murdered? Any idea who it was?"

Relieved of several layers of scarves, a coat and a hat, Steve was a slightly built young man of about 24 or 25, with short cropped black hair. He seemed nervous, not that Jim blamed him. "It was pretty dark, all I'm sure about is that he was tall and wearing one of those trench coats -- you know, like executives wear. The belt rattled, that's what first drew my attention."

"Are you sure it was a man?" Jim asked.

Steve shook his head. "Nah, it could've been a tall woman, I guess. Like I told Blair, I wasn't really paying much attention. If the belt hadn't rattled so much, I'd never have noticed him or her at all."

"And that's all? You didn't talk to him?"

"No, I mean -- all I wanted was my laptop and to head out for this party I was late for."

Jim pressed. "There's nothing else you recall, anything at all out of the ordinary?"

"He might've limped, but..."

"Might have? What do you mean, might have?"

Blair held up a hand. "Jim, back off. Let him finish."

"Sorry."

"I said 'might' because I'm not sure if it was just that he had a one time cramp in the ankle or it was an ongoing thing. As he went down the hall, he kind of limped. That's all. Then I got my computer and left."

"OK. Thanks for coming forward."

Steve, obviously relieved, couldn't get back into his outdoor things fast enough. "Great. Any time. Blair -- see you at Condran's on Tuesday?"

"Sure." 

Steve beat a happy retreat, leaving Blair and Jim with each other and at a loss for words.
Finally, when the silence had stretched out and Jim's nerves were at the screeching point, Blair said, a tone of wonder in his voice, "Man. If you hadn't answered the door, I wouldn't even believe that this was your place. All these boxes are so not like you, Jim."

"Your witness was a little helpful." //Where is it written I cannot have boxes in my house?//

"I don't think he poisoned Kermit." At Jim's expression, Blair shrugged, "I used to work with you, remember. Anyway, I told you it wasn't the biggest break of the century, but its better than zip, which is what you did have." 

Blair walked around the living/dining room and into the open plan kitchen area. "So," he said, changing the subject with resolute determination, "You've been in town six weeks. You haven't even unpacked your dishes."

"I've been a little busy, Blair." Jim shoved a box off the sofa and tried to sit down as though he were perfectly at ease. "Besides, maybe I like boxes." //I hate boxes. I'm just afraid to unpack. So there.//

"Oh, sure and you also enjoy clutter and not being in the driver's seat." //This is wrong. Very wrong.//

Jim got up again, awkwardly, physical off-balance reflecting his mental state. "If you don't like it, you can always leave." //Oh, what an original line, how did I ever come up with that one?//

Blair seemed to be debating the option, then shook his head. "Not this time." 

"This time?" 

"Four years ago I let you shut me out and bought your line about my brilliant career. A couple of weeks ago I told you I'd grown up, but I let you run away again despite that." Blair stopped and took a deep breath.

//RUN AWAY ELLISON// The fight or flight portion of Jim's brain kicked into overdrive. "I ran away?" //My I sound so normal, not like I'm about to jump out of my own skin. Amazing.//

"Oh, I did too. But not anymore." Blair let out the deep breath he'd taken and stepped so close to Jim that they were touching all along the front of their bodies. "You can take this or leave it, Jim, but at least I'm going to be brave enough to offer." And he leaned in and up and kissed Jim's mouth, not tentative, but not demanding Jim reciprocate either.

//RUN AWAY// Jim's arms wrapped around Blair and he took the initiative, turning the kiss into ardent reciprocation. //And you can just shut up.// He ordered his fight or flight center. And then forgot all about that as Blair's enthusiastic response turned his bones to lava.

Jim wanted to breathe, but it was so much more important to use his mouth to taste Blair's skin; he worked his way down Blair's neck and was stopped by the sweater he wore. "This has gotta' go."

Laughing, Blair moved away long enough to remove the offending clothing; Jim used the break to get rid of his own, suddenly, extremely unneccesary layers of cloth. He looked up, aware that Blair was now watching him, gaze avid, and Jim suddenly felt embarrassed. His cock was aching, erect. Some of his awkwardness faded when he realized Blair was in exactly the same shape.

"Don't." Blair stepped forward, hands stroking, sending fire trails down Jim's skin anywhere they touched. "You are beautiful. I've always thought you were."

Jim shook his head. "I'm pretty ordinary."

Blair's hands slid down Jim's chest to his waist, lingered for a moment, then slid slower. Jim bit his lip and clamped down on the moan that threatened to escape as those fingers found his erection and began to stroke with just the right combination of teasing and pressure. 

Blair laughed, delighted at the response he was evoking. "Not ordinary by a long shot."

"Don't you have anything better to do than talk, Sandburg?"

"So show me, Jim."

They never made it out of the living room or off the floor. Years of thinking about this, years of trying to not think about this, years of wanting each other, culminated in a mating that was like wild fire -- intense, shattering and far too brief. Blair really thought he had some chance of holding out for at least five minutes, but when Jim pulled him on top and their cocks touched, he watched his partner's face contort, felt the hot spasms against his own erection and he was a goner. It took them longer than five minutes to get their breaths back. A little more than that to figure out that they had not, after all, melted into complete puddles of goo, and another five minutes to get their brains into some semblence of working order. 

"Wow."

Jim chuckled. It was the first really genuine laugh Blair could remember hearing from him in years.

"I repeat. Wow."

"Yes."

Blair struggled up on one elbow. "That's all you can say? Yes?"

Jim ran a gentle finger down the side of Blair's face. "It covers all the bases."

Blair thought about that. "Why are you always right?" 

"I'm too old for floors."

"Have you unpacked your bed?"

"Actually, I have."

"So, show me Jim."

Jim chose a non-verbal response. Blair found the answer entirely satisfactory.

"A belt that rattled. Jim, that's slim, even by your standards." 

Jim could picture Simon Banks, phone to one ear, cigar firmly between his teeth. "I know that. It is all I have at the moment."

"You didn't find anything out of the ordinary?"

"No."

"Hmm...I've had worse. Not often though."

"Yes, well. We're doing pretty well on the morale issues, though. And our case resolution rate, apart from this Kermitt thing, is up."

"You run into Sandburg over at the University?

Jim hesitated. "Yes."

"And?"

"We're not engaged, if that's what you mean, Simon."

"Step on it, Ellison. You ain't getting any younger."

"I'll keep that in mind, Simon."

"You do that."

Jim hung up the phone, a thoughtful expression on his face. Why hadn't he told Simon about Blair? //Told him what? That you two ended up on your living room floor like a couple of teenagers?//

Except it wasn't like that. Making love with Blair was, well, making love. For somebody who'd been hurting for a long time, as he knew Blair had been hurting, the other man held surprisingly little of himself back. This was the quality that had always drawn Jim Ellison like a magnet. 

And the quality that had always scared him to death. But he was going to get over that.

//So why haven't you gotten these boxes unpacked, Ellison? Why does your apartment still look like you could be moving out any minute?//

Face it, that night, all of it had been sublime. Wonderful. Intimate; they had connected on far more than a physical basis. //So why am I still getting messages from my head to run like hell before it blow up in my face?// 

He wandered into the kitchen and stared at the boxes on the counter. "It was only a week ago." His voice came out unusually loud in the silent apartment. //10 days, and you've been deliberately avoiding Blair the whole time. Have not. Have too.// 

"I have not!" He fished a carton of ice cream out of the freezer and opened it up. //Yes you have. Every single time you two could've grabbed some time alone, you've found a reason to get elsewhere immediately. Now, why is that Ellison? Why is that?//

***
"And I am planning to cut my own head off in front of my Anthro 101 class, and then offer it up as a living sacrifice to the high goat god of the Andes, while singing "I Did It My Way" just because I figure it'll get the freshmen's attention." Barbara Shakira waited for a response.

"Sounds good." Blair doodled something on his note pad.

Barbara snapped her fingers in front of his face. "Wake up, Sandburg."

"What?" 

She raised her eyebrows at him. 

He scrabbled around, trying and failing to recall what she had said. "Sorry, Ba. What did you say?"

"I'm going to cut my own head off in Anthro 101 -- think it'll get their attention any better than it got yours?"

He grinned sheepishly. "Probably not. This group is a bunch of hard cases. Try setting one of them on fire."

"I'll keep it in mind. Problems?"

//Oh, just the usual. I offered myself on a platter to this guy I'm desperate about and now he won't give me more than the time of day. Just another day in the life of Blair Sandburg, Ph.D., romantic washout.// "Just the normal."

"Uh, huh. Tell that to somebody oblivious, like Jen. I know you better." She shoved a stack of papers onto the floor and sat on the desk, eyeing him closely. "You look like hell. When did you sleep last?"

//10 days ago.// "I sleep."

She just looked at him. 

"OK, so its not a lot, but I do sleep." Blair found the pattern on his tie absolutely fascinating.

"Its a nice tie, but the Taz isn't that interesting. Who has got you all shook up?"

"Why does there have to be a 'who' Ba?"

"When a man looks as bad as you do, Blair, there is always a 'who.'"

//Geez. I must look nearly as awful as I feel.// "I'll be fine."

//Sure, you will.//

She echoed his thoughts. "Sure you will. When you want to talk, if you want to talk, I'll be here."

***
Jim was determindly cheery all through the dinner Blair had cooked so perfectly. It set Blair's teeth on edge, though he didn't challenge Jim. Not yet anyway.

"This is great, what did you say it was?" 

"Its steak, Jim. Filet mignon with mushroom sauce."

"Yeh, well, its really very great." //Of course its steak, Ellison. Brilliant. You're really desperate here aren't you?//

Blair sipped some tonic water and fought down the urge to scream. "Good. Glad you like it." //Just like we met last week and aren't really sure if we like each other. God, this is so ironic. Why does fate always hand me a lovely present on a pretty platter and then drop it on the floor just as I'm about to grasp hold?//

"How's the new crop of freshmen?"

"Small, the big influx will be in August. How are things at the department?"

"Morale is up. Our collar rate is up and the Mayor is happy, despite no arrest in the Kermitt case." Jim gulped down some water, too fast, and ended up coughing all over the place.

Blair was on his feet instantly, ready to thump his back or do the Heimich Maneuver, whichever was necessary. Jim flinched at the first tentative touch of his hands on his back. Blair dropped back, tingling as though he'd been burned. //He flinches every time I get near him. Ducks away. Moves away. Like I'm repulsive.// He tried one more time, putting a gentle hand on Jim's neck. 

Jim ducked his head and jumped out of his chair so fast, it almost set Blair rocking backward on his feet. "I'm fine. I'll just go clean up a bit."

Blair remained standing, listening to the sounds of water running in the powder room off his kitchen. He had a queer, detached feeling, as though he was watching a movie. A really depressing movie.

Jim reappeared and stayed standing in the doorway. "Sorry about that."

"No problem. Would you like to actually sit down and finish your dinner or do you suddenly have another place you've gotta' be?"

"Ah, actually, I hate to eat and run but..."

"But you just discovered you have got to be elsewhere immediately?" 

"There's some material I have to get down for a meeting with the Mayor tomorrow morning. I really should get back to it."

//Weird. This is so weird. This feeling of not feeling. It is like every time he pulls back, this tiny part of my dies, dries up and blows away. Bit by bit. How long before I'm all gone? And yet, we're so civil about it. Here's my heart and body, Jim. Thanks, Blair, lovely. And then, suddenly its, So sorry, I seem to have made a mistake.// "Sure." He picked up Jim's plate. "I'll wrap this up. You can take it along and finish it at your place -- after all, you still haven't unpacked anything over there."

"Thanks."

"No problem." Blair neatly and efficiently wrapped the plate in aluminum foil and set it on the table. "There you are." //Can't risk touching Jim again tonight. That was a rather large section of me that wafted off earlier. Might not be enough of me left to teach classes in the morning.//

"Thanks. Blair..."

Blair had turned away, was dumping the contents of some serving bowl into the trash. "Hm..."

"I'm sorry."

Blair didn't turn around. "As am I."

"I mean about having to take off so early." 

Blair wondered if Jim actually felt as awkward as he sounded. He examined the question for a moment, and found he really didn't, at that point, care much one way or the other. He waved a hand in Jim's direction, turning just half-way to look at him. "Whatever."

***
Later that night, unable to sleep, and unoccupied for the Mayoral briefing had been a total fabrication, Jim Ellison stared at the ceiling and counted the lines of antarctic coldness running up and down his body in precisely straight formations every time he replayed the scene in Blair's kitchen and heard the eery, detached quality of Sandburg's voice as he said "Whatever."

//I just...couldn't handle it. What he makes me want to do every time he's anywhere near me is overwhelming. Too much...just too much. Senses overload.//

Senses, yes. But that wasn't the real problem. Blair had been his Guide, he'd helped him get sensory overload under wraps a hundred times. //Not like this.//

When he was with Blair, he couldn't think straight. Couldn't see straight. When he was with Blair all he wanted to do was hand his heart and his life over, no holds, no reservations, just commitment. //Which, with my track record, would be a certain success.// Everyone he'd ever trusted, left him. Except Blair. //But he did leave you. This job came up, Ellison, and he was off like a shot. You didn't have to twist his arm. So what happens the next time an opening comes by? How are you going to say goodbye if Blair is taking your heart and your sanity with him as he goes?//

When the sun came up that morning, he was surprised to find that the ceiling didn't have a hole stared through it.

"No, Mr. Ellison, I don't know anyone on the faculty who wears a trench coat. Let alone one that rattles." Barbara Shakira was very firm about that.

"Had to ask. Its the only lead we've got so far." Jim Ellison wasn't surprised; so far Steve Pearson's description of the person he'd seen didn't tally with any of the faculty. 

"Of course. By the way, you are a friend of Blair Sandburg's, right?"

//Was he?// "I know Dr. Sandburg.

"That's cagey enough." She regarded him for a long moment.

Jim found himself resisting the urge to explain that the dog had eaten his homework. "Why do you ask?"

"I thought maybe you knew what was eating him alive, that's all." 

"No idea, sorry." He made for the office door. 

Her voice followed him, stopped him in his tracks. "You're making a mistake, Mr. Ellison."

"I beg your pardon."

"I said..."

He moved a hand impatiently. "I heard what you said."

Barbara steepled her fingertips. "But do you understand it? Hearing words and comprehending them are two different things, Mr. Ellison."

//Great. A lecture. And I haven't even paid the application fee.// "I'm not a student, Dr. Shakira.

"Perhaps you should consider going back to school. You might learn a lot from the experience. Perhaps enough to stop making a big mistake."

"OK, you have my undivided attention. What big mistake am I making?"

"I'm going to give you my take on the situation. You and Blair had baggage from way back. You have baggage here. Recently, you fell out. Again. At one point, I would have suspected Blair to be the one to reject a commitment, but having observed you both, I don't think so. Am I getting warm?" "I don't really think..."

"That's just the problem. You don't think. You react. Danger, you fight it. Crime, you stop it. Your duty, you do it. Involvement, you run away."

"I have to be going, Dr." But oddly enough, his feet seemed to be rooted to the spot.

"I don't see your feet moving, young man. No, I think I'm right on the money. But, you're right. You and Blair. I'm a teacher, though, so let me give you a little illustrative story."

"Look, I don't see what good that will do."

"Sit. And try to learn." 

Jim found himself obeying. "And?"

"When I was Blair's age I fell in love with someone. It scared the daylights out of me. So, I pushed and pushed and finally, she got tired of being out in the cold and gave up on me."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't interrupt. So, am I sorry. Because I was scared to risk my hide a bit, Mr. Ellison, I am the woman you see today -- a successful, published academic. Who lives alone, with a West Highland White Terrier. Get my drift?"

Jim just stared at her. The office seemed to be getting a lot smaller, all of a sudden.

"The person who gave up on me is married, has grandkids, and is even more academically successful than I am. And she's got something considerably more responsive than a Westie to sleep with. You like dogs, Mr. Ellison?"

Jim mumbled something to the effect that he didn't know and got out of the room before his feeling of claustrophobia whacked him flat.
****
When Jim arrived at his house, Blair was nailing up a portion of Virginia creeper which had been blown down in a recent snow storm. He didn't pause in hammering, just said "What do you want?"

"A chance to explain."

"Too late." Blair finished the job and briskly began putting his tools away.

"Blair." 

Blair shrugged Jim's hand off. "Don't touch me, Ok? Just, don't. Its too late for that. You've made your feelings abundantly clear, Jim. So let's just leave it at some semblence of civilization."

"I don't care about being civilized." 
 
 

Blair just smiled at him and walked towards the garage. "But I do," he called over his shoulder.

//Too late. It cannot be too late.// He wouldn't let it be too late. Stubborn set to his shoulders, Jim trailed after Blair into the garage.

"What?" The question was sharp, Blair bounced on his toes, hands in his jacket pockets, the picture of a man who had better things to do.

"It is not too late."

"Yes, it is."

Still stubborn Jim demanded, "Why?"

"Because I say so. Don't push it, man. Just leave it decently buried. We had a nice roll in the hay."

Blair skipped up the interior steps that led to the house from the garage and opened the door, pausing to glance back at Jim. "Go away."

Jim followed him right into the house. 

Blair threw his coat down on the kitchen table and leaned back against his work island, arms crossed. "What part of 'Go' and 'Away' didn't you understand?"

"Both. Talk to me." 

"Oh, that's a good one. After eons of me trying to talk to you, and you beating a hasty retreat, now you want to talk to me. No. No more."

"Blair, listen to me."

Suddenly, he wasn't standing in the middle of the kitchen, he was slammed up against the wall, and Blair was right in his face. "I told you to leave it alone. You didn't. Fine. I'll spell it out. A month ago I put my arms around you, Jim, and kissed you and you kissed me back. We made love, Jim, not had sex. And then I looked around and you were nowhere to be found. You may be a masochist, but I'm not. You don't want me, Ok. But don't do this dog in the manger routine, man. Enough." Breathing hard, Blair shoved Jim again and let go.

"Do you have any idea how scared I am?" Jim knew he sounded as desperate as he felt and did not care anymore.

Blair threw up his hands. "And I am not? Oh, right. I go around making lifelong commitments to everyone I meet. Give me a break, Jim."

"I know," Jim ran a hand through his hair, "its just..."

Blair debated. //Boy, I must be a masochist after all.// "All right. Talk to me."

"What?"

Blair couldn't help it, he laughed, and since his legs felt pretty shaky, he sat down. "You said you wanted to talk. Go ahead. I am listening."

"Blair, everybody I have ever trusted, has left. You're right, I practically pushed you out of the loft and onto the airplane four years ago. I figured at least that way I could have some control over when you left me. It wasn't like we'd ever said or done anything about a commitment and at least that way I wouldn't." 

"Wouldn't what?" Blair prompted softly.

"I figured I wouldn't stop functioning if you left."

"You didn't. Look at you, you're the Chief of Police here, for god's sake. You didn't need me in your life to accomplish that."

"But it doesn't mean much without you. I used to think that was stupid, how could sharing a life make it better. Worse, sure. But not better. Until I met you."

"Yeh, I know what you mean. So, where do we go from here?"

Jim let the wall continue to prop him up, he could not have moved his legs just then if his life depended on it. "I don't know."

"Do you want us to go someplace from here, Jim?"

"Yes."

Blair fixed him with his gaze. "Be sure about that. Because I am not going anywhere, understand? If you want us to have a future, then we work toward that as a unit, partners. No more hanging fire out on our own."

"Yes."

"If you change course again, Jim, I mean it -- I am gone. You pull another retreat on me, and I won't even hesitate, you will have fulfilled your own prophecy of doom. Understand?"

"Yes." Jim found his legs were willing to work and managed to fall into the chair opposite his partner. "I'm not very good at this."

"You are telling me, Ellison. Man, you are downright lousy at this."

But Blair was smiling and holding out a hand and Jim grasped what was offered. 
 

End

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