Don't Shoot the Messenger

by Raine Wynd

Summary: All Eliot's supposed to do is deliver a package — but what he delivers is more than Blair ever expected.... Part 2 of The Guide Job series; the first story is The Cascade Job, but you don't have to read it to understand this story.

Disclaimer and Notes: Not mine and never will be, but oh, what fun on a rainy weekend in Seattle. Slash, Jim/Eliot, Jim/Blair. Not beta'd.

Chapter 1

"Ellison," Jim answered his phone crisply, glancing at the clock on his computer's taskbar and grabbing a pen to take notes just in case it was something he needed to write down. It was just past noon, and Jim had hopes of leaving early for a change. He was sick of looking at the dark side of humanity, and surprising Sally with a visit — and getting hugged and fed by the woman who'd been more mother to him than housekeeper — sounded like as good a plan as any.

"Still tilting at windmills, Jim?" a voice he hadn't heard in years asked, sounding amused. "I'd have thought you'd given up by now."

Jim inhaled sharply. For a moment, memories flooded across his mind. The image of a muscled, well-honed male body, naked, sprawled across a hotel room's bed, daring him to do something beyond just admire at the fact that this dangerously sexy man wanted him. Husky laughter and unexpected warmth from blue eyes and a face he'd grown used to seeing set in an almost permanent scowl when he did, finally, move. Tender passion when he'd expected heat, and a searing sense of regret when dawn came, followed by a promise of dinner the next time their paths crossed.

"Never give up, never surrender," Jim vowed.

His caller chuckled. "You can take a man out of the Rangers, but you can't take the Rangers out of the man."

"Oh, I don't know," Jim mused. "You certainly made me forget I ever was one for a while there, Eliot. Hope you didn't get into too much trouble for missing your target."

"Nah, nothing I couldn't handle," came the laconic reply. "Besides," the caller added silkily, "if I fucked my target, I didn't miss him, now did I?"

Jim chuckled. "You have an interesting code of ethics, Eliot." Still, a shiver went down his spine as he remembered that if he hadn't been a Sentinel who'd spent the last several years having his ability to respond quickly to situations sharpened by a fast-talking, trouble-magnet former anthropologist, he'd have been dead.

"Better that I have some than none at all," Eliot replied seriously. "Listen, I'm in town for the week. You available? I was thinking of making good on my promise to make you dinner, as long as you don't mind me borrowing your kitchen."

Jim didn't hesitate. "What time?" Some instinct made him add, "You know I can't put away the badge if you're involved in something in my city."

"I'm not asking you to," was the calm reply.

Jim blinked at that and he started listening a little more intently, trying to figure out where Eliot was calling from. Before he could process what he heard, though, Eliot asked, "Think you can get out early?"

"Was planning on it," Jim admitted. Just what was Eliot not telling him? he wondered. "Not before four, though. There are some things I have to wrap up before I go."

Jim could almost see Eliot's nod of understanding as he said, "I'll be there at four."

Eliot disconnected the phone before Jim could ask any more questions. Shaking his head, Jim refocused his attention on the work ahead of him, but a smile kept tugging on his lips.

Then he remembered the only possible hitch to his plans for a free evening, one without the comfortable routine he and Blair had developed. Blair might've moved next door, but the two men still traded dinner duties most nights they were home, and each spent so much time in the other's apartment their friends had joked they should just knock down the connecting wall and put in a door instead.

Jim frowned. Left alone, Blair would be consumed in whatever he was reading, and forget to eat. Jim knew, too, that Blair was still reeling from his last breakup with a woman who'd dated him for two years, even going so far as to move in with him for the last four months of the relationship. That's when the reality of dating a consultant with full police powers had hit home, and Cathy hadn't been able to deal with the pressures of being the girlfriend of someone who was, for all intents and purposes, a cop. Three months had gone by, and Blair didn't seem inclined to date anyone.

Grateful that his partner was busy elsewhere, Jim picked up the phone and dialed.

"Cascade Downs, Steven speaking."

"Hey, Stevie, how's it going?"

"Jim!" Pleasure coated his younger brother's voice. Suspiciously, Steven said, "Please tell me you and Blair are all right and I don't need to go to the hospital."

Jim laughed. "We're okay. Listen, Sandburg's been making noises about running tests on me again, and I need a break. I have a date, and —"

"— you need Blair nowhere around, but somewhere you know he'll be safe?" Amusement laced Steven's voice. "You know, you could just tell him you have a date."

"That's not a problem," Jim said dryly. "The problem is that my date is a master chef."

Steven snickered. "Yeah, I wouldn't share that one either." Steven paused, and Jim could hear pages of a calendar flipping. "You're in luck, Jim. As it turns out, I have the evening free."

"I owe you one."

Steven laughed. "Forget it, Jimmy. I'm not keeping score on anything regarding Blair. He keeps you sane."

Jim chuckled wryly. "Don't tell him I know it."

The younger Ellison laughed. "He knows, bro. Trust me, he knows. I'll call him; I've been meaning to try out that new Cuban place over in Uptown. How long do you need me to keep him occupied?"

Jim smiled. "Long enough that he's not likely to wander over."

"The Cascade Film Festival's still running," Steven said promptly. "I still have tickets. I was going to call you and ask if you wanted to see something before it ends."

"Maybe," Jim said. "Depends on what."

"Oh, as if Blair wouldn't drag us both to something we'll wish we hadn't seen," Steven replied with a laugh. "Tell you what: I'll make him pick tonight and hopefully that'll spare you."

"Not likely — you know how he is."

"Oh God," Steven groaned. "Okay. I'll see what I can do. Man, the things I do for you and Blair… Have fun on your date, and good luck. I'll call you and let you know if I was successful." Not expecting a reply, Steven disconnected the line.

Grinning, Jim hung up the phone.

Chapter 2

"Hardison. Get me the low-down on Cascade's Central Precinct," Eliot ordered.

"What, you trying to break someone out or get in?" Hardison asked.

Eliot rolled his eyes, for once grateful that they weren't using videoconferencing and therefore, Hardison couldn't see his face. "Get in. If the Sunrise Patriots attacked the station, they'll have fortified the entryway. I need to know how tough the security is so that I know whether or not I can drop this off to Ellison in person at the station."

"Give me a second," Hardison requested. "So, is it raining in Cascade?"

Eliot grinned. "As if you didn't know what the weather is," he replied.

"I know it," came the reply, "but I don't believe it. Sunny and seventy degrees? You've got to be joking."

"No joke," Eliot returned. "How's Nate?"

"Aw, man, you know he'll be better once this is done. You sure you don't need backup?"

"Nah, I'm good," Eliot said. "Unless they've got someone running scans on the video feed?"

"Looks like...yeah, fairly standard security setup for a police station — long glassed-off entryway, bulletproof glass, metal detector, check your ID, whoa ho, what's this? Oh. They got dogs. Man, I hate dogs."

"K-9 unit on permanent duty in the lobby?" Eliot asked sharply.

"Yeah. And they are running scans on the video feed, looks like," the hacker replied. "But your ID will hold up."

"You sure?"

"As sure as you hate guns, man," Hardison said. "One more thing — cell phones, radios, and all portable electronic devices do not work in that lobby. They've got jammers on the signal. Only certain frequencies work, and they're all monitored."

"Nice," Eliot said admiringly. "Shows someone's thinking. Anything else I need to know?"

"Yeah. Be careful."

"I always am," Eliot replied, disconnecting the call. He smiled and checked his watch. He had three and half hours to kill, and he knew just how he wanted to spend them: shopping for everything he needed that evening. He'd deliberately lied to his team about knowing Jim Ellison when they were discussing dropping off information to the famed Cascade detective. The last thing Eliot wanted was to have his teammates digging into the Sentinel myths, although Hardison's comment about "the legends are true" made Eliot think the hacker knew more than he was telling. Still, he didn't need his teammates on this mission, and he didn't want them asking questions either.

Whistling, Eliot checked directions to the nearest grocery store on his phone and then headed on his way.

Chapter 3

Blair studied Jim, wondering what in the world was making him so freaking happy. Blair had returned from an afternoon meeting with the commander in charge of the Auto Theft Unit, who'd sought his advice on how to deal with a particularly troublesome trend in vehicular crime.

As Special Consultant, Blair served as the liaison between the units of the Major Crimes Division, and by extension, the greater PD. As a result, Blair was perceived as the go-to guy for recognizing patterns of criminal behavior across the division, and was often the first to see ties between units. The approach kept the units from feeling separated by their work, while feeding the Operations Unit the necessary information to process the biggest cases. It also allowed Blair the privilege of being able to give his Sentinel intel about the entire city, without committing either of them to the impossible task of protecting every quadrant themselves.

By all rights, Jim should have been growling at the notion that a new gang was on the streets of Cascade, hitting every park and ride in the area, smashing up vehicles for the apparent sheer pleasure of doing so, without stealing anything inside the vehicles. However, all Jim had said was, "Need me to check things out?"

"All right, who'd you meet at lunch?" Blair demanded suspiciously.

"Didn't go to lunch," Jim replied absently, glancing at his handwritten notes as he retyped them into the official record.

"No Wonderburger?" Blair slapped his chest over his heart, as if shocked. "No chicken teriyaki, extra sauce, hold the rabbit food?"

Jim shot him a glare. "No. I have a dinner date."

Blair raised his eyebrows. The last time Jim had been on a date had been well over four months before, and that had ended in disaster. To his date's credit, though, there was no way anyone could have predicted the couple at the next table over had chosen to break up in such a violent manner it had made the ten o'clock news. "'Woman Shot When Husband Announces He Wants a Divorce'" was not how anyone wanted to remember a date.

"Anyone I know?" Blair asked, intrigued. Jim's dates were often interesting people, and not always the best kind of interesting, though he'd made a concerted effort to avoid thieves and other criminals.

"Not likely," Jim said, amused.

"So where are you going?"

"Don't know yet," Jim replied. "But I'm looking forward to it. He's a master chef, in town for the week."

"He?!?" Blair squeaked, then realizing his reaction, cleared his throat and tried again, even as he caught Jim's wide grin at his discomfiture. "Sheez, Jim, just when I think I know everything about you…."

"I told you years ago," Jim reminded him mildly, checking the entry he'd made on the computer against his notes. Satisfied he'd entered everything he'd needed to, he finished filling out the electronic form before saving and submitting it. "You expounded on the possibility of bisexuality in Sentinels, but since you almost tripped over a sidewalk, I had to stop you and you got distracted. Then we got paged to the Kovi Marine warehouse fire, and you forgot all about it."

Blair flipped through his mental file. "Jim, the Kovi Marine warehouse fire was eight years ago. You expect me to remember a conversation I had with you eight years ago?"

"Why not?" Jim asked, a hint of glee underlying his words. "You remember what a shaman said to you when you were twelve."

Blair rolled his eyes. "Right. So what's his name?"

Jim nodded towards the door to the bullpen as it swung open and a lean, muscular man in jeans, a blue T-shirt, and brown motorcycle boots strode confidently towards where Jim and Blair sat. His brown hair had been pulled back in a neat ponytail and he carried a black leather jacket draped over one arm. He moved with the same athletic grace as Jim did. In the part of Blair that was Shaman-Guide to a Sentinel, Blair understood the stranger was a warrior. The stranger looked to be in his mid-thirties, scruffy and hard-edged, and the cop instincts Blair had developed in ten years screamed 'criminal.'

As if sensing Blair's discomfort, Jim turned to him. "Quit worrying."

"Guide's prerogative," Blair shot back. "I know how you are with women. I've never seen you with a guy."

"Tsk, tsk," Jim chided him. "And here I thought you were a detective."

Blair blinked, quickly reassessing some of Jim's relationships. That definitely explained a few of the odder conversations he'd had with some of the visitors to the loft — they'd seen him as possible competition, even though Blair had been careful to point out he lived next door and wasn't Jim's roommate anymore. For a moment, Blair had forgotten that he'd once goaded Jim into answering a sexual preference survey, on the pretext of trying to establish a baseline for Blair's Sentinel studies. Jim had made it clear that he liked getting fucked — but he'd never defined gender. Now more puzzle pieces were falling in place. Jealously ran sharply through Blair, and the emotion surprised Blair. There was no reason he should be jealous that Jim had a date, even if it was with an unexpected gender — Blair had had plenty of evidence before now that Jim didn't confine himself to one gender alone. Yet Blair couldn't help the primal mental growl that Jim was his.

Jim's usual type ran towards softer men — men who didn't instantly rouse Blair's instincts to protect his Sentinel. This man did.

Before Blair could dwell on that, however, the stranger arrived. Jim rose, hugging him fiercely in a way that spoke volumes to Blair about how Jim felt about the stranger. There was definite sizzle between them, and the same sort of hunger Blair remembered Jim had once exhibited with a thief named Laura. Dread filled Blair, and he silently hoped this was more than a case of pheromones.

Jim turned to Blair then. "Eliot, this is my partner, Blair Sandburg. Sandburg, this is Eliot Spencer."

Eliot's handshake was firm, quick, and professional. For a moment, he sized up Blair as if he were a possible target, then Eliot smiled. Abruptly, Blair caught a glimpse of what Jim found attractive about Eliot — the man went from hard-ass to charming in less than thirty seconds, which was a match for Jim's moods at times.

"Heard good things about you," Eliot said.

"Funny, Jim's never said a word about you," Blair replied stiffly.

Eliot half-chuckled. "Not from Jim," he said vaguely. "Friend of mine remembers you gave her a teddy bear."

"That was a while ago," Blair noted, surprised and slightly caught off guard by the comment. "I stopped passing out teddy bears when they decided I was better suited to helping everyone, not just the kids. That was ten years ago. She must be grown-up now."

Eliot smiled wryly. "Yeah, you could say that," he said, in a tone that indicated he knew something to the contrary. "Mind if I steal your partner a while? I promised him dinner sometime back, and we never got around to it."

Jim flushed slightly. Eliot only grinned and stood a little closer.

"How'd you two meet?" Blair wondered, stalling.

Eliot glanced at Jim. "I was supposed to meet someone in a bar," Eliot said. "Jim turned up instead."

Jim smothered a laugh. "Oh, is that your story now?" he teased.

"Nah, I got better ones than that," he said. "Get this: I'm a consultant now."

"Really?" Jim asked with interest. "I thought you always worked alone."

Eliot chuckled. "Not always," he corrected. From his wallet, he fished out a business card and passed one to Blair, another to Jim. Eliot's eyes met Blair's as he added, "If something comes up, that's how you can reach me."

Clearly amused by the business card, Jim pocketed it, then turned towards the door, gesturing Eliot to lead. "Later, Chief," Jim said. "Don't wait up. So if you're a consultant, what happened to your career as a chef?"

Eliot chuckled. "Oh, I still pick up a gig here and there. I catered a wedding not too long ago," he said as the two men exited the bullpen, leaving Blair to stare at a card that read simply, "Eliot Spencer, Consultant, Leverage Consulting and Associates, 781-555-5555, eliot.spencer@leverage-consulting.com."

Instinct had Blair reaching for the computer. Running Eliot Spencer through the criminal database showed an arrest in DC in 2001 for a bar brawl. Beyond that, his record was clean. Yet Blair couldn't shake the sense Jim had just walked out the door with a known criminal. A look at the website address associated with Eliot's email gave the impression that someone had decided to put up a site in the early days of the Internet and hadn't changed the basic design. It was a clean, if plain, site that listed the firm's name, contact email, phone number, and a short paragraph describing the firm's commitment to their clients.

More worried now for Jim than when he'd left, Blair decided against trying to work. The best thing he could do now was go home — and hope that Jim hadn't chosen to go with Eliot.

Blair wasn't entirely surprised when his attempt to call Jim met with no answer. Reminding himself that Jim was a grown man didn't help, either. The only assurance Blair had was that Jim wouldn't have bothered to introduce Eliot to Blair if he saw Eliot as a threat. If mere pheromones had been involved, Jim wouldn't have seemed so comfortable in Eliot's presence. The shaman in Blair cautioned patience — yet the friend who'd learned the hard way not to take things at face value worried.

Then Blair's phone rang.

"Major Crimes, this is Blair Sandburg," he answered automatically.

"Blair, it's Steven. I have a dinner reservation, tickets for the Cascade Film Festival and my date canceled. You free?"

Suddenly cheered, Blair smiled. Steven Ellison had turned out to be a great friend, and treated Blair as if he was the brother Steven had never had. Besides, Blair wouldn't put it past Jim to call his brother up to make sure Blair was occupied. Maybe Steven knew who Eliot was; it would be the perfect opportunity to grill him.

"Depends. Where's dinner?"

Steven named the restaurant, and Blair frowned, not recognizing the name. "What is it?"

"Cuban. It's new, supposed to be good."

"You're on," Blair agreed. "I haven't had good Cuban pork roast in a while. What time?"

"I'll pick you up at the station around five-thirty."

"Works for me. See you then."

Chapter 4

Blair knocked on Jim’s door, worried that his partner hadn’t woken him as he usually did. Though Steven had been great company and the restaurant a welcome addition to Cascade, Blair had made sure to be home by one a.m., aware that he had to be up at seven if he wanted to be at work on time. He'd learned the hard way that he couldn't stay up as late as he once did; police work tended to wear more on his body than studying and teaching ever had. More worrisome to Blair now was that Jim didn’t open the door two seconds before Blair approached it.

“Hi,” Eliot said, smiling, as he opened the door. He had a small duffle bag slung over one shoulder. “Jim’s in the shower. He said to tell you he’d be out in five minutes."

"Not staying?"

Eliot looked momentarily regretful. "No." He paused, then said, "There's a package on the counter in the kitchen. Could you make sure Jim gets it? Nice meeting you.”

“Will you be back?” Blair asked, He'd meant it as a friendly question, but it came out as a challenge instead, surprising him. What the hell? he asked himself. Where'd that possessiveness come from?

Eliot grinned as he stepped out into the hallway. “Not unless Jim needs my help.” Whistling, Eliot exited.

Jim walked out of the bathroom precisely five minutes later, clad only in a towel. For a moment, he looked disappointed that Eliot was gone, but his voice was cheerful as he said, “Be back in a few minutes. Coffee’s fresh if you want some.”

Blair helped himself to coffee while Jim dressed. Part of Blair wanted to tease Jim about his apparent one-night stand, but Blair knew he had no room to talk. Jim had seen him do much the same thing far too many times.

“You could’ve just told me you didn’t want to share dinner last night,” Blair noted as Jim stepped into the living room.

Jim shrugged. “You needed that night out,” he said unrepentantly as he moved to exit the loft. “You’ve been moping around here too long.”

Stopping to grab the package, Blair followed, noting as he did that Jim was moving a bit more carefully than usual. Blair winced; he knew what that meant. Now that Blair had figured out just how oblivious he’d been about Jim’s dating choices, he understood that Jim was selective about his partners…and that he’d been far more successful in dating men than women. Yet the same vicious jealousy Blair had felt the day before surged through him.

What’s wrong with me? Jim’s my best friend, Blair thought. Just because he got laid doesn’t mean I should be jealous. Okay, so I’m jealous he had sex — it’s been months since I had the same pleasure. But why do I want to claim him? I’m his Guide, his partner, and his best friend. We’re tangled enough as it is; it took us most of a year after the diss to get to the point where we’re implicitly trusting each other again — and we’ve never talked about this, other than me telling him I’ve never been with a guy and he seemed okay with it.

Now, reviewing that old conversation, Blair realized he’d missed a hell of lot. The problem, he thought, was that Jim was a master of saying little and giving away even less, unless he got mad — and by then, it was often too late. What if Jim had wanted a bit more than Blair was ready for? Certainly, when it became clear that Blair made a better consultant than detective, Jim had seemed relieved that Blair was once again a quasi-civilian, able to be once again ordered to ‘stay in the truck’. That status meant that the regulations against fraternization wouldn’t apply; technically, Blair consulted for the entire PD.

With a mental groan, Blair understood now why Jim had refused to take that trip into the water with him. It probably meant something entirely deeper than Blair had interpreted. Not for the first time, Blair wished he’d been able to spend more time with Incacha…but even if he had, Blair wasn’t sure Jim would’ve been comfortable translating as much as Blair had wanted to know.

Okay, so Jim was probably interested in me at one time, Blair thought. If that’s the case, though, why would I want to change what we have now? Besides, what do I know about seducing a guy, much less Jim? For that matter, what would I do if Jim didn’t laugh in my face for trying?

I can’t believe I’m even considering this, he thought hastily. I’m not into guys.

But you’ve always said you were straight but not narrow, a damnable voice in his head pointed out. And you’re jealous of someone who isn’t likely to be more than a one night stand.

Not liking that voice, Blair hastened his steps toward the truck, wanting nothing more than to get to work.

“You’re pretty quiet,” Jim noted as they settled into Jim’s truck and headed to the station. “Late night?”

Noticing the odd note in his friend’s voice, Blair abruptly remembered Steven had mentioned how busy his schedule was. “What, did you call your brother to make sure I’d have one?”

Jim flushed. “You staying home night after night isn’t you,” he pointed out. “Did you have a good time?”

Blair sighed, unable to stay irritated with Jim. “Yeah. Steven and I saw a film about some samurai warriors who defend a farming village. I wanted to see the one about a couple of boys who live in the world’s largest garbage village, where they recycle 80% of what they consume, but Steven pointed out that we’d just had a really good dinner at that new Cuban restaurant and he didn’t want to be sick.”

Jim chuckled. “Let me guess — seeing the samurai made you think of the loyalties of the police or something like that, and you’re trying to figure out how to work that up so that you can put it into the next issue of Policeman’s Monthly?”

“How’d you guess?” Blair teased back. “So, this Eliot guy, he’s not your usual type,” Blair noted.

Jim chuckled richly. “Oh, I think he is,” he murmured.

“Next time you don’t want me around for dinner, just tell me,” Blair said, annoyed.

“You needed that night out,” Jim said placidly. “Cathy did a number on you; time you gave your heart to someone who deserves it more. Something you want to tell me, Chief?”

Blair flushed. He’d hoped Jim wouldn’t discover he’d stopped dating — and it was clear that Jim had. His solution, given the terms Blair had set, was to throw Blair back into the dating pool, a gesture all too well supported by Blair’s non-PD friends. “Just tired of relationships that don’t last,” Blair said truthfully. “Thought you were, too.”

Jim shrugged. “Some people are worth a second look,” he said. “Heard from Naomi lately?” he asked, in a tone that said the subject of his relationship with Eliot was off-limits.

Chapter 5

Once settled at their respective desks, which butted up against each other so they could face each other while they worked, Blair opened the package Eliot had left behind. A set of photographs, and a key with a keyring that indicated it was from a storage unit not from the station, comprised the package contents.

Jim recognized the photographs instantly. “Son of a bitch,” he said admiringly. “That’s the evidence we’ve needed in the Delaney case.”

“Yeah, but why would Eliot have it?” Blair countered.

“Probably better not to ask too many questions,” Jim advised. “We’ll put this down to an anonymous tip, and hope the DA’s willing to swear out that warrant we’ve needed.”

“Yes, but —” Blair didn’t like the way this evidence just fell into their laps, but Jim’s glare made his change tactics. “All right, we’ll go check out this unit. But what’s to say your friend isn’t just setting up a trap?”

Jim met Blair’s suspicion calmly. “Because he could’ve killed me the first time he met me, and he didn’t.”

“Oh, that’s just great!” Blair rose angrily. “And that’s supposed to be reassuring, how?”

“Do you want Delaney arrested or not?” Jim shot back. “He’s running a prostitution ring out of a handful of espresso stands!”

Blair rolled his eyes. “Of course I want Delaney arrested. But if this was me, you’d be suspicious of the source, too — maybe even more so.”

Jim sighed impatiently. “Fine,” he bit off. “We’ll clear this through Simon. But next time you want to skip procedure, I’m going to remind you of this.”

Blair chuckled, aware they both had a bad habit of cutting corners. “Fair enough.”

The locker turned out to contain even more evidence, and by the end of the day, they had Delaney under arrest.

It was late by the time they got back to their desks. Wanting nothing more than to grab his stuff and get home, Blair almost didn't notice the battered, black leather-bound notebook on his desk. Jim, however, did.

"That one of your journals, Chief?"

Blair took a second look. "No, but…" Opening it, he read the first page. Whoever the writer was, it had been written in a bold, decisive script, easily readable. The only problem was, it wasn't in any language Blair recognized. "I can't read it."

Jim took the journal, read a moment, blanching as he did so. Turning it hastily back to Blair, he said, an odd look on his face, "It's Chopec. You know it; you just don't think you do."

Blair's eyes grew wide. "I didn't think anyone wrote anything in Chopec this extensive —"

"Come on, Chief, let's go home. You can read it there."

"I don't think anyone would understand it if I —"

"Home, food, and shower," he ordered, interrupting. "If you start reading it now, we'll wind up getting corralled into some other case just because we're here."

"But —"

With the ease of long practice, Jim herded Blair to the elevator. "You may not think you're hungry, but I can hear your stomach grumbling," he said. "And I want to be clean."

"You always want to be clean," Blair grumbled, giving in.

Jim flashed him a grin, but his eyes didn't reflect the humor. Caught up in the novelty of a Chopec journal, Blair didn't notice. "Yeah, well, I'm a sensitive guy."

Chapter 6

It wasn't until they were standing in the hallway outside their respective homes that Blair realized what Jim had said. "What do you mean I know how to read this journal?" he asked.

Jim stared at him, then he sighed. Unlocking his door, he started to speak, then stopped. Drawing his gun, he eased cautiously into his loft, then holstered his gun. "Damn it," he swore.

"What?" Not hearing the tone that would indicate they were in any danger, Blair stepped inside. The table had been set for two; red wine breathed in a pair of glasses. Silver serving lids covered the two plates, keeping the food warm. Whatever it was, it smelled wonderful. A note lay on the table.

Jim read it, then snorted, sounding torn between amusement and disgust. Handing it over to Blair, he said, "Might as well enjoy it."

Blair read the note, which said simply, "Thanks." It wasn't signed; it didn't have to be.

"Jim, are you sure?"

Jim shrugged, and sat down. Lifting up the lid, he revealed a thick steak drizzled with a hunter sauce, steamed vegetables, and a mound of mashed potatoes. Intrigued now, Blair set the journal down to the left of the open place setting, which was directly across from Jim, then sat down. He lifted the lid on his plate. The same dinner was presented, though Blair's steak was more seasoned.

Jim cut his meat and took a bite, clearly savoring the flavor. He gestured to Blair's plate. "It's not poisoned, Chief."

"How do you know that? It looks different."

Jim glared at him, then reached over, and took a cut of Blair's meat. Sniffing it deliberately, he then took a bite. "Yours is ostrich."

Not quite believing him, Blair took a bite. "Oh, man, I haven't had an ostrich steak this big in I don't know how long. And it's seasoned well. Wait, how'd he know I'd even like this?"

"Everybody knows about your chili," Jim told him. "Wouldn't be hard to figure out you'd like this cut as well."

Blair ate a bit more as Jim did the same. "I'm not sure I like the idea of this guy knowing this much about me," Blair said after consuming half his dinner and then taking a sip of wine, "but I can see why you didn't want to share his cooking with me last night. I just don’t understand why he'd go through this trouble. What does he want?"

"Why don't we just enjoy this and worry about it later?" Jim suggested.

Blair's eyes narrowed. "You know, for a guy who's usually a hair-trigger away from proving just how paranoid he is, you're far calmer than I think you should be right now."

"Sandburg —"

Blair didn't let him finish. "Eliot's still here," he surmised.

Jim nodded. "He's standing guard outside."

"Why?"

Jim sighed. "Because he's read the journal."

"You know already what is says."

Jim nodded. Looking serious, he said, "I do. That's why I'm not worried about dinner." He paused to take a sip of wine. "May I give you this night?"

Blair stared at him, not quite sure how to take that question. "What do you mean by that, exactly?"

Jim lifted his eyebrows. "Whatever you want to mean, Chief."

Not liking that answer, Blair reached over to pick up the journal. Mindful of his plate, Blair flipped to a random page in the journal.

" — the guide must allow himself to be prepared by his sentinel in every way, lest the bond be vulnerable to manipulation by outside forces. Until then, the guide will become brittle, more prone to infections and other diseases of the body and heart —"

Stunned, Blair shut the journal, not understanding why he hadn't been able to understand it before. "What the hell?" he whispered.

"Something we should've done a long time ago," Jim told him. "You weren't ready."

"And because I wasn't ready, I couldn't read Chopec? I know Chopec — you know how I was going off on that whole language after Incacha died, just so I could write to those guys who were with him and make sure they were okay —"

"Breathe, Chief."

Blair paused. "Why the hell after so many years of thinking that whole 'naming of me as shaman of the great city' was a fluke that something like this happens now? Oh, don't give me that look, Jim; you're a fine one for not believing in the mystical! I'm usually dragging you kicking and screaming into divulging anything about seeing your spirit animal or a vision or anything like that, and you're just sitting there like it's no big thing—"

"Would you rather I get pissed at it? I've been waiting for you to catch up for a while. I just didn't think we had any real urgency to it until now."

"I refuse to believe that I'm supposed to just —" At a loss for words, Blair flailed his hands wildly. With an exasperated snort, he finished with, "I want you, but not because of some… Argh!"

Jim chuckled dryly. "How do you think I feel?" he shot back. "That my happiness is tied to yours? Think about it, Chief. If you're not feeling well, I can't focus. If I can't focus, you feel even worse. We go round and round and we try to see other people but it doesn't feel right. Ever."

"I still don't get what Eliot's part in this is." Impatiently, Blair rose from the table to pace. "I don't understand why he'd go through all this trouble to make sure we found the journal, then make dinner — hell, he could've just given it to me."

"Would you have believed it if he had?"

Blair laughed shortly. "Probably not. Just knowing he was with you made my skin crawl." He looked at Jim. "I don't get it."

Jim held Blair's gaze. "He's just the messenger."

"Nobody sends an assassin to deliver a message," Blair said without thinking, "unless they intend that the message is --- oh God. Just how long has he had this journal?"

Jim shrugged tightly. "At least since he first met me. Maybe even longer. It smells like him, more so than Delaney."

Blair absorbed this. "Is Eliot a Guide? No, don't answer that, I know it. Same way you knew Alex was around. He's not supposed to have you. He can't have you. I'm —" Suddenly, the impact of it all made Blair drop into his chair. The journal landed on the table with a thud. "Jim — I —"

Jim rose swiftly to join Blair. Taking Blair's hands, Jim asked, "Do you want me?"

"Yes, but not because of some destiny or mystical urge or maybe it is and I just don't know but I don't want to regret this tomorrow. Nobody's ever made me feel like this. I've never even really looked at another guy."

"Then let me show you," Jim requested. "Let me love you."

Heart pounding in his chest, fear mixing with desire, Blair looked at Jim as if seeing him for the first time. He'd faced bigger dangers than this, but this — instinctively, Blair knew he was gambling his soul. He'd always wondered if they were supposed to be more than friends…now he had his answer. Would it be as simple as closing the distance between them and kissing Jim as if he would kiss any other new lover? Suddenly, what he'd read in the journal made sense. If he let Jim pamper him, maybe it would be easier on both of them to make the transition. Rituals, after all, had their purpose.

Blair took a deep breath. "Yes, please."

Chapter 7

For one long moment, Jim didn’t react. Then he rose. “Stay right there,” he told Blair.

Then he checked to make sure the front door was locked as well as the sliding glass door before pulling the blinds completely shut on the windows. Then he took the seat next to Blair, turning him so that they could look at each other directly. “Are you finished with dinner?”

Caught off guard by the question, Blair hesitated, then took the time to consider it. “Yes,” he said finally. “Is it against the rules if I help you put everything away?”

Jim grinned, the smile lighting his face. “Not in my playbook.”

“But if we were with a tribe, this would be all handled for us,” Blair surmised.

Jim nodded.

“You’ve done this before,” Blair guessed.

Again, he received a nod. “There were some parts Incacha refused to do with me,” Jim said carefully. “But he wasn’t the only one who wanted to be my Guide when I was with the Chopec.”

Blair stared at him. “No wonder you called me making breakfast a courtship ritual.” He let out a deep breath. “Would you believe I didn’t even think about that aspect? Some kind of anthropologist I am.”

Jim shrugged. “You lost your objectivity when you saved me from getting run over by a garbage truck,” he noted, moving to collect the remains of their dinner.

Blair rose to help him with cleanup. “Did I?” he wondered aloud. “Somehow, letting my dissertation subject get run over sounds cold and inhuman. But I can see one of the more jaded anthropologists seeing that whole thing as an experiment that validates the theory that modern Sentinels wouldn’t survive very long.” Blair winced as he dumped the leftover steaks into Tupperware. “Hate to say this, but I’m glad you didn’t meet one of those.”

To his surprise, Jim leaned over and brushed his lips with a kiss. The fleeting contact sent a thrill shooting through Blair. “Me too.”

For the next several minutes, Blair could almost believe they were doing cleanup after yet another shared dinner. Once everything was put away and the dishes sat drying in the dish drainer, however, the mood shifted.

Nervous, Blair looked to Jim for direction. In reply, Jim urged him towards the bathroom, where he insisted on undressing Blair, taking the time to seduce him as he did so. By the time Blair realized Jim had paused to strip off his own clothing, desire was pounding a heavy beat in his blood, making his head spin. Then he was guided into the shower, where Jim demonstrated just how sensual a shared shower could be.

Blair was trembling and his balls were aching with the need for release, but he couldn’t imagine their first time together ending anywhere but in Jim’s bed. He wasn’t disappointed in that regard. How they got up there without tripping, however, was something Blair couldn’t remember and, at the moment, didn’t care. He wanted more of Jim’s kisses, Jim’s hands on his skin and Jim’s body against his, Jim teaching him how pleasure was between two men.

Everything seemed familiar and strange — he’d been kissed before, held tightly in someone’s arms, felt passion heating his blood, but — he’d never felt the surety of Jim’s kiss, never felt Jim’s arms holding him with this sort of intent, never felt so certain that he’d been looking for this kind of heat, this kind of belonging, this kind of love. The feeling made him bold in his reciprocation as he learned how to make Jim gasp, learned just how sensitive his lover was, and learned that frottage only made him want to go even further.

Jim pulled back long enough to say, “We don’t have to —”

Blair kissed him. “I want to.” He took a deep breath, then added, “I love you.”

“Oh, God, Chief,” Jim said helplessly. “I know.” Then he kissed him until Blair forgot there had been a question.

Tenderly, Jim prepared Blair, until Blair was thrusting against his fingers, craving everything Jim could give. The first penetration took Blair’s breath, but Jim guided him through it until Jim was fully seated within Blair. It felt like a key turned in a lock, and Blair gasped.

“Jim, oh God.”

“Hurts?”

“No — oh God.” Blair shifted slightly, then gasped again. “Jim, please. That — I like that.”

Jim grinned, then moved to make sure he hit that spot on every thrust. Blair babbled, telling his lover just how good it all felt until he lost capacity for words, as they crested that peak almost simultaneously. Blown away by the force of his orgasm, Blair soon fell asleep. He never felt Jim cleaning them up, or heard Jim take the plate covers to the man waiting next door in Blair’s loft.

“Go home, Eliot,” Jim ordered, thrusting them into his hands.

Amused, Eliot chuckled. “Not without these, man. They weren’t cheap.” More seriously, he studied Jim. “You look better.”

“I feel better,” Jim admitted.

Eliot nodded, satisfied. “Take care of yourself, Ellison.” Stuffing the covers into the duffel bag near his feet, he started to head out, but Jim’s hand on his chest stopped him.

“Who hired you?”

“Someone who never understood what he read,” Eliot replied quietly. Then he grinned ferally. “And was stupid enough to not understand I play by my own rules. Don’t worry; he won’t touch you or Sandburg.”

Jim studied him a moment. “Kincaid or Brackett? Brackett is supposedly dead, but you and I know dead isn’t dead when you’ve done black ops.”

Eliot half-chuckled, not surprised. “Go back to your Guide and forget about me, Jim. Finish what you started, so that no one can come between you again.” For a moment, regret colored his features, and he stepped around him.

“Who was your Sentinel?”

The question stopped Eliot just at the door. “Someone who died before we could finish.” He didn’t turn around, and Jim let him go, turning instead to the matter of securing Blair’s loft before returning to the bed where his new lover slept. Though a part of Jim wanted to comfort his old lover, Jim recognized the comfort wouldn’t be welcome. Blair would be jealous, and there was still much of the ritual left to complete before dawn.

Jim quickened his steps. He wasn’t going to take any more chances tonight. He wanted a lifetime with Blair, and he didn’t want his Guide to think that a ritual was the only reason he’d taken a chance on a sexual relationship. Jim smiled, his mind planning furiously.

Blair would never know what hit him.

finis July 21, 2010 Comments welcome via email, at my DW, or on AO3.