Disclaimers: Sentinel, J/B, M/M, First Times, Rated R. Post-series; Now Blair's got a badge, but does he feel like a cop? If you can't handle that or homoerotic themes, put on your bunny suit and just hop on outta here right about now. This was written -- well, finished anyway -- January 1, 2000, has 4,777 words and only the slightest dusting of plot.

Disclaimers: These characters and the world they inhabit are the sole property of some bizarre entity named Pet Fly Productions. What I've done with them is my fault, my responsibility, my charitable contribution to those of us on the internet who could wish for just a bit more imaginative plots, and, I understand, completely legally defensible under the laws governing parody.

Blair looked up from where he sat, hunched down at the kitchen table. "Yeah."

Blair monosyllabic was never a good sign. Jim glanced up from the pan he was stirring. "What is it?"

"It's...I don't know. I just...I don't deserve it, man. It wasn't me."

"What do you mean, it wasn't you?"

"I mean, it wasn't me! Every moment, everything I said, did, was just designed to stall that guy until you got there to save my neck. I didn't talk him down. Not on purpose! Well, I mean, I did, but just kind of as a way to keep him busy, you know, until you got there." He hung his head again, muttering, "Tell me why I always end up in the wrong building at the wrong time?"

Jim was staring at him blankly. "But...I wasn't there. You knew I wasn't there. You went to lunch. I stayed at the station."

"That's the problem! I know you weren't there. I knew you were all the way across town. And, still somehow I believed that at any moment you'd come through the window, through the roof or something, and you'd just take over."

"Chief, that doesn't make any sense."

Blair nodded glumly, "Completely irrational. And all the time, I knew it was irrational. And I believed it anyway. I felt like...like Lois Lane!"

"Lois Lane?" Blank look, and Jim pulled the pan off the stove and brought it over to the table, set it on a hot pad.

It turned out to be soup, Jim's good vegetable soup, so Blair got up for bowls and spoons, still talking. "Yeah, Lois Lane. You know, once she got to know Superman, wham! That was it, no matter how dangerous the situation, she was all over it. 'Cause she knew, she just knew that when it came right down to it, Superman would save her. THAT'S what I felt like today. And, now that it's over, I kind of got the shakes, you know. 'Cause you weren't there, and I knew you weren't but I believed it anyway. Just like Lois Lane."

"Sandburg, I'm no Superman. That kind of thinking could have gotten you killed."

"Tell me about it."

They ate their soup, stared at each other for a few minutes, neither knowing what to say next.

"Man, I did not know what to say when Simon started congratulating me. I felt like such a fraud."

"You can't tell him this. I mean, partners are supposed to depend on each other but this...this goes a little beyond normal." Jim jumped to his feet and paced a few rotations around the loft. Blair was watching him hopefully. "Simon will split us up."

"No!" Blair's response was immediate. "I don't want that."

"I don't either. But it makes sense. Look, you're still a rookie. You need time, and Simon would say it's for the best. You've only been on the force a couple of months, no matter how much time you spent 'observing' before."

Jim hesitated, then came back and sat down. Took a deep breath. "They'll want you, you know."

Confused, Blair looked up from his second bowl of soup and asked, "Who will?"

"The hostage negotiation team. You did a fine job today. They're short-staffed and they'll want you to transfer to their unit."

Blair stabbed at a potato with his spoon. "Wow. You think they'd want me? Me?"

"Why so surprised, Chief?"

"Well, I didn't actually QUALIFY for this job, you know, I've kinda felt like I was here on...I don't know, sufferance or something. To think there might be a part of this that I'm actually good at, well...that's really something!"

Jim stood back up and began to clear the table. "So," he said, very deliberately, "You think you'll say yes. When they ask you, I mean?"

"I don't know, I'd need to think. Wow." Blair picked up his own bowl and joined Jim at the sink, absentmindedly picking up the dishtowel.

"So. This is kinda one of those 'Should I go to Borneo for a year' decisions, isn't it, Chief?"

Blair blinked up at him for a second, hands stilling on the bowl he was drying. "Yeah. Except. I'd still be here. With you. Just, not all day."

"Yeah, Chief. Not all day." Jim slipped the other bowl into the drainer, lost in thought.

Blair tugged it from his hand. "Hey, let go, man, I got it. These things don't put themselves away, you know."

Jim took his hand away slowly, rubbed hard, too hard, at a handful of silverware. "I don't want you to take it."

Blair didn't pretend to misunderstand him. "You don't?" And he knew his eyes were too hopeful, knew it, but couldn't stop it. Jim had never said that about Borneo, had let him make his own decision. That was perfectly reasonable, and...it had hurt.

"No. And, I didn't want you to go to Borneo, either."

Blair stared. This was an unprecedented level of candor here, and that thought made him smile, so he said it out loud. "Why didn't you say so, then?"

"Couldn't."

"But, hey, now you can?"

"Yeah, I can. Turn them down, Sandburg."

The counters had been wiped, the table had been wiped, the leftover soup had been put away in the refrigerator, in its color-coded bowl. Jim put the dishrag on its hook over the sink (Because do you have any idea how many germs there are on the average kitchen sponge, Sandburg? It's like, the dirtiest place in the kitchen) , and kept talking. "I know it's not rational. But...when I'm with you, I kind of feel like Superman. Like, if I'm there, I can save you, that I need to be there to save you.

If you got hurt and I wasn't there...." Jim shrugged, propping one hip on the corner of the sink, then shifting to stalk to the window and look out over the city. He didn't finish the sentence.

Blair followed him. "You're right. This is so not normal. Must be a Sentinel/Guide thing. I wonder...."

Jim cut him off. "It's not some Sentinel/Guide thing. Not everything is about the Sentinel thing!" He took a deep breath and continued, "We could...work on it. The 'superman' thing. Maybe it's just a rookie thing."

Blair's grin lit up the room, "Yeah. We could work on it." He turned full on towards Jim, relief and something else making him look, impossibly, even younger than he normally did.

Jim gave him a mock-glare. "Rule #1 is...you've got to quit looking at me like that, Sandburg!"

Blair groaned, "Again with the rules already! Man, I should have known. How am I looking at you?"

"Like this," and Jim gave him a big dopey grin.

Blair cracked up. "Do that again."

Now Jim was laughing too, "No." He reached out with both hands, grabbed what was left of Blair's hair, and scratched gently, affectionately.

Blair looked up at him, "Okay, Rule #2. You've got to stop frowning at me every time you see my haircut. It's just hair, Jim, it'll grow."

"I miss it," Jim said thoughtfully, his hands still in Blair's short hair. "It kind of...had a life of its own, you know?"

"Hey, I'm still here. Did you want me or just my hair?"

Jim raised an eyebrow. "Okay, Lois, that was a dumb question." He stared down at Blair for a minute, as if studying his face. Slowly, almost as if he didn't realize what he was doing, he tilted his face down to Blair's. Then he stopped, his lips just a couple of inches from Blair's, and backed off a bit. "Um...." he said.

Blair reached up and grabbed the front of Jim's shirt, just below his shoulders. "No. Don't stop." And he seemed very sure of himself, and he was pulling himself up, leaning his head back, and he put his mouth on Jim's.

And he was the Guide, and he knew things, and so Jim found himself kissing Blair. Only, he realized after a moment that he wasn't--that Blair was kissing him, and he was good at it, and his hands pulled hard on Jim's shirt, pulled him tight against his own body and just held on, and for a little guy he was strong, and so Jim just went with it.

Except it didn't seem to be enough, somehow, so he made himself pull one hand out of Blair's hair so he could wrap it around Blair's waist and pull him up, closer, and Blair seemed to like that because he was breathing hard, suddenly, against Jim's lips and then he was pushing his tongue into Jim's mouth and Jim was tasting, tasting, and he lost everything but the hot, wet taste inside Blair's mouth for an endless time and then Blair was gone from his mouth, gone and he would have fallen forward except Blair had his hands on Jim's arms and was shaking him, he was talking - he was always talking, and Jim had an instant to be irritated by a man whom he should have known would rather be talking than kissing, before he focused again on the world around him and realized he'd zoned on the taste of Blair.

The taste. Of Blair Sandburg. That shook him, and Blair was shaking him, and he needed to think, dammit, what were they doing here, and he shrugged off Blair's hands and stepped back. "Wait, wait...."

That's all he got out, Blair was talking, was still talking. "Jim! Are you all right? Man, I thought you were zoning there for a minute. Don't do that!"

And Blair didn't seem at all confused by the kissing, by the fact that two perfectly straight men were standing in the living room kissing and it was him and Blair Sandburg, and this was not normal. He blinked, shook his head, and tried again. "I don't. I...um. I mean, we don't...." Blair was too close, and he was looking up at Jim earnestly, his lips still wet from kissing, and Jim needed distance. He wheeled around and headed for the kitchen. A beer. If he was going to be standing in the living room kissing Blair, he needed a beer. Or several.

Blair stayed where he was for a second, then shrugged, and followed. "You okay with this?" He asked, tentatively, and Jim sighed and held the cold beer bottle tightly.

"No. Yeah. Hell, I don't know."

And, surprisingly, Blair didn't push him. He just grinned a little and nodded. "Process. You need time to process." He hesitated a second and said cautiously, "Maybe. Maybe if you want to try it again. Sometime. We could maybe sit down. Or something."

Jim could feel him waiting there. And he didn't have to look at Blair to know he was hard. He had felt that, and he could probably smell it if he dialed up, but no way was he up for any experiments right now. Okay, he didn't know Blair ever...Because he hadn't... never...but now it looked like he did, and so Jim knew what Blair wanted. Now he just had to (dammit) think about what he wanted. And he couldn't think about it, because it was late, and there had been all that worrying about Blair in the bank, talking down an ex-employee gone postal, then there had been the kissing, and he couldn't think at all. He sighed, drank some of the beer, and said, quietly, "Yeah. Okay."

And when he'd drained the beer bottle and turned around, Blair had gone to bed.

***

And the next morning was mostly normal. Except Jim was unusually talkative, which Blair thought maybe was to keep him from bringing up the fact that last night, two perfectly straight guys were standing in the living room kissing, but either way it got them through breakfast and on to the station. Then they got a call, suspected prowler in an industrial warehouse, and after that there was just the work.

"Okay, Sandburg, I'll take the front."

Creeping. God, Blair hated creeping around mostly abandoned buildings. The adrenaline kept pumping, he knew, he knew that at any second someone could try to hurt him, to kill him, and surprise was their greatest weapon, but he hated creeping. He just wasn't a creeping-around kind of guy. He was more a "hi there!" kind of guy. He crept to the back entrance, saw it had been jimmied open, pulled his weapon without a second thought, and slipped inside. Somewhere in there, was Jim.

And the warehouse wasn't empty, it was full. Rolls of what looked like carpet, in a god-awful avocado green that some part of Blair's mind was hoping wasn't coming back into style, as he kept creeping. No sound. No footprints. No movement.

And then he saw it up ahead. There was a guy dropping from an overhead beam and swinging something hard--a board! Jim was there, looking down -- down the stairs, and the board hit the back of his head with a sickening whack! And Blair was running, and screaming, "Stop! Cascade P.D.!" and he knew panic made his voice louder, and sharper, than he would have liked, and he could feel his face was flushed, but that was Jim, Jim laying - oh my god, laying still? That kind of shit never happened to Superman unless there was Kryptonite and what the hell was Lois Lane supposed to do now?

And Blair remembered he had a weapon. Finally he could do more than just talk. He took a deep breath, raised his gun, and fired a warning shot over the guy's head. He knew he was panting now, and not from the running, but his finger was solid, solid on the trigger, and the man looked at him, looked at the gun, and dropped the board.

***

Backup comes. Simon comes, and Blair tries to keep breathing through the noise, and the commotion, as they lead the guy away, and he promises, promises Simon he'll do the paperwork but not now, not now and he gets in the truck and follows the ambulance, not thinking, breathing.

And there is a long wait in the waiting room, and Blair doesn't think about it, feeling the weight of his gun in its holster, knowing it's lighter by one bullet than it was this morning. He'd used his gun. A gun. Not caring as long as Jim's okay, Jim's okay, and finally, finally, a very kind nurse comes out and he is, Jim's okay, and they let him in. Jim blinks up at him groggily, "What happened?" and Blair comes back alive.

"Guy dropped a brick on you, man, but don't worry, we got him."

Jim blinked again, put a hand to his head. "You mean, you got him."

"He sure did!" Simon's voice blared from the doorway, and Jim winced. Blair was always careful not to scream at him when his head hurt. Simon forgot. A lot.

Simon came on into the room, ignored Blair's hand on Jim's chest. "He talked him down, sweet as anything. Fired a warning shot, guy surrendered. Surrendered, Ellison. NOT dead." This last with a pointed look at Jim.

Jim was shocked, and showed it. "You fired your weapon? After all this time? And I missed it?"

Blair grinned at him, "You were busy bleeding. Being unconscious. You know."

Simon had brought Blair a stack of paperwork to complete. He stayed and kept Jim company while Blair muttered to himself over the forms in the corner of the room, hunched over the rolling table he'd appropriated from Jim's hospital bed. For all his muttering, he was done quickly, and Simon took the papers and left, promising to pick him up the next day for the routine review meeting.

"So." Jim groped for the controls to his hospital bed, raised the head so he could look Blair in the eye. "Simon's impressed. Good job, Superman." And he grinned, a big one, the large white bandage on his head giving his expression a sort of lunatic edge.

"Hey," Blair grinned back. "It was probably a fluke. Don't go all 'Lois' on me, here." He pulled up a chair. "So. Jim. I'm gonna stay, in case your head wound turns you into a raving lunatic or something." And, he started talking.

He didn't talk all night, but he didn't leave, either. And Jim lay in the bed, and thought about the 'neo-hippie witch-doctor punk' he'd met, all those years ago, and the cop who'd saved his life today. And when he got tired of thinking, he just slept.

***

Next morning, the hospital staff reluctantly admitted it was just a knock on the head, and released Jim. He tolerated both the lengthy instructions to rest and the wheelchair ride down to the truck with gritted teeth. The ride home was quiet, for once the sun was out and the truck was even a little warm, and it was nice to be quiet, and together. And when they were home, Blair dropped his keys on the table and hung up their coats slowly, savoring the moment. Home. "You gonna lie down a while? How's the head?"

"I want a hot shower. And some clean clothes." (Jim hadn't liked putting on his dirtied, bloodied clothes from yesterday. Blair had silently added 'clean clothes' to his mental list of Things to Do When Jim's in the Hospital.) "My head is fine." He went to the bathroom and pointedly shut the door. Blair shook his head and went to make sandwiches, thinking dire thoughts about men who couldn't admit to any weaknesses, wondering if he should write about it, or if it'd been researched too much already. On a sudden thought, he called Simon to report Jim was home. Yes he was okay. Yes, he thought he should stay with Jim, good idea Simon. Yes, see you later. Blair hung up grinning. Some things were just too easy.

After a few minutes, he realized there was no noise coming from the bathroom. "Jim? You all right?"

Jim's voice came clearly, as he opened the door. "I'm fine, Chief. Just got...a little dizzy, there." He shook his head, then looked as if he regretted it.

Blair slid up to him without a word and slipped his arm around Jim, noticing that Jim was wearing only a towel. Well, at least he'd gotten his shower. "Hey, come on, man, why don't you take the couch while I finish lunch." He walked Jim over, noticing how Jim did not object to the help, and had to mentally revise his new paper topic while he got Jim settled. "You didn't get much sleep last night. Just, here." He ran to his bedroom, brought out his comforter, and dropped it over Jim.

"Neither did you," Jim's eyes were clear, steady, slowly he shifted a bit back towards the back of the couch, lifted a corner of the comforter, and waited.

Waited.

Blair glanced once at the kitchen, at the lunch he'd started, then back at Jim. A second while the wheels turned. "Uh, guess this means you're through processing, huh?" he stalled.

This got him an Ellison scowl. "Come on, Chief."

Blair grinned at this, Jim frowned back. He seemed sure -- he didn't withdraw either the arm or the offer, and with a nervous shrug, Blair crawled in beside him, mumbling, "Laying down? I don't know, man, didn't we skip a step, here?"

"Jim," he said abruptly, somewhere from the vicinity of his partner's chest.

Jim grunted, already somewhere non-verbal.

"I was...making sandwiches. They're in the kitchen."

Blair could hear the grin in Jim's voice. "They'll keep, Sandburg."

They slept.

***

A couple of hours later, Blair stirred restlessly, brought a hand up and touched...bare skin. His eyes popped open. Jim. He was lying on Jim. A very naked, very asleep Jim, all cuddled up around him.

He felt himself harden instantly, helplessly. He buried his face in Jim's, Jim's bare chest, and grinned, jumped a bit when that enormous stretch of skin moved in a chuckle.

Jim laughed down at him, the sleep fading rapidly from his face. "Got a little problem there, Chief?"

"This isn't fair, Jim. You could have put something on!"

"Clothes were upstairs."

"Oh." Blair moved, restless, but stopped when he saw Jim flush. "You okay?"

"Zipper." And suddenly Jim was breathing harder.

Blair understood instantly, his body already responding, and he moved to pull away a bit. Instead, Jim's arms tightened around him, pulled him even closer, and Jim spread his legs a little so that Blair's knee slipped between them.

Blair couldn't help it, he gasped at the sudden, perfect contact of his hard cock against Jim's bare thigh, and he thrust, just once, in instinctive response before he got himself under control. He pushed himself up on his hands, though, and asked worriedly, "you got it dialed down? Is that," and he nodded at the bandage on Jim's forehead, "messing with your controls?"

"No," Jim was moving too, pushing hard, hard, against the part of Blair that was pushing hard against him. "This is not a Sentinel thing, Chief." Blair felt his zipper dragging against Jim's hip as Blair's hips pushed back. Jim gasped. "You know, you could take those off.

Blair gave up on trying to control his hips, he didn't seem to remember how anyway, and grinned down at his partner. "You sure?" he teased. "You know, you do have a head injury. Maybe you're not responsible for your actions."

Jim shifted, throwing off the clinging comforter to get his arms free, and his hands went at once to Blair's hair. What was left of Blair's hair, and he had already frowned when he remembered he wasn't supposed to any more.

He saw Blair notice, saw Blair open his mouth to make yet another smart-ass remark, and pulled hard. Blair landed on him with a whoosh, and Jim kissed him.

After a long moment, Blair surfaced slowly, saying, "Oh, yeah...you're sure." He slid his arms under Jim's shoulders -- all that lovely width of shoulder -- and they kissed some more. Lazily at first, in the warmth of the afternoon and each other, then with more heat as Jim let his hands pull impatiently at the hem of Blair's t-shirt, at the buttons of the flannel shirt he wore over it, and then pushing up, frantically, at Blair's chest.

"Off, Sandburg. All of it."

Blair took advantage of getting his mouth back by breathing hard in Jim's ear. "That would mean I gotta stand up Jim. I'm not sure I can handle that." But he was grinning, and finally his hips obeyed his brain and he peeled himself off of Jim's chest and staggered to his feet. He turned and looked at Jim as he pulled off his shirts. Jim was watching him, breathing hard, and Blair let his eyes roam as he slipped out of his jeans and underwear. All that lovely length of skin. For him. Blair toed his socks off with his jeans, left them where they fell, too impatient to care, and was back in Jim's arms in the next heartbeat.

Same position, only now they could both touch skin. All over. Jim's hands gathered him greedily back, and Blair slipped one leg between him and the back of the couch, straddling Jim on the cushion and bringing their groins together snugly. Immediately they were both pushing again, thrusting in a rhythm that didn't falter a bit as Jim dragged Blair's head up to kiss him again.

Blair struggled a little, wanting it slower, wanting to savor this feeling, the hardness of Jim's body against the softness of the couch, in the rare golden glow of afternoon sunshine in the window. He gasped, "Jim! Jim!" when Jim gave him a second to breathe, but then Jim's hands found their natural position on Blair's ass, pulling hard, controlling his thrusts just as Jim's mouth controlled his breathing, and Blair just went with it helplessly.

***

"How's your head?" Somewhere in his memory, there was a nagging reminder that Jim had a head injury, had been told to 'take it easy for a couple of days.' Oh well, at least they were in bed. Well, on the couch, anyway. Blair felt a wave of guilt, Jim had a head injury, for Pete's sake! What had they been thinking? He left his own head where it was resting, heavy on Jim's chest, noticing in passing that the skin there was a bit reddened from repeated contact with his five o'clock shadow, not caring. Knowing he had to get up, not wanting to.

"Feeling no pain," Jim said blearily, somewhere above him. He was still floating, rubbing one hand absently in the mess they'd made between them, but Blair's breathing had changed, he was agitated, tense. Reluctantly, Jim raised his head to peer down at his partner. Partner. That made him grin. Real partners, now.

Blair looked up at him in concern. "Jim, man, we should not have done this now. You're hurt. Come on, up and at 'em. You were supposed to be in bed. Resting," he added, pointedly.

Using a combination of cajolery and brute force, he manhandled Jim off the couch, on his feet, and upstairs into bed. He grabbed his abandoned t-shirt on the way to wipe them both down perfunctorily, noticing that Jim was already nearly asleep again, and curled up next to him, not entirely clean but very contented.

They slept.

***

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Jim jumped, and only the heavy weight of Blair's arm and leg draped across him kept him from leaping out of bed. He glanced at the bedside clock, more out of habit than anything. 4:00 pm.

Blair came awake, slowly, "Jim? What is it?" Then he heard it too, someone knocking. He raised an eyebrow at Jim, asking silently.

"Simon. It's Simon." Jim relaxed slowly, adrenaline still pumping. He very pointedly did not turn loose of Blair, even when Blair sighed and moved to let him up. He seemed to find waking up wrapped in Blair a novel experience; one worth processing. He held on.

Blair wiggled for a moment, fruitlessly, against Jim's circling arms. "Jim. You gotta turn me loose, here. Gotta answer the door. Simon. Review board. 5:00." His brain already downstairs, he slid his arms around his own back to tangle with Jim's hands, which would not let go. Panicked thought suddenly, "Jim! My clothes. They're all over the living room!" He was laughing now, helplessly, but he let Jim's arms pull him closer for a hug, their hands now holding tight in the small of Blair's back. Jim rolled him over so that their arms were pinned and smiled down at him gleefully.

"Well, Superman. Unless you can fly, it looks like you got a problem."