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Disclaimers: Imagine suitable embarrassment here as I confess that I'm appropriating characters and concepts that are not my own. No profit, no offense intended.

What's it about? Damsels in distress, sandwiches, and cold coffee. No comfy cushions. Once you know that, you know it all, Reading the story itself would be redundant. Besides, everyone got a bit drama-queenish at one part, so the characterization is a bit dubious.

Complaints: annezo @ fastmail . fm

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When he'd chosen the police force as the only possible option after the Army, Jim had promised himself he wouldn't turn into one of those porky, donuts-and-bad-coffee cops people made fun of and he hadn't.

He still looked good. Strong. He'd kept himself in shape. You didn't get bitchy editorials in the paper about cops too fat to run down a suspect on foot when it was one of Ellison's cases.

The hairline wasn't under his control.

Coffee. Actually, that sounded pretty good right now. It was going to be warm and sunny later but right now there was a cool, early morning fog just starting to lift.

Jim pulled on his clothes, hung up his towel, and headed for the kitchen. It was still early. Blair didn't need to be up for a while. No point in waking him yet, no matter how eager Jim was to get the day started.

In a little while, Blair was going to wake up, look out the window, shiver, and drag on six layers of clothes he was going to have to take back off when it warmed up, and pieces of which he'd be dropping all over the woods. Instead of making coffee, Jim would slip out and grab a couple of cappuccinos. Then he could say truthfully that he'd warmed up the truck and maybe Blair wouldn't wear enough clothes for a polar expedition.

No need to leave a note. Jim grabbed his keys and let himself out of the loft. He'd be back before Blair got vertical and started obsessing over the small pile of stuff ready to carry downstairs.

Going on a picnic with Blair was no picnic. Fortunately this was one of the battles they'd fought to a standstill in the past. A day out of the city was not about carrying half the contents of the loft five miles into the forest outside Cascade.

Jim started the truck. The sky was clearing and patches of brilliant blue were showing. It was going to be a great day.

He'd go for croissants too, he decided. Blair liked the ones at the bakery a few blocks over. Jim wasn't a croissant kind of guy but he could pick up some fresh French rolls to take along with them. He'd get the bread first, so the coffee wouldn't get cold.

He wasn't exactly bribing Blair, but.... The bread would put him in a good mood. In case Jim went ahead and...talked to him.

Early-morning Blair, mellowed by cappuccino and fresh croissants, was a happy camper. Cooperative. Receptive.

Jim pulled up in front of the bakery, glad to see it was open. The family that ran it usually opened early, but Jim hadn't been sure that they'd be there at five-thirty on a Saturday.

He walked in and the thick, yeasty aroma of fresh bread wrapped itself around him. Rye. Pumpernickel. Sesame. Too much. He dialed it down. The smell of fifty loaves of fresh bread didn't really smell as good as a single loaf. Too overwhelming, maybe.

Jim braced himself for the torrent of French that always greeted him. Blair had enough French to talk with the Garniers, but Jim usually made do with pointing and simple words. The family never seemed to mind, they chatted at him happily while packing up his orders.

Not today, though. Jim felt the tension as soon as he stepped up to the counter. The woman, Maman, the family called her, had red eyes.

Jim pretended not to notice. He had his own plans for the day.

"Croissant," he said clearly. "Duh." He held up two fingers. "Rolls," he added. "Sank." Five fingers.

Maman Garnier wiped her eyes and sniffed, nodding dolefully. Her husband glared at the floor, ignoring both of them. At the other end of the counter, their teenage daughter had her back turned to the room.

Jim felt guilty. Blair liked these people. If he were here, he'd insist on finding out what was wrong. Jim preferred to stay out of domestic problems unless someone called for a cop. Even then, if possible. Domestics were tricky. But these were friends of Blair's. Well...sort of friends.

If he found out they had a problem and Jim hadn't tried to help....

Jim sighed. This was going to make him late. Blair was waiting for him, or he would be, as soon as he rolled out of bed.

Still. Blair would forgive him when he explained.

"Is there something wrong?" Jim asked. Mrs. Garnier wouldn't understand him, but he could tell Blair he tried.

"Ah, merci, monsieur," she said instantly, her eyes filling again. "C'est notre fille, notre seulement enfant."

Enfant. Baby? "Elle a des ennuis, monsieur. Elle a des ennuis," the woman babbled. "Ennui très mauvais."

Mauvais. Bad.

"The baby?" Jim asked. "What's...is it sick. Malade?" He didn't know they had a baby.

Their daughter moved, then went still.

"Non, non, elle n'est pas malade. Non, monsieur, c'est son école."

Mr. Garnier sniffed and muttered something. In French, but the tone was clear.

Not sick…but she, elle was "she," had a cold? Why in the hell didn't the girl come over? She spoke English.

"Cold?"

"École," the woman repeated carefully. She fumbled for a moment. "École. School."

"School." Not a baby, then. Jim felt better. "She's in trouble at school?" That explained the teenager's refusal to speak to him. She'd been fighting with her parents.

"Oui, oui, monsieur." The woman nodded.

"Elle et ces quatre truands." That was Papa, jumping into the conversation. "Ces garçons ne sont rien mais ennui. Remplir sa tête d'idées."

Quatre. That meant four. Garcons. That meant boys. Jim's heart sank again. Doing...something. With her? To her? Might be a police problem after all.

Blair wasn't going to like this.

"Laissez-la vous dire elle-même," Papa Garnier said. "Gisèle!"

Gisèle walked over. She looked embarrassed, stubborn, and defensive all at once, in that way only teenagers can manage.

"Allez-y," Papa Garnier said. "Dites-lui."

Jim didn't get a word of that. He waited, but no one else seemed inclined to speak.

"I'm sorry," he said politely. "Your parents seemed to be upset. I was...I asked them what was wrong."

She glanced at her parents and then stared at the ground. "It's nothing."

"It doesn't look like nothing," Jim insisted, cursing the image of Blair in his head. He should be here, instead of, Jim checked his watch, still curled up in his warm bed, just starting to yawn and stretch and come awake.

"It's my life," the girl sulked. "They're old. They don't understand."

Jim winced privately and touched the reassuring layer of muscle across his abs. Her parents were about his age. He wasn't old.

"Why don't you tell me about it?" Jim tried to sound gentle. "I can tell they're upset, but I don't know what's going on. Are you okay? Did...has anyone hurt you?"

She looked up at him, surprised, then smiled. "Oh. No. No, nothing like that. It's just...I just graduated from school."

"Okay," Jim said carefully. Eighteen. When you were eighteen, anyone over thirty looked old. He tried to find that reassuring.

"It's just...." She bit her lip and glanced at her parents and then at Jim.

"Yeah?"

It all came rushing out. She'd applied at a conservatory and had been accepted for the fall semester, but she didn't want to go. She was in a band and they were booked for a local tour for the summer. Her parents didn't like her band, didn't like the music. She wanted to sing now, not wait until she was old, until she'd been to school for another five years. The way she said it, she made five years sound like a lifetime.

When you were eighteen, five years felt like a lifetime. Jim could remember that. In the meantime, the family was looking at him. Waiting. Jim didn't know if they were waiting for Detective Ellison or Jim, Blair's friend. It wasn't a police matter so he was...what? A friend of the family?

This was Blair's fault.

Finally Jim pulled together a short speech. Don't close any doors, you're young and what you want is opportunity, a chance to do something with your life. Make her see he understood.

Gisèle was nodding. Tell her parents she'd go to the conservatory, Jim told her. Her face fell and she started to protest. Jim interrupted. She could tour during the summer; see if it was what she wanted to do. She might decide that cheap, smoky bars, and one-night stands in anonymous towns weren't as much of an adventure as they sounded. She'd have the conservatory to fall back on.

Gisèle rolled her eyes, but she translated for her parents. Her mother looked disappointed, but resigned. She nodded and Gisèle's face brightened. Her father heard Gisèle out, then shook his head, and started making another speech.

The two women would probably wear him down eventually. Jim had done everything he could. More than he'd had to. He grabbed his order and bailed out while the getting was good.

He was running out of time. Right about now, Blair was rolling out of bed and stumbling toward the cold coffee pot on his way to the shower. With a little luck, he'd assume Jim was still upstairs, asleep.

Then, when Jim got home, he could score points explaining how he'd helped the Garniers, right?

Jim tucked the bread into the canvas bag he'd brought along to keep it warm. Back behind the wheel, he headed for the coffee shop a couple of blocks away.

The bread already smelled better, out of the atmosphere heavy with fifteen kinds of breads and the heat of the bakery.

He could grab the hot coffee and be back with Blair in fifteen minutes.

Then the day could get started.

* * * * *

There was already a line at the coffee shop. Jim waited his turn, trying for patience. It was torture, being this close to coffee, being able to smell it, but not being able to have any.

He could also smell perfume. Aftershave. And someone in the shop had been getting stoned.

Jim didn't want to know. If he hadn't spent all of that time with the Garniers, he'd have had the coffee and be home already. Blair would be drinking coffee by now, the perfectly good coffee they had at home. He'd carry a cup of it into the bathroom with him. Jim could almost taste it.

Someone smelled of sour milk. Like a baby. Someone else reeked of cheap cigar smoke.

Jim watched the people in front of him, hoping none of them were ordering a dozen of those blended drinks that took three times as long to make. The girl at the front of the line looked vaguely familiar. Light brown messy hair. Jeans, faded green sweatshirt. Looked like a student.

She was a student, Jim remembered. In fact, she'd been a student of Blair's one semester. Deborah. Debbie. Something like that. Anyhow, she seemed to recognize him, too. At least, she smiled politely when she walked past him toward the door. She probably remembered seeing him with Blair. The smell of sour milk went with her. She had a baby, or she'd been babysitting.

Jim moved up with the line. Everyone on the campus seemed to know Blair. People Jim didn't recognize at all recognized him from seeing him with Blair. It was kind of strange. Nice, though. These were people who smiled at him, because they liked Blair and they liked Jim by association. Not people who saw him coming and ducked out of sight like he had a giant neon COP sign over his head.

Finally at the front of the line, he ordered two of their largest cappuccinos, and a tray to hold them upright in the truck. Blair deserved the big size for having to wait for him. Jim deserved it for having gone out of his way to try and help friends...well, acquaintances, of Blair's.

Outside, Deborah, or Debbie, was standing next to a battered sedan. The hood was up and she was staring down at the engine blankly. People always raised the hood. Even if they didn't have the faintest idea what they'd find under it, they always looked.

In the front passenger seat, an older woman was talking to the girl out the window. Jim could see the top edge of a infant's car-seat in the back seat.

Jim passed by them, trying to pretend he didn't see them. They could call Triple-A. Or a tow truck. Blair was out of the shower by now. Toweling his hair, but not dressed yet. Shower-fresh, and streaked with water.... Jim could be there in five minutes.

In the next block, a siren blared. A car alarm sounded. Jim ignored both noises. It was his day off and he was trying to have a life.

He settled the tray of cappuccinos in the floor of the truck, bracing them against the canvas bag with the fresh bread so they wouldn't spill.

He was just sliding in behind the wheel, home free, when he heard someone call his name.

It was Debbie. Deborah, coming up from behind the truck.

"You probably don't remember me...." She smiled nervously.

"Yeah." Jim gave up. Blair would never forgive him if Jim just left her standing there. "I remember you. You're a student at the university, right? Debbie? Is there...can I help?" Shit.

"Dora," she said. "Dora Southwick. I'm...my car died. I'm running late and I have my mom and the baby with me."

"You need a jumpstart?"

"No." Dora shook her head. "It's the fuel pump. I knew it was going out. I just hoped it would last a few more days."

She was a student all right. Probably living on loans or grants and a part-time, late-night job.

"You have Triple-A?" Jim asked. He knew she wouldn't, even before she shook her head.

"Okay, well. I can go back inside and ask them to let me use the phone," Jim said desperately. "You know. Call you a cab?"

"Ummm." Dora looked uncomfortable. She probably didn't have money to pay for it.

"Or, you know, someone else," Jim said quickly. "A friend?" No. If she'd had anyone to call, she'd have called them instead of approaching someone who was practically a stranger.

Dora looked him straight in the eyes. "I need to get my mother and the baby back to my mom's house and get to class. I have an anthro mid-term at seven, and the professor won't give make-up exams. I'll fail the class."

An anthropology student. Jim groaned. Blair would kill him if he didn't help her.

"Let me give you a ride," he said finally.

Her smile, and the look of relief should have been a reward, but they weren't.

"Where does your mom live?"

Dora gave him the address. Naturally. Halfway across town. And then back to drop her at the university.

Jim had to make the best of it. Blair always said it was no use helping people if you made them feel like shit in the process. And she'd been Blair's student at one time. Doing something for her was practically like doing a favor for Blair.

Jim smiled at her, hoping it looked more sincere than it felt. "Let me make some space," he offered.

Dora nodded then hurried back to the car to get the other two passengers.

This was all Blair's fault, and Jim was going to make sure he knew it. He moved the tray with the coffee to the space behind the seat. He was able to wedge it between the toolbox and the wall.

By the time he finished, his three passengers were ready to go. Dora's mother was first, climbing into the front seat with a giant diaper bag. Dora got the baby's car seat fastened in with the passenger-side seat belt before she climbed into the back of the truck. Technically, people weren't supposed to ride in a truck bed, but the cab wouldn't hold all of them.

Jim drove carefully, aware of the baby in the seat next to the passenger window. And the delicately balanced cappuccinos sitting on his clean, unstained carpet behind the seat.

There was no conversation.

The smell of sour milk was stronger now. There was another smell, too. The baby needed a fresh diaper and Jim would smell that in the cab of the truck for a week.

Blair knew Jim wasn't there by now. He'd be pacing the floor. Staring out the window. Talking to himself. Come on, Jim. Where are you? What was so important you had to sneak out before dawn to handle it?

Jim could hear it. Feel him getting worried. Not Sentinel-Hear, just...just the way you did, when you knew someone really well. Thought about them too much.

The baby cooed happily, reminding him where he was. That was something, at least. The baby wasn't mad, or hungry, and screaming. In Jim's experience, they were usually screaming.

Dora's mother stared out the front seat and flinched like she expected to be assaulted every time Jim moved his arm. Jim wondered if she knew he was a cop. He wondered if it would help or hurt, if he told her.

He wished he had the cell phone so he could tell Blair what he was going through for him.

Their destination wasn't as far away as he'd thought. They were there in twenty minutes in the light, weekend traffic. Dora promised she'd be "two seconds" as she hurried up the sidewalk behind her mother.

There was a moment when Jim considered making a run for it...but Dora had tossed her book-bag into the front seat before disappearing into her mother's house. There were probably things in it she needed for the exam. The exam she wasn't going to be able to take if Jim abandoned her.

Jim glanced at the book-bag again and then he saw it...the canvas bag with his well-earned fresh bread rolls.

Apparently Dora's mother's contempt had spread from Jim to his belongings. From the look of it, she'd been using the bread for a footrest during the trip. Jim stared at the squashed remains of what had been soft, fresh, French bread rolls, or had that one been a croissant?

Helping damsels in distress wasn't all it was cracked up to be.

Dora wasn't "two seconds" but she wasn't much more than two minutes. As soon as she was in the car, buckling her seat belt and apologizing breathlessly, Jim started the truck and headed for the university.

In his head he could still hear Blair's voice, reminding him that people who needed help were still people.

Jim tried. He made polite conversation, but Dora was staring out the window and checking her watch every ten seconds. It wasn't until he asked her about the class her exam was on that she brightened up and started talking.

It sounded kind of basic, compared to the stuff Blair was always spouting, but she seemed to enjoy talking about it and she relaxed as she talked.

When Jim pulled the truck to a stop in front of her class building at the university, Dora's gratitude was almost embarrassing.

"You have no idea how great this was," she said, her eyes shining. "Really."

Jim cut her short, promising that it had been no problem and he'd been glad to help. Dora seemed to believe him, which meant Blair was going to have to be proud of him again.

Jim was running late, but he was racking up the points this morning, anyhow.

If he hit the lights right, he'd be home before Blair crossed the line between irritated and totally pissed.

* * * * *

Distant traffic growled. The city was waking up and the streets were starting to fill. Jim fought the urge to peel down the street before anything else could happen to interfere with his plans.

The smell of sour milk and dirty diapers lingered in the cab. Jim rolled down his window. His cappuccino was still behind the seat, out of reach. It would be a week before he was going to be able to drink anything with milk in it anyhow.

He drove with deliberate caution. He'd traveled the streets between the university and the loft a hundred times, but the way his luck was running today, he'd probably have an accident.

Red light. Jim kept his eye on the cross-street light. It turned yellow. Red. The light in front of him turned green.

The Ford sedan in front of him, an older model, didn't move. Jim heard the starter grinding. Once. Twice. Three times.

Silence.

Jim sighed. He had two choices. He could beat his head on the steering wheel until the world went away and left him alone, or....

He got out of the truck, closing the door carefully and quietly, and walked up beside the Ford.

The driver, an older man, was already climbing out.

"I'm a police officer," Jim said clearly. "Is there a problem?"

"Not really." The man reached back inside and switched on his hazard blinkers. "Out of gas, I think. I was headed for the station down the block."

He was sixty-five. Maybe seventy.

"Why don't you let me give you a ride?" Jim said. At least this time it was on his way.

At the station, the attendant refused to loan out a gas can without security. He demanded a credit card, which the older man said he didn't have.

Jim's plans for the day were becoming less likely by the minute.

He finally flashed his badge and swore on it that he'd return the gas can personally.

Blair was not only up by now, he was pissed. The whole day was practically trashed, and they hadn't even made it out of town yet.

Jim filled the gas can at the pump and waited while his passenger paid for it. Then he drove the man back to his car, poured the gas into the tank, and waited to make sure the car would start.

It did and the man drove off with a casual wave. He didn't stop at the station again. On one gallon of gas, he'd be stuck again in a few miles. Hopefully, not in Jim's neighborhood, though.

Jim returned the gas can, topped off his own gas tank, and turned toward home again.

This time, he promised himself, even if he saw King Kong carrying Fay Wray up the side of a building, he was going to let it be someone else's problem.

* * * * *

"Where have you been, Jim?"

He'd been right. Blair was pissed.

"It's almost seven," Blair said. "We were going to leave at six."

Like Blair had never made them late?

"You didn't leave a note." Blair waved his arm at the pile of picnic supplies dramatically. "You're late. I thought you'd been kidnapped again."

"I wasn't," Jim said. At least, only voluntarily.

"What's that?" Blair looked at his purchases curiously.

Jim handed him one of the cold cappuccinos.

Blair took a sip and made a face. "Yuk."

Jim handed him the bread bag.

Blair peeked inside, then dumped the contents on the counter.

The fresh, soft bread looked even worse than Jim had imagined. The French rolls were twisted lumps of dough. The croissants, carefully packed at the top of the sack, were completely flattened.

Jim shrugged. He'd tried.

"Okay," Blair said more calmly. "I know there's a story behind this. What is it?"

"I went to get breakfast. I thought we should eat something before we hit the road."

"Iced cappuccino and croissant pancakes?"

"It isn't iced."

"It's cold."

"It wasn't supposed to be." This really was all Blair's fault. Jim just wasn't sure he could explain how.

"Okay, when I wake up this morning, I hear you singing in the shower." Blair frowned. "Then, before I can get up, you sneak out of here and you're gone for hours."

"I wasn't singing." And it wasn't "hours" either. Ninety minutes, at most, but one argument at a time was all Jim was in the mood for.

"Singing." Blair grinned. "I heard it."

"Okay, I may have hummed," Jim conceded. "I was in a good mood. Is that a crime?"

"Just...it's not something I hear every day, okay?" Blair pinned him down with a familiar stare. "What's going on?"

"I told you." Jim was starting to feel like the whole world was dumping on him today. "I went to get breakfast. Can I help it if I got sidetracked?"

"Sidetracked by what?

"Look, don't give me this attitude," Jim said. "This is all your fault."

"My fault?" Blair looked surprised. "How is this my fault?"

"You have too many friends," Jim muttered.

"Um. Okay." Blair was wearing his "listening" face. That meant he wasn't going to stop until Jim explained everything to Blair's satisfaction. "Go on."

Jim gave Blair a brief review of his morning, so far. Including Blair's friends, the Garniers. His student, Dora. The old guy, stuck on a deserted street at dawn.

By the time he got to the end, Blair was almost laughing. No...he was snickering, at least until he got a glimpse of Jim's expression.

"Okay," Blair repeated. "Now, explain to me why you didn't just, you know, ignore these people? You don't usually...I mean, why did you set out to right the social wrongs of all of Cascade at one swoop?"

Typical Blair, Jim decided. You tried to do something nice for him and he showed no appreciation at all.

"I was in a good mood." That had worn off a while back, of course. "I decided to share it around, that's all."

Blair eyed him closely for a minute. "You've been in a good mood for weeks. What's up?"

Fine. Now being cheerful was a sign of Problems On the Sentinel Path?

"I'm...I'm happy, okay?" Jim knew he sounded ridiculously defensive, but he didn't care. Right now, he was wishing he'd never bothered to get out of bed that morning. Or for a do-over, at least.

"You want to talk about it?"

"Talk about it?" Jim stared at him. "I can be happy without a permit, can't I?

"Look, I'm not...you're just not a happy kind of guy, okay? I mean, sometimes, yeah, but not for weeks on end." The words were pouring out of Blair now, like he'd unblocked a dam. "So I figure either you're having some kind of environmental reaction or you met someone new and you didn't tell me."

"It's not an allergy, Sandburg." Irrationally, being on the receiving end of Blair's take you apart and see what makes you tick stare didn't really bother Jim any more. "I didn't meet anyone new."

"Okay." Blair nodded. "So, maybe it's environmental."

"You can say that again." Jim dumped his cappuccino down the drain and poured himself a cup of plain, black coffee.

"Jim, I know you're enjoying yourself, but trust me," Blair said carefully. "This isn't good. We don't need anything knocking you off your game, and anything that lasts this long...well, it's something to worry about."

"Relax, Sandburg. It's not the kind of chemical reaction you can cure by buying a new rug or a different air freshener." Jim took a long drink of coffee, and waited for that first, wonderful caffeine rush.

"You mean you know what it is?"

"Yeah, I know." Jim really hadn't wanted to have this conversation at 6:45 in the morning with Blair frowning at him across the kitchen counter.

"Well?"

On the other hand, the way Jim's luck was running, it was probably now or never.

Jim sighed. "Okay. I'm in love, okay? I'm in a good mood because I'm in love." He was also starving and the bread was a total loss. If he cooked breakfast, they'd have to wash up and they'd never get out of town.

Blair blinked. "Wow."

Fortunately the picnic basket was right there on the floor, loaded to the brim with food. Jim fished out a sandwich and unwrapped it.

Blair eyed him curiously. "Who? You said you didn't meet anyone. Where did you...who is it?"

"I said I didn't meet anyone new," Jim corrected.

"You're in love with someone old?"

"Not when you put it like that, no." Jim took a perverse pleasure in making Blair work for it. He'd already gone through hell for Blair today and he wasn't getting any credit for it.

"If you didn't meet anyone new, then it has to be...I mean, it has to be someone you already knew."

"And some people think a college education is a waste of time."

"Come on," Blair coaxed. "Why didn't you say anything? Who is it?"

"I'm not sure you want to know." Jim reached for another sandwich. He really was starving. Or maybe he was just nervous.

Blair looked at the sandwich and frowned. He looked at Jim. "Of course I want to know. C'mon. Tell me."

Jim took a bite, chewing and swallowing deliberately. Looked like it was all or nothing time in the Ellison house.

He looked at Blair. "You."

"Me?" Blair went very still.

"Yeah. I'm in love with you." There might have been better ways to say it, but at least now it was out in the open.

Jim used the next few seconds to regret his original plan. Out in the woods, away from the city and their roles as Sentinel and Guide. He'd thought of it as neutral territory. That, and a slightly romantic setting were all he'd asked for.

Blair 'processed' his words for all of ten seconds. "For how...I mean...all this time?"

"Not since the day we met or anything, no. But...you know. For a while." He waited, watching Blair out of the corner of his eyes.

Blair frowned "How long of a while?"

"I'm not sure. A few months. Maybe a year." Jim sighed. Just another research note. "It's not...I mean, it's not an exact science, okay? I just...it just sort of happened. And...."

"And...what? You just recently figured it out?"

"Something like that, yeah." It didn't look like Blair's plans included grabbing him and kissing him, so Jim went on with his second sandwich.

Of course, he hadn't said no, either. Jim had noticed that particularly.

"But you haven't...were you going to tell me about this at any point?"

"I just wanted to enjoy it for a while before...." Jim hesitated. There really wasn't any good way to finish that sentence.

"Before what?"

If Blair didn't like what he heard, it was his own fault.

"Before you started analyzing it to death, that's all," Jim confessed.

Like this. This was exactly what Jim had been afraid of. Well, this and a polite, "hey, that's nice, but no."

That hadn't happened yet. The door wasn't quite closed.

"I see." Blair nodded seriously. "So what you're saying is that you're in love with me...but you didn't want to tell me right away so I couldn't spoil it for you?"

"Well, yeah. I guess." Jim felt guilty. "Sort of."

"I'm...that's...."

Jim looked at him. It was something to have reduced Sandburg to silence this early in the day.

Maybe the confusion would keep Blair from noticing that Jim was having pickles and black olives with his breakfast.

Blair was in pacing mode, now. "I don't even know how to answer that."

Jim took another a bite of his sandwich. It was even better than the first one. "That's a first."

Blair glared at him. "You will let me know if you decide to, you know, kiss me or something, right? Because maybe I should leave the room first, so I don't mess it up for you."

"I knew you'd react this way." Jim hadn't, he hadn't been sure how Sandburg would take it, but as long as they were talking, it might work out.

"How would you react if I said that to you?"

"I don't know," Jim admitted. "Maybe...maybe I'd have stopped to evaluate my own behavior to see if there was any truth in what you said?"

"Oh, yeah. Because you're Mr. Introspection."

"I may not spend my life meditating on the inwardness of every hangnail, or anything, but I do think about my behavior." Years of nagging from Sandburg had taught Jim that. Figuring out the stuff with his senses had helped, of course. He wasn't half shut-down, or on full automatic and out of control.

"Maybe if you'd thought about your behavior this morning, before you left me sitting here for a hour, we wouldn't be having this discussion." Blair was just being pissy now.

"You mean, we wouldn't be sitting here with me telling you I'm in love with you and you using the information to pick a fight with me? Because I'd be willing to skip this part."

Jim put the plastic tubs full of olives and pickles back in the picnic basket and wondered if they were still going on a picnic.

Blair stopped, mouth wide open for a second, as he absorbed that.

"What did you know?" he demanded.

"Huh?"

"You said you 'knew I'd react this way," Blair quoted. "What does that mean?"

"I mean, I knew you'd have some kind of freak-out." Jim said. He'd hoped for something else, but he'd expected something like this. "All very, you know, understanding and New Age, but still a freak-out."

"I am not freaking out."

"Sure sounds like it to me."

"I'm just saying. There are ways of doing these things. I...when I fell in love with you, I tried to show it by doing things for you, not by leaving you sitting at home while I went out and played Don Quixote for the world."

The world rocked on its foundation for a second. Jim replayed that first remark in his head.

Then he replayed it again.

"When?"

"When did I do things for you?" Blair looked irritated.

"No, when did you fall in love with me?"

"I don't know. I mean, I'm not sure when it happened." Blair shrugged. "I figured it out during the Alex thing."

"But...that whole thing with you and your mom and your doctorate...."

He'd thought Blair was going to leave. Go somewhere else where he'd be allowed to continue his studies. Maybe even just run and hide.

He'd thought Blair was going to leave him because without the Sentinel study, Blair didn't need him any more. And Jim had acted like a jerk. He hadn't helped Blair with the situation at all, just made it harder for him.

"Yeah. I figured, she'd screwed it up for me permanently that time." Blair looked unhappy. "But...she's my mom, you know? I couldn't just...."

Yell at her. Blame her. Make her even more unhappy that she'd wrecked Blair's life. He couldn't do any of the things Jim had wanted him to do.

They were past all of that now. Jim didn't want to go back to it.

"Well, I want to thank you for sharing the information with me, anyhow," he said. "Eventually."

"I was going to." Blair was on the defensive now. "When the time was right. That's...that was only a few weeks ago. I figured...give it some time. Let things settle back down to normal, and stuff."

And now they had forty-eight hours until Blair started at the Academy.

That's what had made Jim's mind up for him. If it was no, they needed to step back. Blair needed to find his own life. He needed his choices back.

"Before you mentioned that you sacrificed your entire future for me and, by the way, you were in love with me, but no pressure or anything?" Jim didn't really care. He was just...processing. When I fell in love with you. Blair had said that.

"No." Blair glared at him. "It wasn't like that."

"I know. Because, unlike you, I give people I care about the benefit of the doubt." Well, he was learning to, anyhow.

'Hey, how come I'm the one in trouble, all of a sudden?" Blair's eyes narrowed. "I thought this was about you taking off this morning and leaving me sitting here, all dressed down and nowhere to go?"

"You're the one who wanted to fight."

Blair thought about that. "I don't want to fight."

"Okay, then." That worked for Jim.

"What do you want to do?"

"I want to go on a picnic." Jim had been looking forward to this for two weeks, ever since they'd planned it, and he wasn't going to be robbed.

"You ate everything already."

"Not everything." Blair always exaggerated. There was enough food in the basket for four people. "Anyhow, I still want to get out of the city for a few hours."

"Oh." Blair was still looking at the picnic basket, his expression hard to read.

Now what?

"You don't have to come along," Jim said. In spite of what he'd said, Blair probably still needed some time to think about this. "I just...I thought you'd enjoy it."

"No, no, I'm game." Blair looked at him and smiled. "Sounds good."

"But...."

"What?"

"You have that, 'it sounds like fun but' note in your voice," Jim said patiently.

Blair looked at the picnic basket again.

"You ate the best sandwich," he mumbled.

"The best sandwich? They're just sandwiches, Sandburg."

"You ate the one with the extra cheese. I made that one specially for me."

"What happened to you doing things for me because you loved me?"

"Well, there's a limit, okay?"

"And an extra slice of cheese is going too far?"

"Hey, it was imported, man. I spent a fortune on it."

"Yeah, I know." Imported cheese. Only Sandburg ate imported cheese even when he was out of work.

"What?" Blair looked guilty. "Did I leave the bill laying around?"

"No," Jim said. "I ate it a couple of days ago." It had been pretty good, too. "I bought you a half a pound, yesterday."

"Oh." Blair shrugged. "You know, I thought there was more in there than I remembered."

"Enough for five sandwiches okay? So make yourself another 'special' one, and let's get on the road."

And he did. Blair actually got up and started making another "special" sandwich. It was good cheese, but it was just cheese.

"We need anything else?" Blair asked.

Jim looked around. "I'll grab a blanket."

"I put in those cushion things, for sitting on."

vCushions? "We're grown men, Sandburg."

"I noticed. So?"

"Real men don't pack cushions when they'd heading out into the wilderness, okay?"

"It's not like we're scaling the Alps or anything. It's a picnic."

"We'll take a blanket," Jim said firmly. "Maybe two. No cushions."

They were grown men. He was in love with Blair. Blair was in love with him. With a little luck, they'd need a blanket.

Blair opened his mouth, then stopped, looking surprised. "Yeah. It's.... Yeah."

Jim, "What?"

Blair looked down. "Nothing, it's just...you bought crummy bread."

"Pardon me, your highness," Jim said. "I thought it was what you liked."

"No, no, I don't mean crummy bread." Blair explained. "I mean, crumby. Bread that makes crumbs."

Even after all these years, the way Blair's brain worked still surprised him sometimes.

"So?"

Blair abandoned the sandwich. He walked over and stopped, two inches from Jim. "You really are in love with me, aren't you?"

"Yeah. I am." Now they were getting somewhere.

"I mean, some would say it with flowers." Blair grinned. "You said it with crumbs."

"I have a feeling I'm going to live to regret it."

"I think you forgot one thing," Blair said seriously.

Jim looked at him, watching the early morning sunlight pick out flecks of gold in the tumbled hair. Blair's face was tilted up toward him, Blair's eyes watching him intently.

"No, I didn't."

"You sure?" Blair smiled slightly.

"I was just waiting for you to stop talking."

"That could take a while." Jim had had something more romantic in mind. Out in the woods, under the open, blue sky, in the warm sunshine. Still. Here they were. He was willing to be flexible.

He touched Blair's arm, running his hand up to Blair's shoulder. Warm. Strong. Supportive. His partner.

Then he leaned in, and Blair leaned in, and they were kissing. Finally.

It was careful. Sweet. Nice.

Then Blair's lips moved against his and Jim's mouth was full of the taste of him and his arms were full of the feel of him.

He was kissing Blair and Blair was kissing back. Heat flooded through him, especially where Blair was touching him. Blair tasted like coffee. He tasted like yes. He tasted like a future. Together.

Jim had never known that their kitchen was such a romantic place.

* * * * *

end