Why Blair Sandburg Doesn't Mow Lawns

Why Blair Sandburg Doesn't Mow Lawns

Rating: NC-17 for graphic male-male sex

Pairing: Blair Sandburg/Rafe

Disclaimer: "The Sentinel," with its related characters and themes, belongs to Pet Fly and Paramount, not to me. I make no money from this venture.

Dedication: This slashfic is for Ryf van Rij and Ewan McGregor. Those are cool names.

Wherein Jim, of all people, says, "We need to talk," "Dial it down," and, "How do you feel?"

Notice: I have made up a ridiculously implausible medical situation. Also, officially, all the "The Sentinel" people will say is that there's a Detective Rafe who dresses well. (They even spell his name inconsistently in the credits.) Any background beyond that is up to the imagination. Here's what my imagination's concocted.

Jim couldn't believe his eyes. "Chief?"

"Yeah Jim?"

"Could you turn that off please?"

"Yeah, sure, sorry." Pause, click, silence. Chirp of birds. "Um, what's up?" Blair asked with an I'm-not- nervous, see-how-not-nervous-I-am? look.

"Chief, you do know that you're mowing a lawn."

"Yes, Jim, I noticed."

"Rafe's lawn."

"Yes." Blair nodded.

"With a push mower."

"Yes." Another nod.

"Doesn't he have a riding mower at least?"

"Uh, Jim, why are you here?"

"I'm looking for Rafe. This is his house."

"He's at the station."

"No, he's not. And why are you here mowing his lawn when he's not even here? I thought that you were out studying or writing or learning or something."

"The grass is getting too long, I offered to help, he couldn't stop laughing, it became a point of honor."

"Have you ever mowed a lawn in your life?"

"Looks that bad, hunh."

"It does, Chief, it really does."

"Wait, he's not at the station? He's not out working a case?"

"He didn't come to the station. I was on my way out here myself, and Simon told me to swing by here. No one answered the phone."

"He left here to go to work. He never showed up at work."

"Now, don't start panicking here, Chief."

"I'm not panicking. I am not panicking."

"Then what's that?"

"That's me, panicking. It is I, panicking. This is no time for good grammar - - where's Rafe?"

"If I knew that, I wouldn't be here. You're sure he left."

"I'm sure."

"When?"

"Well, I wasn't here, I was at my office, and then I came here. I haven't been inside, I just started mowing the lawn."

"So he could be inside."

"Not answering the phone?"

"Let's go look," Jim said, heading for the house. Blair hurried at his side. Jim drew his gun. "Stay behind me, Chief."

"At least let me open the door for you, man," Blair said, pulling out his keyring.

"I'll do it. Stay back." Blair handed Jim the correct key; Jim unlocked the door, handed the keys back to Blair, and eased open the front door. Jim entered, swept the foyer, moved into the living room. Behind him, he noticed Blair at the security system panel.

"Nobody's here," Blair said.

"We don't know that," Jim said.

"Listen, then," Blair said. "Do you hear anybody? Breathing, heartbeat, footsteps?"

"If you'd stop talking and let me listen-"

"Don't argue, just listen."

"Sandburg!" Jim concentrated, focused, listened. He shut out his own sounds, and Blair's. There was nothing else, only silence, only - - wait, what was that? His imagination? He put up a hand to silence Blair and closed his eyes, shutting down his other senses, focusing. "There's someone upstairs," he said. "Stay back." And he ran up the stairs, shouting, "Cascade PD!" just in case. Up the stairs, down the hall, last room on the right-

-a bedroom, and there, on the floor, was Rafe. Lying there. In blood.

"Oh my god oh my god."

Jim said, "Get the phone, call for an ambulance. Sandburg!" He knelt down beside Rafe. The man was on the verge of death, he could tell; pulse weak, barely breathing at all. "Rafe. Rafe, can you hear me? Rafe!" In the background, he heard Blair on the phone. "Rafe, it's Jim. Sandburg's calling for help. You stay here with us." As far as he could tell, there had been two shots to the chest.

Blair knelt on Rafe's other side. "Rafe, come on, man, don't do this. You don't wanna go there, man, come on."

Jim knew that one of them should wait outside for the paramedics, but if Rafe needed CPR it would be easier with both of them there. He prayed for a fast response time and watched Rafe carefully.

"Rafe, please," Blair said.

"ABC, Chief," Jim said.

"Shit," Blair said, and checked Rafe's airway. While Blair breathed, Jim knelt astride Rafe's body and started chest compressions, counting. After too long, he heard sirens. When the front door opened, he started shouting for the paramedics. He pulled Blair out of the way and watched them work on Rafe.

"I'm Detective Ellison, this is my partner Blair Sandburg," he announced. "He'll be going with the ambulance. Chief, I'm going to call Simon so we can get started on this one."

"Good, good," Blair said, voice and eyes intense, watching Rafe. "You find out who did this and you-"

"Easy, Chief," Jim said. "Save that energy. You'll need it."

Jim called Simon. The crime scene was investigated thoroughly, both the room and the house as a whole. They had a million questions, and the only one with answers was Rafe. Jim got a call on his cell phone some time later; Blair was calling from the hospital. Rafe was in the ICU; family only, man posted at the door.

They were working round-the-clock on this one. It wasn't a robbery; Rafe's TV, stereo, etc., were present and accounted for, and Rafe's wallet was intact in his pocket. Rafe's gun was loaded but in the holster on the bureau. Someone had walked into Rafe's home and shot Rafe in cold blood, twice.

Jim, Simon, Joel, and Brown were in conference in Ops; Blair was at the hospital waiting for word on when Rafe would waken. That had been Jim's suggestion; they wanted someone there with Rafe, and though Blair was extremely intelligent and always helpful, it made sense to leave the civilian in the hospital and let the detectives do the cop work. Jim had made the suggestion for other personal reasons that he didn't think the others needed to know just yet.

"We got back the fingerprinting results," Simon said. "There are two sets of prints all over that bedroom. One's gotta be Rafe's. The other's the killer, unless someone knows that Rafe has a girlfriend all of a sudden."

"Uh, Simon," Jim said. "I don't think it's the killer."

"And why would that be?" Simon asked.

"I think that Rafe is in a personal relationship."

"Well then we need to talk to this woman, find out what she knows," Simon said.

"Why don't you let me take that tack, Simon?"

"May I ask why?"

"You'd better not," Jim said. "I'll get right on that now."

"You do that," Simon said. "Jim, I'm going to want some answers from you."

"I'll try to think of some, Captain," Jim said. "Excuse me."

He went to the hospital and found Blair sitting in a waiting room not reading a magazine. "Hey, Chief."

Blair made a half-hearted attempt to get up, then gave up and sagged back in the chair. "Jim."

"How's it going?"

"He's in a coma."

"A coma?" Jim repeated. "Rafe's in a coma?"

"Yeah." Blair put his elbows on his knees, burying his face in his hands.

"Look, Chief, I'm going to take you home."

"My car's still there. The lawnmower's sitting on the lawn."

"I'm sure Simon's going to be asking about both of those things tomorrow. But right now, you need to go home, get something to eat, get some sleep."

"I can't just go."

"There's a man posted by the door, and if anything happens, good or bad, you know we'll get the call."

"Did you find anything? Any clues?"

"No. We're working on it, Chief. Come on."

He drove Blair home, sat Blair on the sofa, made some soup from a can. It was food, at least. "We need to talk."

"You know what they're going to find. All over that room. All over that house. Me. My fingerprints, my hair, my clothing fibers."

"I know. Simon's already asking about it. No one knows it's you. But Simon wants to know whether it was a girlfriend or the killer. I said that Rafe was in a relationship, and I told Simon that I'd take care of it."

"So now you're going to ask me what I know."

"Yes."

"And Simon's going to want to know who Rafe's girlfriend is. And why the fingerprints are all a man's. And-"

"Don't get excited here, Chief. We'll take care of it. Just tell me, can you think of any reason that anyone would want to do this. Someone from the past, someone he's fighting with, he's been having problems... Anything at all. You know the drill."

"I have no idea, Jim. Everything's been fine. He's been happy, work's going great, you know he wrapped up the Destino case, he talks to his mother every Wednesday..."

"Simon called her. Tomorrow he'll talk to her, ask her questions, if he hasn't already."

"She knows. I've talked to her on the phone. She'll tell Simon, Jim. I know she will."

"She's a good mother?"

"Yeah. She's really nice. Friendly. Smart."

Jim was trying to remember the questions he normally asked the victim's significant other. About family, about job, about friends. But he was Rafe's job and friends, and so was Blair, and neither of them had done it, and neither of them could think of anyone who'd done it. And it was hard to think of Rafe as a "vic," and it was hard to think of Blair as "gay vic's boyfriend," because Rafe was Rafe and Blair was Blair and they were people, real people, his people. Finally he said, "Chief, you know how this works. If you think of anything or anyone, anything that happened, the littlest thing that seemed off, you tell me. I will take care of Simon."

"No one takes care of Simon."

Jim would do what he had to do. Rafe couldn't be outed. Cops were notoriously homophobic. Rafe's career would be over, gone, immediately. He'd have to protect Rafe, and Blair. If he let Simon in on it, Simon would make sure that it didn't go any farther. That meant trusting Simon, and Jim could do it. "Chief? When were you planning on telling me that you're having an affair with Rafe?"

"When the time seemed right. When's a good time for you?"

"Now's good."

"Okay. Jim?"

"Yeah, Chief?"

"I'm having an affair with Rafe."

"Really. How'd that happen?"

"I don't know. You work with him, so I work with him. And you always get all of the big cases, which really isn't fair, because the other guys are good detectives. Rafe's smart, and he's nice, and he's really pretty."

"Pretty? Chief, grown adult males are not pretty."

"I don't know about that."

"You know, after these years of you telling me to open up and share, now you're keeping something like this a secret from me?"

"Yeah. First, because the only people who know that Rafe's gay are me and his mother. You know what happens to gay cops, Jim. And I trust you, but Rafe's sort of keeping it close right now. Second, it was fun and exciting to have something separate from you, even for just a little bit. I mean, I work with you, I live with you, I spend my time with you, I work with your job, my job is you - - it's insane, Jim. It's great, it really is, you know I love it, but I just wanted a little something that wasn't all about you."

"How long has this been going on?"

"Three weeks. Well, before that, you know, Rafe and I were talking, getting to know each other. Then three weeks ago it started getting physical."

"Those dates you've been having, all of those nights you've been out, you've been with him?"

"Yeah."

"You've been Rafe's...boyfriend...lover...for three weeks?"

"Yeah."

"How did I not know this?"

"I just didn't tell you. I can't lie to you, Jim, it never works. So I just didn't tell you. Rafe and I talked about it, and we were going to tell you next Friday. We wanted four weeks of just us, and then I could tell you. Mostly he was worried not that you'd out him but that you'd make me stop seeing him. You know how possessive you get, how territorial you are."

"You've had plenty of lovers, Chief, and I've never made you stop seeing anyone."

"Yeah, but they were all women. Rafe's another man. It makes a difference."

"Good of you to notice. I'm sure he appreciates it."

"Are you okay with this?"

"You don't need my blessing, Chief. You know I like Rafe. I had no idea that he was gay. I don't know why I didn't smell one of you on the other."

"Now that you now about it, you probably will. Assuming he's going to be all right."

"He'll make it, Chief."

"He's in a coma. What the hell is he doing in a coma?!"

"Tomorrow morning, we'll go see him. I'll talk to Simon. Maybe Rafe will wake up and tell us who's done this to him."

"And then you'll give me five minutes alone with the-"

"Dial it down, Chief. Simon's not going to let you in on this investigation if you say anything like that."

"You mix the personal and professional all of the time."

"And it doesn't work too well, does it? And you, you're worse than I am."

"I know."

"Are you in love with him?"

"Totally."

In the morning, Jim took Blair to the hospital. Simon was just finishing a conversation with the uniform at Rafe's door. "I want to talk to you," Simon said to Blair.

"Captain," Jim began.

"I didn't say that I wanted to talk to you," Simon told Jim.

"I think that I want him here," Blair said. "For my protection."

"How's Rafe?" Jim asked.

"He hasn't woken up yet," Simon said. "Come here." He led them to a sheltered corner. "Now, let me share with you some interesting information. There are handprints all over Rafe's bedroom, which we lifted because it's a crime scene. Those same handprints were found all over Rafe's house. And on the lawnmower outside on the lawn; it looks as though someone was cutting Rafe's grass and was interrupted in the middle. And those same handprints are all over your car, the inside and outside, which was parked in Rafe's driveway. Now something tells me that someone stole your car, took it to Rafe's house, ran all around inside, and started to mow his lawn before going back in and killing him. Why doesn't this make sense to me?"

"Does anyone else know?" Blair asked.

"You tell me what happened and I'll take care of who knows about it," Simon said. "Now, I know that you didn't mow half of Rafe's lawn and then shoot him."

"No," Blair said. "I had nothing to do with what happened. I left school, I went to mow the lawn. I didn't go inside the house, I just got the mower from the garage and got to work. Then Jim came looking for Rafe. I thought that Rafe was at work the whole time. We went inside and found him upstairs."

"You mowed Rafe's lawn."

"It needed to be done. He's busy. I'd never done it before and I thought I'd try."

"You got into his garage. The one you need a password to get into."

"I knew what it was."

"And when you two went inside, you didn't break the lock or alert the security system."

"No," Blair said.

"And why was that?"

"I know that password for that, too, and I have a key."

"Is this explaining to me why long dark curly hairs were found in Rafe's room?" Simon asked.

"I believe so, Captain," Jim said.

"All right. Jim, you come with me. We need to talk to his mother. You've already spoken with Rafe's...significant other," Simon said, looking at Blair.

"Yes," Jim said.

"Learn anything useful?"

"No."

"All right. Let's get going."

Simon and Jim came by later. Brown and Joel visited, too. Blair was shooed out by the nurses repeatedly, but he sat by Rafe's bed when he could, sometimes talking, sometimes thinking. He didn't let himself touch Rafe, not with nurses and cops popping in every moment.

When Simon and Jim stopped in, they had no leads. Jim wanted to take Blair home, and Simon insisted. Blair tried to argue. Then he stared at Rafe. "Did you see that?"

"See what?" Simon asked.

"Jim, is he waking up?"

"I don't know," Jim said.

"I know he's moved sometimes, but I swear - - look, he's waking up, did you see that?"

"I'll go get a nurse," Simon said, leaving.

"Rafe, come on, please," Blair said. "Open your eyes."

Jim's first passing thought was that Rafe actually did have very pretty eyes.

Then the nurse walked in with Simon. "Good afternoon," she said to Rafe. "Thank you for joining us. It's good to see you alert. Would you gentlemen please excuse us?"

"We'll be right outside," Simon told Rafe. "Come on, Sandburg."

Jim pulled on Blair's elbow, leading Blair from the room.

Another nurse went in, then the doctor. Simon pulled the doctor aside for a quick interrogation, then reported to them. "He'll be fine. He should recover fully if he gets rest. He'll be in the hospital for a while. They'll move him from the ICU in twenty-four hours with any luck."

"Can we talk to him?" Blair asked.

"We need to ask him what he knows," Jim said. "He should be able to tell us who did this to him."

"We can't all go in. The doctor said only two at a time," Simon said. "Tell you what," and he was looking at Blair again, "I'll send Officer Stanton off on a coffee break, and I'll guard the door. You two go in and question Rafe."

"That's an excellent idea, Simon," Jim said. "Come on, Chief."

"Don't need to tell me twice," Blair said. "Thanks, Simon."

Jim followed Blair into Rafe's room and closed the door. "How do you feel?"

"Awful," Rafe said. He looked like he meant it, and he sounded bad, but he was smiling.

"We need to ask you a few questions about what happened," Blair said, and walked around to stand on the other side of the bed, facing the door. "What do you remember?"

"Did you finish the lawn?"

"No," Blair said.

"What he did get done looks terrible," Jim said. "You heard him out there?"

"I heard the mower running," Rafe said. "That's the last thing I remember."

"So you were lying in your room on the floor bleeding out, and I was two feet away mowing the stupid fu-"

"Sandburg," Jim said, "don't start."

"He knows?" Rafe asked Blair.

"He knows," Blair said. "Simon knows. They'll make sure nobody else knows."

"We spoke with your mother today," Jim said. "She's a wonderful woman. She's flying in."

"She must be worried," Rafe said.

"That's an understatement," Jim said. "Rafe, can you tell us who shot you?"

"James Carpenter," Rafe said.

"Why do I know that name?" Jim asked.

"I put his brother in jail."

"You testified two weeks ago," Blair said. "You testified at the trial."

"Kevin Carpenter," Jim said. "Forty to life."

"Right," Rafe said. "James is his younger brother. Idolizes him."

"All right," Jim said. "We'll take care of it. We'll arrest and kill James; you concentrate on getting better."

"Get some rest," Blair said. "You look awful."

"Weren't you just telling me how pretty he is?" Jim asked Blair.

"Grown adult men aren't pretty, Jim," Blair said.

"We have to go, Chief. Rafe needs to rest and we have to get James Carpenter in jail."

"You'll be okay," Blair said to Rafe. "Doctors, nurses, Officer Stanton right outside the door."

"I've been shot before," Rafe told Blair. "Not this badly, but it's happened. I'll be fine."

"Chief, would you kiss him so we can go?" Jim asked. "Time's wasting here."

"Subtlety is not your strong suit," Blair told Jim. "Turn your back and close your eyes and watch out for any incomers."

"You want me to do all of that?" Jim asked.

"Yes, I do."

Jim sighed and turned his back, closing his eyes. He smirked to himself and turned up his hearing. He heard the whisper of skin on skin, a soft sigh from Blair, lips meeting lips. "I'm glad you're okay. You had me worried," Blair said.

"I'm glad you're okay," Rafe said. "I wondered if he'd find you, come across you."

"Hey, not me," Blair said. "I'm tough."

"Me too. You don't need to worry; I'm too strong for a little couple of bullets to stop me."

"Yeah. It's hard to keep a good man down." Rafe and Blair snickered. Obviously it was a personal joke that they found ridiculously funny. "Oh god, I'm sorry, you left it wide open for me," Blair said.

"I know, I know," Rafe said. "Stop making me laugh, it hurts."

"Sorry. I couldn't help myself."

"You never do."

Another kiss, longer. With tongues.

"Sorry, I shouldn't, you're just out of a coma. And, god, what am I doing standing around here when the guy who almost killed you is running around out there?!"

"Be careful," Rafe said. "Mom wants to meet you."

"Hey, and no sponge baths while I'm gone," Blair said. Quick kiss. "Love you."

"You too, sweetheart."

Blair chuckled. "I still like Snuggly Woogums."

"Schloopy Face."

"Schloopy Face!"

"Get out of here."

Kiss. "Bye. Come on, Jim, let's go."

Jim tossed a smile to Rafe and left with Blair.

They got the warrant for James Carpenter's arrest. Simon was going to let Jim make the collar; Brown and Joel were there for back-up and to enjoy the moment. Blair stuck right behind Jim as the five of them went to the hair salon where James Carpenter's girlfriend worked. Joel and Brown went inside; Jim and Simon caught James running out the back exit. Blair watched grimly as James was cuffed and charged.

Jim and Blair went to the hospital later to tell Rafe about the arrest. He was sleeping when they got there. "Don't bother him, Chief. He needs his rest."

"I'm not bothering him." Blair walked over and kissed Rafe's cheek.

A few minutes passed. Long dark lashes fluttered; Rafe said, "Hi," looking at the two of them by his bed.

"We got him," Blair said. "We got him, we got him. James Carpenter has been arrested."

"Who?"

"James Carpenter. The guy who shot you. Kevin's brother."

"Kevin?"

"Wait, Chief." Jim put a hand on Blair's arm. Rafe's heartbeat was getting faster. "Do you know who I am?"

"Jim, that's-"

"Chief, give me a minute." Jim looked into Rafe's eyes. "Do you recognize me?"

"No," Rafe said.

"Do you remember why you're here?"

"I was shot?" Rafe asked, looking at Blair. "James Carpenter shot me?"

"Do you know who James Carpenter is?"

"No."

"Kevin Carpenter?"

"No."

"Do you know who you are?"

"Rafe."

"What do you do for a living? Where do you live?"

"I'm a detective for the Cascade PD. I live at 5 Arlin Circle in Cascade."

"Jim, man, what's going on here?" Blair asked. "Rafe, talk to me."

"Do you know who your captain is?"

"No. What's happened to me?" Rafe asked.

"Sandburg, go find a nurse to get a doctor in here. Sandburg."

"I'm going," Blair said.

"And call Simon."

The doctor came. Simon came.

"Jim, Rafe's our eyewitness. If we don't have his testimony, we don't have an arrest," Simon said. "Now, Carpenter doesn't know that. You need a confession and you need it fast. Go down to the station and get that boy to talk."

"Right," Jim said, ready to go. He'd get James Carpenter to confess. No way would he let Rafe's would-be assassin go free. He was certain, without a doubt, that Rafe had been fully competent in accusing Carpenter. Only after that accusation had Rafe's mind gone.

The damage, the doctor had told them, shouldn't be permanent. Rafe remembered everything about himself - - where he lived, where he worked, his name, his social security number, his birthplace, his birthday. His mother would be coming soon; they'd see how much Rafe remembered with her to trigger him. It was alarming that he didn't remember any of his cases or coworkers. And, of course, he didn't remember Blair. He remembered general facts, and how to do his job, or so Jim and Simon discerned from speaking with him. He just didn't remember any personal history. No friends. No occurrences. No parties or jokes. No Blair.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Jim asked Blair.

Blair slumped on the sofa. "No."

"What happened to opening up and sharing?"

"You know, I thought that he was going to die. And then he didn't, and it was like a miracle. I spoke with him, I kissed him, we laughed together. He remembered me, he remembered - - we had this thing with pet names. Because you always call me by my last name, or you call me Chief. And he thought that he should have something to call me. So we've been going through choices - - Snugglebunny, Snoogy Woogums, Kissly Poo, Darling, Sweetheart, Blair Dear, Honeyface."

"Dare I ask what's with the keeping a good man down?"

"You don't want to know. Let's just say that I had a hard time learning to swallow."

"You're right, I didn't want to know."

"And now he acts like he's never seen me in his life."

"It'll come back to him. Once he gets back in familiar surroundings, his house, his desk, it'll come back to him."

"And if it doesn't?"

"He's still Rafe. You're still Blair. You can start over."

"He hasn't had the same experiences. He hasn't lived his own life. It's nature v. nurture. Without Rafe's background, is Rafe still Rafe?"

"It'll work out, Chief."

"I want to help him, I want to support him through this, and he doesn't know who I am. According to him, I have no right to try to help him."

"He didn't say that."

"It was in his eyes, it was in his whole face. We're complete strangers. We scare him. He wants to figure it out for himself, on his own. He doesn't trust us. He doesn't know who we are."

After office hours the next day, Blair met Jim and they went to the airport to pick up Rafe's mother, Virginia. She shook Jim's hand and hugged Blair. They filled her in on Rafe's condition and took her straight to the hospital. They didn't want to crowd Rafe, so Virginia went in alone. Jim had to get back to work; Brown showed up and promised to take her to her hotel. Jim and Blair left reluctantly.

James had confessed. That left them feeling some satisfaction, at least, that the person who'd almost killed Rafe would pay for it. However, that didn't fix Rafe, and no matter how many collars they made, Rafe wouldn't get any better. Jim wasn't used to feeling powerless; he didn't like this new sensation. It didn't help any that his guide, for once, wasn't full of energy and ideas and theories. Blair's usual intensity was quiet.

Jim and Blair got to return to the hospital that evening. They found Virginia by Rafe's bedside.

"Blair, Jim," she said, turning, rising. "Sit up, Rafe, you have company."

"How are you?" Blair asked Rafe.

"Not too good," Rafe said. "I remembered that I like pizza."

"With pepperoni, sausage, onions, and black olives," Blair said.

"That sounds perfect," Rafe said. "You knew that?"

"We've eaten together a few times," Blair said.

"Lately whenever we get pizza you make it vegetarian," Jim told Blair. "You let him eat pepperoni and sausage?"

"Rafe's eating habits are much healthier than yours in general," Blair said. "I have to watch you every second. He drinks milk, eats fruit and vegetables more regularly than practically anyone else I know, has balanced meals - - are you to blame for this?" he asked Virginia.

"I'm afraid so," she said. "Nice to know that some of my unrelenting practices sunk in. So you two stop looking at me funny, no, Rafe doesn't remember me. But he remembers some things about home, so I'm staying optimistic." She smoothed back Rafe's hair, and he let her. "Henri was here for a while to stay with Rafe while I got some lunch with your captain."

"I meant to ask you," Rafe said. "One of the three of you must know, since you all seem to know me pretty well. While Brown was here, he said something about me having a girlfriend and not telling him about it, and he wanted to know who she was. I haven't had any girlfriend visit me. Do you know about her?"

"You were seeing someone," Jim said, "but it was a secret affair."

"Does that mean that she doesn't care enough to visit me, or that she doesn't know that I'm in the hospital?" Rafe asked.

"I hardly think that you'd be involved with someone who didn't care enough to visit you," Virginia said.

"Was there any evidence at my house?" Rafe asked. "About who she could be?"

"Fingerprints, hair," Jim said. He didn't miss that they kept saying "someone" while Rafe kept saying "she." Either Rafe was confused about sexual orientation, or Rafe was in the closet. Which, of course, Rafe had been before; this Rafe didn't know that all three of them knew that he was gay.

"We should go," Blair said. "Let you rest. We just wanted to come by and make sure you're doing all right."

"Would you like a ride?" Jim asked Virginia.

"No, that's all right, I'll stay a while longer," Virginia said. "I don't care how sick he gets of me, I want to spend time with my son."

"All right," Jim said. "We'll see you later. Good-bye, Virginia."

Blair stopped by the next morning after class. He met Virginia in the hall. "Blair, I wanted to speak with you," she said. "He's sleeping, but we can go in to wake him up in a minute. I know that you must be feeling very frustrated by this situation."

"I'm not the only one," Blair said. "You, Simon - - and Rafe, he's confused and frustrated too."

"Very," she agreed. "But last night, right before I left, he asked me if he's gay. I asked him why he asked me, and he said that it was because he'd had several pretty female nurses he didn't care about, but he, how did he put it, 'had his eyes all over Blair Sandburg.'"

Blair's heart flipped. "That's encouraging," he said. He's still in love with me, he just doesn't know it.

"Don't get too greedy," she said. "He's a long way from recovered. He's smart, and he's putting together pieces of his life. Now, that's good, because it'll help him to recover, but it also means that we may overestimate how well he's actually doing."

"I don't want to push," Blair said. "And I don't want to tell him who he is. Having a complete stranger walk up and say 'be in love with me' would put on too much pressure."

"Why don't you go in and see him?"

"I don't want to wake him."

"Then go in and watch him sleep. I'm going to take a walk to get my joints moving again. You have a nice visit." She smiled and left him.

Blair walked into Rafe's room, closing the door. Rafe was sleeping. He sat by the bed and watched. "Hey, sweetie pie," he said softly. He liked to watch Rafe sleep, as a general rule. He liked to sleep with Rafe's warm body curled against his. Make that Rafe's naked warm body.

He'd show up after work. They'd eat. He'd grade papers or write; Rafe respected his privacy and didn't ask much specifically about his thesis. If Rafe were working on something troubling, they'd talk about it, and Rafe would bounce ideas off of him. Then they'd get distracted and end up having wild hot monkey sex for the next ten hours.

Or something like that.

Rafe's lashes lifted.

"Hi."

"Blair."

"Yeah. Your mom said she wanted to get up and stretch a bit, so... You can go back to sleep if you want."

"I'd rather not."

"Bad dreams?"

"Blood and a lawnmower. It's like a scary movie or something."

"So how's the physical stuff? You're healing okay?"

"Yeah. I should be out of here soon. I'm hoping, with everyone else, that once I get back into my regular places and out of these walls, I'll recognize more."

"Do you remember anything about your house? Size, shape, whether you have a garbage disposal, what color your bedroom is?"

"There are blue walls somewhere. And a yellow closet. My bedroom's blue but the inside of the closet is yellow. Why is that?"

Blair smiled. "The whole room used to be yellow. You painted it blue when you moved in, but you left the closet yellow."

"For any particular reason?"

"It was a personal joke between you and yourself."

"I must have a weird sense of humor."

Blair smiled.

"Do you wear glasses?"

"Sometimes."

"I have no idea who you are, how long I've known you, how I normally talk to you, anything, but I remember that. This is getting stupid."

"Let it come on its own," Blair said.

"You've been in my house?"

"Yes."

"Is it nice?"

"It's very nice."

"Am I a good detective?"

"Yes."

"Blair, can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"How well do you know me?"

"Pretty well."

"And you're not a cop."

"No."

"Do you know things about me that other people might not?"

"Some, yes. What are you getting at here?"

"Never mind."

"Rafe, man, just tell me. Or ask me. You can trust me. You do trust me. And if it's something you're worried about, better to talk to me than Jim or Brown, man."

"My closet's yellow."

"Yeah. Oh. Right. Yeah, I know that you're gay."

"You do."

"I do. You told your mom, and you told me, but you didn't tell anyone else."

"Why did I tell you? Are you my best friend?"

"Brown's probably your best friend. But he's a cop. And I'm a gay civilian."

"You're gay?"

"Yes. I told you about me, and you told me about you." Blair waited for Rafe to ask about Brown's comment on Rafe's girlfriend, but Rafe didn't ask about that at all. Rafe just sat there, thinking, until Virginia entered.

A few days later, Rafe went home. Virginia stayed in the spare bedroom. Rafe came back to work a few days after that, on desk duty. Blair heard from Jim that Rafe had requested to see all of the files and reports on his shooting. Rafe had gone to see James Carpenter in prison as well. It made Blair uneasy.

Rafe was easing back into life, including spending time hanging out with friends. He worked out with Brown, he talked shop with Jim, and he talked with Blair frequently. Strictly friends talking, but talking nonetheless.

Virginia had to go home.

The next night, Blair invited Rafe to come over to eat. Then Jim begged off, so Rafe invited Blair to come over to his place instead. It was eerie, to walk into Rafe's home, to sit and cook and eat and talk in Rafe's kitchen, and be stuck on an unfamiliar footing with this man who was half a stranger and half his lover. Blair had walked into the twilight zone. He began to think that it might be better if he just avoided Rafe altogether.

Rafe's dishwasher had been broken for weeks now, so they washed the dishes together. When the dishes were finished, Rafe drained the sink, dried his hands, and pressed his lips to Blair's. Left hand on Blair's right hip, right hand pulling free Blair's ponytail, tongue opening Blair's mouth.

Rafe jerked back fast. Blair was stunned.

"I've done that before," Rafe said. "I've kissed you. I know I've kissed you. I feel like I've done it a million times. I knew it, goddamnit Blair, I knew you were my boyfriend."

"Boyfriend?"

"I had someone, before, someone, and it couldn't have been a woman, I wouldn't have done that, so it had to be a guy. I had a boyfriend. And his fingerprints were found all over my apartment, and evidence lists long curly brown hair, and every time I see you my body just... Why didn't you tell me?!"

"I was your boyfriend," Blair said. "Your lover. For three weeks. Your mother knew about us, but no one else knew. Then Jim and Simon found out, but that's all, and we can trust them. I do trust them. When you were lying upstairs dying, I was outside mowing your lawn. Rafe, man, I couldn't tell you, everyone said, the doctor said, not to tell you anything, to let you remember it yourself. And you didn't know who I was, how could I demand that you be in love with a complete stranger? I wanted to tell you, I wanted to claim the right to help you through all of this, but-"

"We're in love," Rafe said. "Are we in love?"

"We were," Blair said. "I still am. But you don't love me now, you don't even know me."

"My body does," Rafe said. "My body knows exactly who you are. It has from the first time I saw you in the hospital."

"We can't," Blair said, and Rafe kissed him, one hand in his hair, one hand on his ass. That convinced him. He'd spent enough time holding back from Rafe; he wanted this, wanted Rafe, wanted to have Rafe's body against his once more. He didn't know whether he was using Rafe or Rafe was using him. He was appalled at his own behavior, but that didn't stop him from going with Rafe, still in an embrace, up to Rafe's bedroom. Rafe pushed him up against the bedroom wall and unbuttoned his flannel shirt. He toed out of his sneakers and pulled off his socks before opening Rafe's shirt. By then Rafe had his jeans open, and Rafe's mouth was on his neck. He groaned, shoving his hips into Rafe's hand. Too long, it'd been too long. Hell, going five minutes without Rafe was too long in his book. Momentarily he displaced Rafe's hand to get off Rafe's shirt. Rafe pulled him from the wall and walked backward with him, turned with him, and shoved him back on the bed. His shoulderblades hit the mattress and Rafe was over him, kissing him, stroking him, getting him totally ass naked. He opened Rafe's pants and got a hand inside where it was hot and private. God, yes, he wanted this.

"Come on, Rafe, fuck me already," he said. Sometimes they could do foreplay forever. Sometimes they just needed to get off on each other. Right now he was, he could admit it, too desperate to wait.

"Lube," Rafe said. "Dresser?"

"In the drawer," Blair said.

Rafe, still kneeling astride him, reached over for it, giving Blair ample opportunity to ogle. God, Rafe had the best body. All tight and slim, muscular. And, oh...god...those scars... He closed his eyes, but he could still see them. He knew he'd be having nightmares again.

"Where are the condoms?"

He opened his eyes, tried to look somewhere else. "Uh, we don't use any," Blair said.

Rafe looked at him, lube in one hand. "We don't?"

"We're clean, we get tested regularly, and we're monogamous. You don't even have any condoms, Rafe, and mine are back at my apartment."

Rafe looked unhappy.

"If you need them, we can do something else. We don't have to-"

"Yes, we do." Rafe kissed him hard. His legs spread, proving him to be the wanton slut that he was. Rafe stopped kissing him, sat back, got a bit of lube on one finger, pressed it into his body. Blair gasped, moaned softly, resettled his hips to adjust. He was tight - - Rafe was tighter, but he was tight, and they hadn't done this since - - oh, was he supposed to remember what day it was when Rafe had two fingers on his prostate? Twist rub rub three fingers now, stretching and pushing and sending his body on a whole new high.

No more fingers. "Legs up," Rafe said, kissing him. He put his legs over Rafe's shoulders. Yoga and exercise kept them pretty flexible. Rafe pressed close, shuddered, pushed inside him in one long even thrust. Oh good god. They waited, breathing carefully, bodies adjusting to each other again. He gazed up into Rafe's eyes. Rafe pulled out a little and moved in again. Yeah, he knew this, he liked this, he wanted this.

"Fuck me."

Rafe fucked him. He rocked a little against Rafe's thrusts, back arching, hips eager to meet and return the feeling. His lips were parted, breath coming in gasps and pants, eyes either on Rafe or rolling back in his head. His hands clutched at Rafe's shoulders for support.

He fisted a hand in his crotch, rubbed and tugged mercilessly, came in a rush over the both of them.

Rafe came inside of him.

Blair woke alone in Rafe's bed. Morning. Shit, what time was it? Okay, good, he had time, he wouldn't be late. He was unfamiliar with waking up alone here; normally whoever awakened first awakened the other for sex. But this Rafe didn't know about that, and maybe this Rafe wasn't in the mood for sex. If he were honest with himself, Blair would admit that he was worried about Rafe this morning. One glorious orgasm was not going to fix their problems, and they had problems.

He rolled onto his stomach, crossed his arms over the pillow, and buried his face in his arms. Okay. Time to think. Think think think. He was in love with someone who didn't love him. It happened to people all of the time. What did they do? He needed to think faster; the water had just stopped and Rafe was going to be out any minute. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly and kicked his ass mentally.

Stupid idiot letting him fuck you. Just because you're in love with him. So drunk on lust you didn't pay attention to the fact that he was mad at you. Mad? Maybe not mad. Confused, definitely. Desperate.

The sheet was being pulled down slowly. He felt it slip down over his waist, then expose his ass. Okay. Was Rafe planning something or just checking out his butt?

"I told you that I'm in love with you?"

"Yeah."

"When?"

"A week after we started...having sex. Which might seem sort of soon, knowing you're in love after just a week, but we'd been getting to know each other for a while, and I was in love with you, too. It just sort of came out, we were in your bed undressing each other, and you said it. When we were finished, later, I said it. I waited until it wasn't a heat of the moment thing, when it wasn't just the sex talking, and I told you that I loved you. You said that you'd meant it, that you really were in love with me." He rolled over, and Rafe's hand smoothed over his abdomen, slid up his body. He liked Rafe like this, freshly shaven, all clean and new. There was a towel around Rafe's waist. That towel was going to have to go. Rafe's fingers scrunched through the hair on his chest.

"Are you coming in to the station today?"

"Yeah, after class." Rafe's hand was still on him, and it felt good, and he liked to be touched, and he was getting harder and he couldn't do a thing to disguise it in this position, flat on his back and totally exposed.

"We do everything?" Rafe asked.

"Everything - - you mean sex? Yeah, we do everything."

"You'll come home with me tonight?"

"If you want."

Rafe tugged the sheet off of the bed and out of the way, then grabbed Blair's thighs and hauled Blair's body down until Blair's feet were on the floor. Then Rafe knelt down there, and Blair's vision swirled.

When Blair showed up after his class, Jim dragged him to the bathroom. "What are you doing?"

"Showing up for work, Jim, what does it look like?"

"You went over for dinner and never came home. You spent the night with him."

"Yes, Jim, I did. He invited me over again tonight, too."

"What are you thinking?!"

"I am thinking that I am in love with him and it's none of your business what I do with my sex life."

"You're not thinking at all! Chief, he's confused. He doesn't remember you. He doesn't love you."

"He wants me."

"Everybody wants you."

"Everybody? Really? Like who?"

"If I give you names, are you going to run out and go home with them, too?"

"No. I'm strictly a one-person guy. Rafe's guy."

"Whether he likes you or not."

"He likes me."

"Because you jumped into bed with him. He doesn't know who he is, he's lost and confused and frustrated and upset, and here's this nice warm body willing to make him feel better again."

"I am not a slut. Well, for him, okay, I'm a slut for him. You think he's using me?"

"Not out of malice, Chief. But, yes, he's using you."

"I won't say no to him. If he wants me, he can have me."

"Why? Where's your self-respect? Do you think that it's going to help him?"

"You think I should be his friend, no sex, until he's remembered who the hell I am?"

"If he doesn't remember, at least he'll start to learn it for himself and get to know you all over again. But if you want to help him, if you want to help yourself, you can't jump into bed with him."

"I'll work on it."

Jim gave him a look.

"I promise, I'll work on it," Blair said. "Come on, man, give me a chance here."

He went home with Rafe; they sat around and talked, they ate, they sat around and talked some more, he got up to go; Rafe pushed him back against the nearest wall and devoured him. He ended up giving Rafe the best blow job he possibly could, and then, oh, then, he was granted entrance to the sacred cavern where everything was tight and hot and slick and tight and hot and tight and perfect, where he hadn't been for too long, where he'd thought he'd never go again, and he got to come deep inside Rafe's body.

Now, some people might come to believe that giving your lover a blow job and then fucking him in the best ride of your life wasn't necessarily working on not having sex. Blair might be inclined to agree, if pressed. But who could expect him to pass up the chance to make love to his love, his tight-assed pretty Rafe?

He learned that Jim could.

He got to Major Crimes the following afternoon and was pulled aside by Brown before he got out of his coat. "What is going on with Ellison?"

"Jim? Why?" Great, what happened, a zone-out, a flare-up - - his mind started to race with worry and tempered panic.

"He jumped all over Rafe for no reason. Simon sent him out and told him not to come back for a few hours, and Rafe's in the captain's office right now."

"What were they arguing about?"

"Not sure. It started out weird and got weirder. Sounded like you had something to do with it, though. You're going to have to answer a lot of questions. Good luck," Brown said as Simon's door opened. Brown made himself scarce. Simon held the door for Rafe, who exited looking as though someone had pushed the mute button.

"Sandburg!" Simon shouted across the room. "Do you have a minute to spare?"

"Yeah," he said, hurrying over; Simon was not in patient mode. He crossed paths with Rafe, looked up, met Rafe's eyes in a brief flash of anger-sadness-frustration-longing. Then he was in Simon's office, and the door closed.

"Would you like to tell me why my two best detectives are fighting over you as though you're a favorite toy in their sandbox and they haven't learned to share?!"

"Simon, you know Jim's territorial. He doesn't share. I'm his guide, his partner, I live with him and work with him and-"

"Your point, Sandburg?"

"He doesn't want to share. He's used to me spending all of my time and energy and concentration on him."

"That's a lot of energy and concentration."

"I know. And I've dated, of course, but they were women, and they didn't mean anything. This is a guy, and it means something, and it's taking my time away from Jim, and Jim sees Rafe as competition, serious competition. I mean, Rafe is another man, another detective-"

"Just tell me that Jim isn't...doesn't..."

"No, that's different. I'm Jim's roommate and guide and partner and best friend. We don't mix that with the other stuff."

"And Rafe's getting...the other stuff."

"Right."

"This doesn't explain to me why they're getting ready to throw punches in my squadroom."

"I slept with Rafe when Jim told me not to."

"He's dictating your sex life?"

"Rafe's still recovering. It's not a good idea to...it might make him more confused, more pressured. Jim's right. Which does not, absolutely does not, give him the right to attack Rafe. Simon, what happened?"

"Sandburg, I don't know. What I do know is that I expect you to keep your soap opera out of here. You keep your little love triangle to your own time."

"Right. Sorry. Hey, don't blame me!"

"Now go out there and find Jim. I was going to send him home but I thought that he might go out and let the air out of Rafe's tires. Get out of here."

"Thank you, Simon." Blair escaped. That had gone really well. Simon must be losing it. He passed Rafe's desk and tapped it as he did; when he got onto the elevator, Rafe slipped in behind him. They went down a floor and got off, then went into the janitor's closet. Blair flicked on the light while Rafe wedged the door shut. They'd come in here twice before, before the shooting.

Rafe kissed him, slow and deep, making love to his mouth. Oh god this was so wrong, and it felt so perfectly delicious and good, and he had serious issues with wanting what he shouldn't have. Rafe had a hand in his hair, of course; everyone always had to grab his hair. He pulled Rafe's shirt out of the waistband, slipped his hands up onto Rafe's skin, burrowed inside Rafe's undershirt. Rafe had a hand on his butt, and he liked it there; he pushed back into it, and Rafe pulled him hard against Rafe's body, and he was hard and Rafe was hard and he just wanted to get off right here, right now, "Fuck me."

He jerked back fast. "Shit. I didn't say that. You didn't hear that."

"What's wrong?"

"God, Rafe, you just had some major fight with Jim in the middle of - - and now we're making it in the closet - - and what is going on here?"

"Hell if I know."

"What started the fight with Jim?"

"Jim. Brown and I were standing there talking by my desk, just talking about his case, and Jim walked in and walked right over to me and started yelling at me. I yelled back, he shoved me, I yelled - - but I did not touch him, even though I wouldn't have minded doing it. Simon came over and broke it up."

"But what did he say? What did you say?"

"What do I think I'm doing, who do I think I am, what gives me the right, how dare I take advantage of innocent people, I'd better back off, learn to keep my hands to myself, stuff like that."

"Innocent people," Blair said. "I'm totally offended by that."

"Basically, I have no right to touch you."

"Jim doesn't govern my body. I decide who has rights to me and who doesn't, and I've given you full Blair privileges."

"And what were you saying? You want me to fuck you?" Rafe asked, kissing him.

"God yes - - wait, wait, no," Blair said, pushing Rafe away carefully. "Jim has a point. Somewhere. Rafe, you're not...yourself. You want me, and I'm totally flattered and enjoying it, but you don't even know me. And you don't love me. This isn't fair to either of us."

"I remember you," Rafe said. "Something...it's like...I know you. I just don't...know you. It's like deja vu."

"Rafe, I'm still in the relationship we used to have. And you're not. You were never in that relationship. It's hard for me to keep my distance and remember that you don't remember. I think that we need space. Time apart."

"You're dumping me."

"We were never together," Blair said.

"I've never been with anyone else," Rafe said.

Blair found Jim at home later. "I hope you're happy. I broke up with Rafe."

"It's the right thing to do, Chief. Until he gets back together, it's just not right."

"I'm in love with him. I dumped him, he hates me, and now he's alone and confused and frustrated and it's the right thing to do."

"Sandburg-"

"He's having nightmares. About blood and lawnmowers. His scars, have you seen them, they're hideous. The only person he has left for support is his mother, who's states away, and Brown, who's not exactly known for giving warm fuzzies."

"Rafe's not the warm fuzzy type either, Chief. Most cops aren't."

"Most cops don't spend three hours making out with male anthropologists. Rafe's special, Jim. And I love him. And he doesn't know who I am and now I don't know if he'll ever come back to me."

"You can't force him back into his life. He has to come to it on his own."

"So, what? Trust to fate? If we're meant to be together, we'll be together?"

"Something like that."

"Since when do you-"

"Since he was using you for sex and comfort, and you were using him, too, and it's not healthy."

"I swear, if he starts dating someone else, I will kick your ass."

"You're welcome to try."

Two weeks passed. They were two weeks during which Blair worked at Rainier and worked with Jim and continued his normal routines, only he completely avoided Rafe. Rafe worked with Brown and reported to Simon and ignored Blair. They weren't rude, they weren't icy, they just looked right past each other as though the other didn't exist. Rafe was back on the streets again, completely into the action as though nothing had happened. Rafe had seen the psychiatrist as ordered, and been dismissed as clean. Whatever he hadn't remembered by now couldn't be important.

Blair caught Rafe talking with Patrick Doherty a few times. Patrick was a uniformed cop, blonde, handsome, and gay. The clean-cut wholesome type, poster boy for the pure American. Blair only knew that Patrick was gay because Patrick had hit on him once. Blair, being an anthropologist with long hair and earrings, well, some people tended to assume that he was, if not gay, open to new experiences. Blair had politely made it clear that he was not open to the Patrick experience, and Patrick had, politely, steered clear of him since. Now Blair wondered whether Patrick knew that Rafe was gay, whether Rafe knew that Patrick was gay, and whether they were interested. The obvious answers were yes, yes, and yes.

"Relax, Chief," Jim said.

"They're undressing each other with their eyes," Blair muttered.

"You're staring."

"They won't notice. They're too busy trying to fuck each other without being obvious about it."

"You're the one who's being obvious. Sit down, at least."

"I know they're fucking each other. I know they're going to go home tonight and-"

"Chief, nothing's going on."

"You call that nothing?"

"It's one-sided."

"You don't know that."

"Look at them."

"I've been looking at them, and-"

"Patrick wants Rafe."

"No kidding."

"Rafe's not returning the favor."

"He is so."

"He is not - - Chief, are you going to listen or are you going to sulk?"

"I do not sulk."

Jim gave him a not-smile. "You're sulking. Aren't you into observing human behavior? Besides, Patrick's...aroused. Rafe's not."

"You smell that?"

"Yes. The last time Rafe was aroused was yesterday when you came in."

"What was I doing?"

"Walking in here. I think it was the suit. Plus you took out your hair. His heartrate skyrocketed."

Blair grinned. "Cool. Jim, man, that is so cool. You'd better not be lying to me. Don't tell me if you are. This is great. I knew this Sentinel thing would come in handy someday." Jim whacked him with a file folder. He laughed. Rafe and Patrick turned as one. He pretended not to notice, gloating on the inside.

Two days later, it didn't take a Sentinel to notice the change in Rafe. Every time Blair was in the room, Rafe's eyes tracked his every movement. Even when he was sitting relatively still at Jim's desk, Rafe watched. Half greedy. Half haunted. Rafe was back to normal, professional, quick to joke, just a regular guy. Just a regular guy who couldn't stop watching Blair Sandburg.

Blair scratched his nose, tucked his hair behind his ear, and went back to writing.

"How's it going, Chief?" Jim asked, coming back from Simon's office.

"Is he still watching me?"

"'Still' as in 'since I left' or 'since last week?'"

"Both."

"This has been going on for nine days, Sandburg."

"So?"

"Doesn't it bother you? How can you stand it?"

"I like it. I'd like it more if he'd actually talk to me."

"You could talk to him."

"That would ruin my fun."

"This is fun?"

"Totally. In the sense of not being any fun whatsoever. It's not creepy, he's not stalking me or anything, but I have no idea what he finds so fascinating. Beside the obvious." Blair flashed Jim a smile.

"Of course. Can you take your soap opera somewhere else so I can use my desk?"

"Sure. I'll just go use the bathroom. You do your big important work." Blair rose, stepped aside, tied back his hair, and went off down the hallway. He came back a few minutes later and went to Rafe's desk. "Hey."

"Hey," Rafe said, all casual normal guy, nothing unusual whatsoever. Impressive.

"You busy tonight?"

"Brown and I are going to the Jags game."

"Tomorrow night?"

"Tomorrow night we're having a stakeout."

"Is there a night you're not busy?"

"Never know around here. Something going on?"

"Nothing special." He went back to Jim's desk.

"I thought you don't sulk," Jim said.

Sixty seconds passed. Another sixty. Rafe stood and walked out of the room.

"Be right back," Blair said, and left, turned to the stairs, ran down fast whispering "Please please please please" as he went. He burst out of the stairwell and ran to the janitor's closet, skidding to a halt, ducking inside and pressing against the wall.

The door opened, the door locked. Blair heard a soft ragged breath and a zipper. Holy god. It crossed his mind in a brief flash that if this wasn't who he thought it was he was going to have a lot of explaining to do, and then he reached out and ran his hand over a solid warm chest. "Sshh, it's me," he said as Rafe jerked away from him. Eyes adjusting in the darkness, he slid his hand down to clasp over Rafe's hand on Rafe's cock. Rafe shuddered and gasped. "Does that feel good?" Blair asked, wrapping his fingers around Rafe's hardness as Rafe's other hand dropped out of the way.

"Blair."

"You like that?" he asked, stroking, petting, stepping closer, hand slipping back to Rafe's balls, other hand finding Rafe's neck as he reached up for a kiss. He pressed his lips to Rafe's. "You want more?"

"I want to fuck you."

"Not here, man."

"Where?"

"Your place. After the game."

"Fuck the game."

"Fuck the game?"

"After the game," Rafe amended. "Let go, let go."

Blair let go. "Sorry."

"No, it felt good. Too good."

"You did come here to jerk off though, right?"

"Yeah."

"You want me?"

"Yeah."

"I still have a key to your place. I'll come over tonight. So don't let Brown come over because he'll wonder why my car's in your driveway."

"Fuck the game. He can take Taggert."

"You really have lost your mind."

"I want you."

"I'll come over after work and you can have your way with me."

That evening, Blair ditched Jim and drove over to Rafe's. When Rafe came to answer the door, there was a brief moment when Rafe just looked at him. "Hi," Blair said.

"Come on in," Rafe said, moving back, pulling the door wider. Blair came into the house; the door closed, and Blair found himself pressed back between the door and 170 pounds of Cascade detective, Rafe's tongue in his mouth, one hand in his hair, the other trying to get down the back of his jeans. When Rafe broke off to gasp for breath, Blair meant to say something, but he was stunned silent by Rafe's, "God, Blair, it's been too long," and then Rafe was kissing him again, and there was something...strange about it. Strange in that it felt like being kissed by Rafe. Being kissed by Rafe-Rafe, the real Rafe, the first Rafe, before the shooting, before the amnesia. Not that the post-shooting amnesiac had kissed any differently, but there was something incredibly familiar and intimate about this kiss, the way Rafe's tongue swirled across his mouth, the way Rafe's left hand fingers slid through his hair to cup the back of his skull, the way Rafe moaned just so when he got horny and dug his fingers into Rafe's shoulders.

"God, Blair, it's been too long" didn't sound like, "Hey, we haven't fucked recently." It sounded like, "God, I've missed you, where have you been, we'll never be apart this long again." It sounded less like someone who'd been avoiding him since a bad break-up and more like someone who'd been away, gone.

Rafe backed up without letting go, tugging Blair along with him. Rafe made it to the bottom of the steps and sat, breaking the kiss, reaching for Blair's fly. Oh god. Rafe loosed Blair's erection, wrapping a hand around it, leaning in with parted lips. Blair moaned at the feel of Rafe's hand on him, Rafe's lips, Rafe's tongue, Rafe's perfect hot wet mouth. He'd missed this, he most definitely had - - aahhh, Christ - - missed this. "Jesus, Rafe," he moaned, clutching the banister for support. How could he possibly have forgotten how well Rafe did this? He sucked in a ragged breath, tilting his head back and closing his eyes, knowing that if he watched he'd just come, and he didn't want to come yet, he wanted to suffer through this ecstasy a little while longer.

"Oh, Rafe, man, come on," he said, but Rafe was backing off, standing up, licking swollen lips and grinning at him.

"I want to jack you while I fuck you," Rafe said, kissing him. "Come on, upstairs."

"You can finish this and do that later," Blair promised.

"Upstairs, sweetheart," Rafe insisted, pulling him along by the hand.

Blair stopped at the head of the stairs, stricken. "What?" Rafe pulled but he didn't move.

"What?" Rafe asked.

"You called me sweetheart."

"Are you coming or not?"

"You called me sweetheart." He wrenched his hand free of Rafe's grasp and closed his jeans. "What's going on here?"

"I'm trying to fuck you," Rafe said.

"So you just happened to call me sweetheart. Because American guys call each other that all of the time. Especially those in law enforcement."

"So I can't fuck you?"

"Tell me what's going on, Rafe."

"I remember more. I remember pretty much everything, from grade school to being shot in my bedroom. The only thing I don't remember is the part about waking up in the hospital the first time, when I was lucid and I told you guys who shot me. I guess I'll never remember that part. But I remember everything else. The first time you kissed me. The first time you touched me. The first time you tried to suck my cock."

"At least you came," Blair said.

"You've gotten much better."

"You remember? You really remember?" Blair asked, coming closer, stroking his jaw.

"Sure do, pumpkin."

"I told you before, man, food names are out," Blair said.

"I remember that, too."

"You remember telling me you love me?"

"Yes."

"You remember being shot?"

"Yes."

"God, Rafe, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," and he hugged Rafe.

"It's not your fault. You didn't shoot me."

"But I was right there, I was right here, you were lying in here dying and I was right-"

"You didn't know. You thought I was at work." Rafe squeezed him and stepped back a little. "Come on, let me fuck you."

"Or you could make love to me."

"Same orifice, more foreplay."

"You are so romantic."

Rafe kissed him.

"Hey, so when did you remember all of this stuff?"

"Last week."

"Nine days ago?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"That's why you've been staring at me?"

"Yeah." Rafe kissed him.

"Cause you want me."

"Yeah." Kiss.

"Cause you love me."

"Yeah." Kiss.

"Cause you totally want to fuck me right now."

"Make love," Rafe corrected, kissing him again.

"Can I ask you something?"

"What?" Kiss.

"I can't talk with your tongue in my mouth."

"Try."

"Do we have to do this in your bedroom?"

"We're doing it in the hallway."

"Okay."

"But I'd rather do it in my room."

"Oh."

Rafe stopped kissing him. "You don't like my room?"

"You were dying in there. With the blood and your heart stopping and everything, it's not my fondest memory. In fact, it's my memory that sucks the most, hands down."

"We've had sex in there since then."

"I know, but... It wasn't you."

"You cheated on me with myself?"

"Are you trying to make me feel guilty?"

"Blair. It's my bedroom. I made the decision to stay there. I want to make love with you in my bedroom in my bed. Don't think about the blood. Think about me. I'm right here." Rafe kissed him. "Not dead, totally alive, and ready to fuck your brains out."

"Sounds good," Blair confessed.

"If you can't handle it, we'll try a different room. Just try it first." Rafe, kissing him, walked backwards with him down to the bedroom.

To be honest, it was hard to recall any of his surroundings with his tongue in Rafe's mouth and Rafe's hand on his cock through his jeans. In this state he couldn't remember the carpet's shade of blue, much less picture a pool of blood on it. They parted to breathe and strip, but as usual they were too distracted by each other's bodies to undress themselves, and soon they were in an embrace again, Rafe's bared foot sliding over Blair's, Rafe's fingers in the open fly of his jeans, his hands pushing off Rafe's button-down and reaching for the hem of the T-shirt. They broke apart again and pulled off their shirts, tossing them aside, reaching for each other once more. Now he had Rafe half-naked under his hands, bared chest to chest, skin against skin, nipples, yes, ripe for his mouth.

It was hard to remember what a masculine cop guy Rafe was when he licked those nipples and Rafe hissed like a sensitive pretty boy.

Eventually they got themselves naked and sank to the mattress, rolling over, hands busy remapping their bodies. The hot thrust of Rafe's cock into his palm was as instinctive as ever; their battles for supremacy were as frustratingly erotic as ever. Maybe because of living a typical heterosexual cop lifestyle, Rafe always wanted to be on top; maybe it was his own overcompensation, but Blair always wanted to be on top, too, to have Rafe's body spread beneath him.

Rafe sank into Blair's body as though he'd never left, deep and snug within the tight clasp of muscle and heat. Blair tried to breathe, blinking, looking up at Rafe, the two of them holding very still.

"Okay?" Rafe asked. Blair nodded.

Movement began then, thrust and thrust again, thrust and counterthrust. They had had sex back-to-front, but they preferred face-to-face. They liked to watch what they were doing to each other, to lock gazes and see in each other's face the effects of their bodies' union. The other position reminded Blair of faceless sex, strangers in a mindless fuck. Which could be nice, sometimes, under the right circumstances, he realized, but that wasn't what he wanted with Rafe.

There was nothing like getting fucked. There was the eroticism of a violation, having one's body breached. There was being vulnerable, being possessed by someone else. There was the joining of two bodies, physical and sexual union. There was being pleasured by someone else, having someone else enter and serve. There was servicing someone else, giving pleasure. Offering up one's body, oneself. It was exquisite and shattering and primal and, god, being fucked by Rafe was absolutely transcendental. It took Blair to planes meditation and self-actualization could never hope to reach.

Blair worked to breathe normally, waiting to come down, Rafe resting on top of him. He managed to find his nerve endings again and moved his arm, setting his hand on Rafe's broad sweaty shoulder. "I would like to thank you. From the bottom of my heart. And the bottom of my balls."

"For what?" Rafe said into his neck.

"Managing to screw my brains out, fuck me, and make love to me all at once."

Rafe chuckled. "It was one after the other. First I made love to you, then I fucked you, then I just went ahead and screwed your brains out."

"So very talented."

Rafe moved, pulled out of his body carefully, settled in beside him. "Is sex with women this messy?"

"Depends what you do with them." He rolled to his side, nestling in against Rafe. "I'm going to sleep. You can clean this up for me."

"I'm going to sleep. You clean it."

"It's your fault, you fucked me."

"It's your semen."

"I'm the guest."

"I'm asleep."

The phone rang.

"I'm still asleep," Rafe said.

"I can't answer your phone, man."

"Damn it." Rafe sat up and reached for the phone on the nightstand, dropping the lube back in the drawer as he did so. "Rafe. Beats me, he's your partner. Try the library or something."

Blair rolled to his stomach and moaned into the pillow.

"Okay, calm down, hold on." Rafe leaned over and pressed a kiss to Blair's shoulderblade. "Detective Ellison has a few questions for you."

"Damn it." Blair rolled over and sat up, accepting the phone. "Hey, Jim." Rafe left for the bathroom. "Jim, man, it's okay. He got his memory back. He's Rafe again. Come on, Jim, guys don't talk about stuff like that. Okay, I talk about stuff like that, but I'm the one exception on the planet. Blame my mother. Rafe's a macho cop guy like you and Simon, he doesn't talk about that." Rafe returned with a washcloth and wiped up Blair, then kept wiping, tossed aside the washcloth and started kissing exposed areas of skin, lifted Blair's hair off of one shoulder and kissed Blair's neck. "God, um, Jim, I have to go, okay? Yeah, okay, thanks, bye, oh god," and Blair dropped the phone.

Rafe blindly hung up the phone, still feasting on Blair's neck. "He's okay?"

"He wants to know if you love me."

"He wants to know or you want to know?"

"I already know you love me. I think. I hope. Maybe."

"If Jim's asking whether I'm in love with you, you have been a very bad influence on a stoic macho cop."

"I'd like to be a very bad influence on you," Blair said.

"I love it when you talk dirty."

"I know. Want some more?"

Rafe sat back a little and looked into Blair's eyes.

Blair, to give Rafe time to manage to say the words, said, "So, this is a really bad time to ask, and I have no tact whatsoever, but were you interested in Patrick Doherty?"

"I wanted to be."

"Oh."

"But every time I looked at him...he has brown eyes. And I kept lusting after you. So I made it clear I wasn't interested in him, and he left me alone. He thinks I'm straight."

"Good."

"Which part?"

"All of it. You just keep lusting after me."

"I'm in love with you. Just so you know."

"Good. Thank you. I'm in love with you, Rafe, just so you know." He kissed Rafe. "Sex or sleep?"

"Food, then sex, then sleep."

"The game's on TV."

"This is why I'm in love with you."

"And here I thought you loved me for my body."

"I do." Rafe kissed him, lowering him to his back on the bed.

"What about food?" Blair asked. Rafe bit him. "No, you're right, this is good. We can keep, oh god, doing...." Blair gasped and arched. "This."

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