interrogation

Title: Interrogation

Author/pseudonym: alyjude

Email: alyjude@webtv.net

Pairing: J/B

Rating: NC17

Category: First time

Status: New and complete

Series/sequel: Nope

Date: May 28, 2001

Archive: Yes, please (thanks to wod, the aly archival angel <G>)

Other website: www.skeeter63.org/k9kennel

Disclaimer: Do I have to? Oh, okay - so I disclaim anything to anybody, don't own 'em, don't make any moola from them but I do keep them in my basement and take good care of them and they sing in my ears and talk up a storm. And a heartfelt thank-you to PetFly for creating them and giving us such a wonderful gift.

Warning: There is one, for those of you who, like me, need to be spoiled. Just scroll to the bottom of this page, to the caveat and read the warning. For those of you who don't wish to be spoiled, simply delete after reading whatever you enjoy reading in part 0.

Note: Thanks to melvin as always for his inspiration and betaing and to Lisa who stepped in while Greenie is having fun at Media West and yes, we all hate her! LOL!

Note again: Not a Memorial Day story in the true sense of the word, but as you read, I hope you sense what I'm trying to say.

Captain Banks reached over and clicked off the tape recorder then gave a nod to Joel Taggert. Joel left the interrogation room but returned a few moments later. He set a plastic cup in front of the man seated across from Banks. The man took two gulps, then glanced up expectantly.

The man cleared his throat and while staring at his clasped hands, he began to speak.

"Have you ever really been in love, Captain? I mean, *really* in love?"

"I never believed in true love. Never. Lust I could buy into, sex too, but real love? Nope. But then - then I met him. He changed everything."

"I was a closed-off bastard before he came along. Anyone could tell you that. I did my job, damn well too, but that was it."

He glanced away from his hands and cocked his head at Banks. "You know why my marriage ended, right?" At a nod from Banks, the man continued.

"It was a mistake from the get-go so didn't last long and once again - I was a loner. Hell, I was a loner *during* the marriage."

The man shot a sideways glance at Taggert, who stood against the wall with another detective, then he looked back at Banks.

"How I met him isn't important, only that he changed me. That's what you need to understand. And, and, how *good* he was, you need to understand that as well."

The man bent his head and closed his eyes. His hands remained clasped. Finally he whispered, "i can't believe this. i can't believe he's - gone."

"Do you need a few minutes, Detective?"

The man shook his head slowly. "no, no, i'm all right. i, i just - when i...." he paused, took a deep, shuddering breath and in a stronger voice, continued.

"When they took me down to the morgue, to identify him? I never so much as twitched. Dan pulled back that bloody sheet and I stared down at his beautiful face and I never even blinked. I wanted to touch him so bad, to brush the hair from his forehead, to soothe him but I couldn't. Didn't dare. I held it all in, do you see?"

"During the investigation, I never let anything slip, kept up the facade. Kept my game face in place, ran it by the rules. But every night - every night I would hold his clothes, sleep with them, hold his pillow, wrapped around all of it, wrapped around *him* - and I'd cry."

"What if it had been someone *you* loved? What would *you* have done, sir? You know he died in great pain, that he was alive during all of it. All. Of. It. You know from the reports what was done to him. Can you imagine how you would have reacted if it had been, say, your *son*? Would you still be hearing his screams in your dreams? See the twisted, pain-filled features of your son every time you closed your eyes? Hear his voice, that silky voice, begging for mercy ... except ... he wouldn't have. Begged. He wouldn't have given Nelson the satisfaction.

"His size always fooled 'em. Small in stature but God, he was strong. An inner strength that was unfuckingbelievable. He was the strongest man I ever knew. Nelson tried to break him, but I saw it in his face, saw Nelson's failure. He may have finally killed him, but he never broke him. Never."

The man lifted his head and faced Captain Banks. His gaze was steady, eyes full of unshed tears.

"Does it bother you to know, Captain, does it bother you to know that I loved a man? That he and I slept together? That we made love?"

The man smiled wryly. "I knew there was a reason you were Captain of Major Crime. Not an easy gig."

The man took a deep breath, then another gulp of water. He glanced at the tape recorder and smiled again.

"I'm going down, you know. I killed Nelson in cold blood and there is no remorse. My lawyer wants me to plead temporary insanity, but I wasn't insane. In fact, I don't think I'd ever been quite so sane or lucid as when I killed him.

"Of course - this would be a whole lot easier if I'd just put a bullet in his head, wouldn't it? But surely you see why that was too - simple? After what he did? No, he had to *know* about the suffering he caused, he had to *feel* that suffering."

"Detective, you're a cop. And like you said, a good one. You *were* half crazy when you killed Nelson. Crazy with grief. How can you say you *weren't* suffering from temporary insanity? The man you loved had been brutally tortured and killed, murdered by a vicious and crazy man, killed in a manner that will haunt many of us for months, if not years. Let your lawyer plead it out."

With a resigned expression on his face, and a great deal of sadness, Banks did as asked.

"You know, we fought that night. He wanted to move out. Was worried about my career. Like anyone cares? How many gay cops do we have on board? At least five percent. Hell, five percent are out of the closet. Maybe we have closer to ten percent. I told him all that. But damn, he was just so worried. Always worried about me, taking care of me, protecting me. He took such good care of me.

"Never had that before. Ever. No one ever took care of me. I took care of myself, you know? Aw, God. He loved me so fucking much. Sometimes he'd hold me hard, you know? Like he thought I'd disappear, or something. Like - I'd leave him. Or kick him out. I did that once, but that's not important here, is it?

"Anyway, that night we fought and I stormed out after accusing him of being selfish, of being afraid. Can you believe that? That I'd accuse *him* of being selfish? Of being afraid? Fuck."

A great trembling seemed to overtake the man, his shoulders shaking, breaths coming in deep, great gulps. Banks reached out to once again turn off the recorder, but the man's hand shot out.

Banks gazed down at the pale hand clamped down on his dark brown one and he nodded.

"You can guess, right? I leave and Nelson breaks in and takes him. And I should have known. I'm a cop. And Nelson had to have been shadowing him, stalking him and I missed it. And I - I - I ... left him." The voice dropped to the merest whisper...

"How did you beat us to him, Detective?"

"That's what this is all about, isn't it? You think there was someone helping me? My confession is on tape, it's over, but you think I had help."

He smiled a bittersweet grin. "No, Captain Banks, no one knew, no one helped me. But I *am* a cop and it was easy to walk into Major Crime, easy to get into your office and take a copy of the investigation once it had been turned over to you. That's all. I swear."

Banks glanced up to the detective standing against the wall, shoulder to shoulder with Taggert and the detective gave a slight nod.

"All right, Detective, I think we're done." Banks leaned forward, one hand resting on the man's arm. "Listen to me. You *are* insane. You don't belong in prison. Do you understand me?"

Simon gave Taggert a look and the big man pushed away from the wall and gently took the prisoner's arm. "Let's go, Detective."

The man gazed up into the gentle face of Joel Taggert and said, "You really shouldn't call me *detective* anymore, you know."

Simon closed his eyes and rested his weary body against the back of the chair. He kept his eyes shut even when the other man pulled out a chair and sat down.

"When we searched Nelson's apartment, we found that he'd - he'd, already chosen his next victim. There were - pictures on the walls."

Detective Jim Ellison waited, but the darkness that gripped his soul told him what Simon was about to say.

In a deceptively easy voice, Jim asked, "You searched his apartment days ago, Simon."

"And yet, I'm telling you now. And you're wondering why. You're wondering why I didn't tell you at the time."

"No, you don't see. You don't see a whole hell of a lot. All things considered."

Jim sat back, drummed his fingers on the table, then moved to the empty cup and began to play with it. Finally....

"Did you mean what you told Rawlings about love where you find it? And - not caring?"

Jim pushed himself up, suddenly feeling every one of his thirty-eight years. And more. As he opened the door, Banks spoke again.

Jim unlocked the truck door and with a *to the bone* weariness that slowed his movements, he slid in and started the engine. But he didn't put the truck into gear. Instead, he stared straight ahead, seeing nothing. But he heard plenty. He heard Detective Rawlings' voice, his confession repeating a drum-like staccato in his brain.

Jim remembered Kevin Lewis. He'd met the young man at Ginty's one night, what, over a year ago? A handsome young man, kind eyes, quiet and unassuming, with almost - angelic features. If Jim had to use one word to describe Kevin, it would have been - gentle.

Not a word he'd have used to describe Blair Sandburg. Nor would he apply angelic to Blair's looks. So what word would he use to capture Blair Sandburg?

Unbidden, Kevin Lewis popped back into Jim's brain - but it was the Kevin Lewis of the morgue. The cold, lifeless Kevin Lewis. The damaged, tortured Kevin Lewis.

Like the sudden picture of Lewis, that word appeared on the event horizon of Jim's mind.

Vulnerable. Blair was so god damned vulnerable. Was Jim the only man who knew this?

God, but how Sandburg could put up a good front - he had Simon fooled - hell, he had everyone fooled, but damn, Blair was the most vulnerable man Jim had ever known. He'd never given Naomi the credit she deserved.

She'd known. She'd tried to tell them that day in Simon's office. Tried to explain. But he and Simon had simply chalked it up to a mother bear protecting her cub. An *overprotective* mother bear. But they'd been so wrong and Naomi had been so right.

And Nelson was dead and Blair was alive, would not be the next victim because of a man enough like Jim to have been his soul twin. But there was one difference between Detective Rawlings and Detective Ellison.

Jim lifted his head and peered through the windshield, spotted the opening elevator disgorging officers - end of shift - and realized with a start that he'd been sitting in his truck for over thirty minutes.

Anxious to clear the garage before he might be spotted and waylaid even longer, he quickly put the truck into reverse, checked over his shoulder and backed into the aisle then shifted into drive and made his exit.

As Jim drove through his streets he found himself torn in half. A part of him wanted to break every speed law known to man and get home as fast as humanly, or inhumanly, possible. But the other half, the frightened, sickened half of Jim Ellison wanted to stop somewhere; a hole in the wall, someplace dark and smelling of stale sweat, alcohol, cigarette smoke, someplace where daylight was a dirty word, and that half of him wanted to get drunk and stay drunk for days.

But he was older now - wiser. He'd been taught well by Mr. Sandburg. Don't give into the fear. Push through it and you come out smelling like a rose - or like Sandburg. Which wasn't a bad thing at all.

Jim sped past several dives, the ball of his foot adding just that much more pressure to the accelerator.

852 Prospect came into view and Jim's heart flipped over then sped up. The lights were on, the shades up. He concentrated his sense of hearing, focused, narrowed the field and could hear Sandburg moving about, muttering nonsensical words and strange dire threats aimed at anthropology students and Cascade police detectives. In spite of the events of the day: Jim smiled.

He parked and suddenly energized, literally jumped from the truck, jogged across the street and ran up all three flights.

The red pencil was getting more than its share of work and Blair was totally disgusted. Okay, so there were only two days left before spring break, and yes, young men's minds turned to flights of fancy and fantasy, but God damn it - a fucking test was a fucking test and why the fuck hadn't the fucking sentinel who lived here, called?

The Enya tape playing in the background was failing miserably at soothing the savage breast of the only occupant of the loft, and to punctuate that failure, said occupant suddenly threw the red pencil across the room. Nervous fingers threaded through a tangled mess of hair, then searched under papers, books, more pencils, a few pens, an odd assortment of paper clips, a half-eaten bagel, a yo-yo and finally touched on the object of the search; a much used hair tie.

Blair quickly and efficiently tied back the attacking fur and sighed. Slightly ashamed, he rose and walked dejectedly over to where the pencil lay - bleeding red - on the floor.

"Poor thing. Not like you did anything wrong and yet - I killed you." He held the pieces up and scrutinized them carefully. "A burial perhaps? Along with about half the blue books behind me? And one soon to be dead sentinel?"

Sandburg shook his head at nothing and walked back to the table. He set the pieces of red pencil down, picked up another one and with renewed determination, grabbed a book and started reading. He'd managed three paragraphs, no red pencil needed, when the front door opened and Jim Ellison blew in looking - damn good.

Blair frowned. Jim sounded - different, his voice - lower, softer, hell - *nicer*.

Any anger that had been stored up for an explosion was quickly replaced by puzzlement and curiosity. He watched as Jim slipped out of his jacket, then take the predictable walk to the kitchen for the predictable beer. He shook his head when Jim offered one up for him, adding a quiet, "uh, no thanks" that left Jim shrugging his shoulders and answering, "Suit yourself, Chief."

Which had Blair really frowning. Again with the nice voice? Stunned blue eyes watched as Jim opened the beer, took his swig, then leaned against the counter and smiled. At Blair. Nice smile to go with the nice voice.

So now there's an Ellisonzone? Sure, why not? And that was the only explanation. An Ellisonzone. Because today - well, today had to be rough. A rough conclusion to a rough two weeks. Which reminded him....

"Jim? Rawlings?"

Blair's hands pushed down on the table, his fingers whitening with the strain. "What will happen to him now?"

"We're hoping his lawyer will be able to persuade him to plead temporary insanity. But he's fighting that. He *wants* to go to prison."

Jim sense-searched his partner. He'd long since come to realize that scents, like fingerprints, were unique to each individual and what he sensed coming from his partner was the was the odor of sorrow. Blair Sandburg understood Rawlings competely.

"Did he say how he found out about Nelson?"

Something in Blair's voice alerted Jim to a problem. He frowned and tilted his head. "Yeah, it was. He wasn't too thrilled with the idea that someone in Major Crime might have tipped Rawlings off."

Blair fixated on a pale blue paper clip as he answered almost absent-mindedly, "Nothing."

Sometimes, like now, Jim wondered about the *detective* in front of his name and just maybe - this whole sentinel thing was a - dream. After all, apparently Jim Ellison could be pretty dense sometimes - gee, now there was a news flash.

"Bullshit. Not that it's important. In the overall scheme of things, a friend is dead and a good cop is going down for taking out the bad guy. You've been run ragged and everyone's been walking on eggshells for two weeks. I'm just glad it's over."

Blair gave Jim a wry grin as he walked into the kitchen. "You know, I think I'll have that beer now." He pulled a bottle from the shelf, twisted the cap off and took a gulp. When he swallowed, he said, "Everyone knew that Kevin and I weren't strangers."

Sandburg tried to study Jim's expression, his own mirroring his disbelief. Jim noticed the attempted perusal and with an encouraging grin, said, "I wouldn't lie to you, Chief."

Satisfied with the words, Blair nodded slowly. Now that the issue of *how* Rawlings had found out about their suspect was settled, Blair returned to worrying about Jim. Not that he ever didn't. Worry about Jim.

Neither man had moved from their positions of standing across from one another. The only source of illumination was the light over the kitchen table.

"Yeah, tough ... but good cops doing a good job. Cascade, " he paused and dropped his eyes, then whispered, "cascade is lucky. too bad they don't know *how* lucky."

"He would, Jim. He would agree." Blair lifted his head to meet Jim's gaze. "Did I ever tell you that he and I had a talk after the party at Ginty's?"

"It was weird, you know? Working on the same campus for years, seeing each other in halls, crossing paths, the occasional hello and then we discover we both have ties to the Cascade Police Department at a retirement party for a Jewish cop at an Irish pub."

Blair chuckled. "Yeah and getting smaller as we speak. Anyway, a few days later we met up for lunch and he seemed - relieved - to have someone to talk with about Rawlings."

"Man, he loved the guy. He was worried though. Worried about how their relationship would affect Rawling's job."

Jim followed his partner. "Rawlings mentioned that today. Said they'd actually fought about it."

Both men sat on the couch and took healthy swigs of their beers. For several minutes Jim found himself doing another Sandburg-sensing, but this time, for himself.

Focusing on subtle body shifts, scent, the warmth radiating from Sandburg's skin, the way his hair moved - fractionally - as restless fingers twirled the beer bottle....

As he watched the bottle turning ... Jim found his breathing starting to match the thrumming of Blair's heartbeat....

With that word, a gentle quiet descended. Jim watched Sandburg take another sip of beer, observed the muscles in Blair's throat move, watched lazily as one hand came up and rubbed the pug nose ... and Jim found himself saying, "Rawlings said something interesting today."

Without looking up, Sandburg gave Jim a mildly curious, "Oh?"

"Yeah. He estimated that five percent of the Cascade PD is gay. Well, actually, he said five percent were out - but that another five percent were still closeted. Said he was always trying to convince Kevin."

For the first time since Jim had arrived home, Blair smiled. "Where are you going with this, man?"

"I know. Does that bother you?"

"Seriously? No. Feel right at home." He grinned again. "Always figured that was why we got along so well. Like minds and all."

Jim turned to face Sandburg and asked easily, "You think our weirdness would get in the way of, say, a date?"

"Jim, Jim, Jim. Has it ever? And besides, it's the *second* date we both seem to have problems getting, what with the weirdness factor, not the first."

With a punch to Blair's arm, Jim huffed, "Sandburg, I *meant* a date between *us*."

Blair seemed to trip on a rough patch of air and his body lurched forward. He shot out his right hand for balance and Jim caught it, steadying him. Blair blinked twice, then said intelligently, "oh."

Jim watched as a cloud passed over the handsome features and he hoped that when his heart reached his knees - some kind soul would kick it back upstairs where it belonged.

"I take it that the idea of dating me is not on your agenda?"

"No, no, not at all." Then realizing how that must have sounded to Jim, he hastened to add, "I was just a bit disappointed."

Jim grinned broadly and inched closer to Sandburg. Smiling back, Blair did his own inching.

"Jim, the world is round and two ships passing in the night are bound to come face to face in the daylight - eventually. If they keep moving."

Jim tilted his head to the left and made a motion with his hand as if trying to dislodge water from his ear, or maybe a bull elephant.

"Yeah, cool, ain't it? Bet it didn't squelch your lust one iota either, did it?"

Jim snorted, then hooked his index finger behind the waistband of Sandburg's jeans and tugged. The jeans - *and* Sandburg - came easily.

"Modest fellow, aren't you?"

"Shy and retiring, too. Now are we gonna do something here or jaw all night? I have exams to grade."

"Oh, we're gonna do something all right and as for treats, well, hold onto your seat, buddy boy."

The first kiss cut the second yadda off at the knees. The second and third kiss were accompanied by frenzied hands ripping and tearing at clothes, stripping the eager bodies down to skin. The fourth kiss found Jim Ellison flat on his back, Blair Sandburg on top of him, tongue buried nicely in his mouth.

A small part of Jim's brain was still functioning on the human thought level and he remembered Blair reading from some romance novel that a date had left behind, and as Sandburg had doubled over in laughter, he'd read, "Rod's silky tongue caressed her most private parts, sending her...."

Jim distinctly remembered laughing with Blair over the *silky tongue*. He wouldn't laugh anymore. Nor would he tell Sandburg that he had a silky tongue. Blair did, but he didn't need to *know* it. Wouldn't, probably, appreciate knowing. But God, Jim certainly appreciated it.

Silky, quick, artful, unstoppable, relentless, probing ... and Jim knew that if Blair so much as touched....

Smiling into the kiss, Blair rubbed the palm of his hand against the hard bulge in Jim's jeans....

Blair lifted his head from Jim's shoulder and in typical genius fashion, said, "uh?"

"I knew that." Then, "But maybe you'd better explain for those of us who *didn't* know."

Blair immediately moved his hand to Jim's groin, let his fingers walk through the nest of hair and just as he was about to wrap them around Jim's dick, the older man swatted the eager hand away and said, "Not that, you idiot, the chuckling. Do *that* again."

"Well, you gotta give me something to chuckle about, you know? I don't just *chuckle*, I have to have a reason."

The laughter burst from Sandburg before he could stop it. The tingling sensation exploded, sending bolts of pure pleasure throughout Jim's body. The sound echoed within the chamber of his heart, traveled to fingers and toes via his veins and arteries, brought goose bumps to his skin and even his lips tickled.

Who needed a dick when you had a Blair? And the man's laughter?

Scratch that thought. The sensation of Blair's laughter morphing its way into Jim's body had just hit said dick.

"I think I'm discovering something about this sentinel thing you need to test, Chief."

Head nestled back between the soft juncture between shoulder and pecs, Blair asked softly, "Yeah? What?"

"That's it? That's all you have to say? I offer up my body for testing and the King of lab rats says, *yeah, what*? You're slipping, Sandburg." "No, not slipping, just - *waiting*."

Jim glanced down at the curly head on his shoulder, his neck and chin meeting as he tried to angle his head to get a look at Sandburg's eyes. Failing that, he asked, "Waiting?"

"Uh-huh. *Waiting*. I'm a firm believer in reciprocation. I'm *waiting* for you to reciprocate, you putz."

Odd. All this time, concentrating on the *sound* of Sandburg and he'd failed to notice the *feel* of Sandburg - as in one semi-hard dick pushed against his thigh.

"Oh, yeah, I'm sixteen all over again. Getting my rocks off and leaving behind the...."

"Oh, really? I distinctly remember a deep, probing, mind-altering kiss - I'm famous for those, you know, and then I did - this," he placed *his* hand on Jim's dick, allowing his palm to press gently, then rub....

Jim's hips bucked and his dick, already awake and lively, thanks to the laughing Sandburg, really stood up and took notice.

As quickly as his palm had given pleasure, Blair pulled it away, then flopped over on his back, hands behind his head. He started whistling.

Mouth suddenly invaded, Blair could do nothing more than hold on... and enjoy. Hail the conquering invader!

Jim let his senses engulf the man below him, allowed his sense of touch to experience every taste bud, tooth and slick cheek, and as he let the flavor of the kiss overwhelm him, he pressed his body down and into Blair's, gave a mental jump for joy when legs parted and one came up, knee digging into his side....

Blair was rolling his back, almost rocking as he brought up his other leg and latched onto Jim's strong body. The extraordinary feel of his dick rocking against Jim's, the man's tongue, their kiss, the way Jim was holding his head, fingers buried deep in his hair, gave Blair the sense of being - owned, possessed, wanted, and owning and possessing in return. He controlled the motion of their bodies, but *Jim* controlled him.

Blair's heart started beating wildly and he tightened his hold on Jim, with both his legs and his arms. Never letting go, he thought, never....

The change in his bed partner finally made itself known to Jim. Carefully, lovingly, he pulled away, ending the kiss, his eyes roving over the face below, frowning at what looked like - tears - at the corner of scrunched up, closed eyes....

"blair?" His whisper sounded almost painfully loud to him but when Sandburg's eyes opened, Jim's breath caught.

Blair's face had always mirrored every emotion the man was feeling, and now those emotions were so *there*, so visible, so *about* Jim, that Ellison found himself unable to breathe.

Jim took Blair's face between his two hands and turned the head until Blair *had* to look at him, *had* to.

Blair nodded, robbed of all words by the intensity of Jim's gaze and *his* words.

Tears that had been hiding in the corners of Blair's eyes - now slid down his cheeks as he did as Jim commanded.

"I believe you. Never. Never leaving. Never gonna lose me. Never gonna lose *you*. Never."

"i love you, jim ellison... but please," blue eyes started twinkling with mischief as Blair went on, "could you get back to the reciprocation, please? i'm really into your reciprocating techniques...."