Title: Timing

Author/pseudonym: alyjude

Rating: NC17, which is ridiculous. I mean, I share these stories with my poodle and she's only three. Of course, in doggie years --- she's 21, but still.

Category: Humor and first time and yes, repeat after me: "Humor is subjective, Humor is subjective...."

Date: September 29, 2000

Series/Sequel: Nope

Status: This was originally printed in Come To Your Senses #15 back in September of 1999 and represents only my second zine story. It appears in a slightly altered form here.

Other webpage: www.skeeter.org/k9kennel

Disclaimer: I swear I haven't a clue how that frog got in my boss' coffee cup. Really. And you all know these guys really belong to Petfly but just let them try to recapture them from me and we'll see who wins in court.

Warning: Never chew gum, talk and step up a curb at the same time. Also, never, ever, under any circumstances suggest to Jim that he should allow Blair to visit Daniel Jackson in Colorado. But gosh, he is cute with steam jetting from his ears.

Summary: Wherein Jim is seeing someone and it isn't Blair and there's a serial killer on the loose in Cascade. Like, I ask you, where the hell else would a serial killer be on the loose????

alyjude disclaimer: This is in fun. No serious fanfiction authors were hurt in the making of this story. The fandom is safe for all time.



Timing - part one

by alyjude



*This is not good, so not good. Or - this is very good --- or not. I mean, there I was, sitting in the truck, minding my own business, my leg jiggling nervously, hands moving angrily while I argued with the great and powerful Jim Ellison when - WHAM, I get this urge to pull the man's head onto my lap and suck his brains out through his mouth!

This is not good. Or - very good.

No, no matter what, I should not want to suck my partner's brains out through his mouth. Er, should I?

Man, it's a good thing I'm short because I can get a decent pace out of this hobbit hutch I call a bedroom. If I were Jim's height? One pace, that's it - tops. But me? Three or four good ones before I have to head back.

Short is good, pacing is good, it's wanting to suck Jim's brains out that is bad. Or - good.

God, this is hard And so not what I expected, let alone planned.

Well, check this out, man. I'm hard. I'm fucking hard.

Down, boy, down. Must think rationally. Must be rational.

But - but - I want Jiiiiiimmmmm.

Well, fuck, now I'm whining. And to myself. That is so totally pathetic.

Calm. I must be calm. Cool. Mature.

I can do mature.


Note to self: It is very difficult to pace when with hard-on. And kind of - hurts, too.

Let's try - meditation. Yeah, meditate, should definitely meditate. Need candles, got 'em - need pillows - check, no incense, Jim's senses you know, and his arms, and his mouth and his eyes and his chest and ---


Okay, in the living room, the pillows down, candles lit, all quiet on the Northern Pacific front, I'm lowering myself - oomph.....okay, lotus.


Note to self: Lotus and hard-on a definite no-no. Is that in any book on meditation?

REcross legs, g-e-n-t-l-y --- ah, that's better.

Mantra, need a new mantra, need to center myself....okay, try this:

"I'm mature, I'm in control, I'm mature, I'm in control."

<shift, wiggle, adjust>

Surprise - surprise. It's. Not. Working.

Think, you dickwad.

Okay, try this:

"I'm not horny for Jim, I'm not horny for Jim, I'm not horny for Jim...."

You. Can. Not. Meditate. Using. A. Lie.

Very bad karma or something, so try again you horse's ass.

"I'm horny for Jim, I'm horny for Jim, I'm horny for Jim...."

Oh, now this is working. I'm - calm.

I'm centered, I'm warm.....


Note to self: Truth when meditating is good, sucking out Jim's brain is



*It's ten o'clock and I'm centered and ready. When Jim gets home, I hand him a beer, suggest he relax on the couch and after the third (or fourth or tenth) bottle, I - tell him. I tell him calmly, with great maturity and absolutely no mention of brain sucking.

I have a well-written script, I've had three hours of rehersal and I know my lines by heart. Hell, I've even taken into account Jim's many and varied responses. I am, after all, a scientist.

Ahem. "Jim, I've been experiencing some strange feelings lately and we really should discuss them."

<insert smartass Ellison remark; "Blair Sandburg wants to discuss

feelings? Alert the media!">

"Ha, ha, Jim, very funny. But seriously, I need you to listen."

<insert impossibly sweet Jim remark; "I always listen to you, Chief.">

"Well, that's good, Jim, because, well, I love you."

<Catch Jim as he falls, insert Jim stuttering>

Note to self: While holding Jim, remember the following:

1) Slip gun from his holster and hide under a cushion. He's a Sentinel, but the move will buy you time.



Note to self: After Jim can sit up and breathe without your assistance, but before speech returns, try to look vulnerable, reasonably sexy and let him get a good look at your ass. It is an asset in this case.

Oh, yeah. I'm ready.


The key in the lock alerted Blair Sandburg that the object of his rehersals was about to enter their humble abode. He got up and headed to the kitchen for the scheduled beer....

...but laughter froze him in his tracks.

Jim was laughing and - and - he wasn't - alone.

The door swung open and Jim stumbled in, pulling someone with him. He turned, delivered a shit-faced grin and said, "Hey, Chief. I'd like you to meet someone." He pulled the someone in front of him and said, "Casey, this is my roommate, Blair Sandburg and Blair, this is Casey Armstrong. She's a Forensic Anthropologist just hired as a consultant. You two have a great deal in common."


Blair Sandburg stuck out his hand, smiled warmly and said, "Hi, Casey, good to meet you."


:( :( :( :( :( :( :(


Three Weeks Later -

*This is so bad. So very bad. And it hurts, hurts so very bad. And damn, she's nice and smart and sweet and attractive....ENOUGH ALREADY!

She's not even a criminal, or a mad bomber or a terrorist or an assassin and she's not married to the mob, she isn't a jewel thief leaking pheromones all over the place and they spend all their time together and I don't see Jim anymore, except, well, at work, and at home, and there's this case, a seriel killer stalking nightclubs (duh) and he's killed two in Seattle, one in Spokane and now he's here and, and, and - Jim asked her about the ritual killings and not me....

I. Am. So. Fucked.


And I sound like a six year old.

A fucked up, jealous six year old.*


:( :( :( :( :(


Blair walked into Major Crime and only someone who really knew him would have noticed the little pause as he caught sight of his partner standing behind Casey, looking over her shoulder, one hand resting lightly on her arm as she sat at his computer.

But of course, the one who did know him that well wasn't looking. He was busy.

"Hey, guys. What's happening?"

Jim glanced up and smiled warmly as Casey continued to work at the computer. "Chief, glad you finally made it. Court a bitch?"

"Um, yeah, they never even got to me. Played tic-tac-toe solitare all day." He draped his jacket over the back of his chair, sat down and tried to ignore the fact that Jim had returned to Casey's side and that they were this close, but he failed.

"So, any progress on the killings?"

"Nothing concrete. You got anything?" As Jim spoke, he surprised Blair by coming back to lean against his desk, arms crossed, waiting, looking hopeful and a whole lot like a GQ model.

"As a matter of fact, I do have something I'd like to run by you." At Jim's excited nod, he continued, "I've gone over the statments taken of the family and friends of the victims and there did seem to be one characteristic not listed on the evidence board...," his voice trailed off as his confidence lagged a bit but Jim gave him a give it up gesture with his right hand and said, "Don't turn shy on me, Detective Sandburg. Give."

"Right. Well, all the friends and relatives described the victims as shy, prefering to observe rather than to participate and all found it surprising that the victims had frequented nightclubs."

Casey looked up from the computer screen and frowned. "What's the significance, Blair?"

He knuckled back some hair, felt the heat rise to his face, wondered why he suddenly felt as though he were back in grade school, then answered, "Maybe that's what attracted our killer. He zeroed in on loners, the unattached, the observers."

Casey shook her straight blonde hair, pushed herself away from Jim's desk and took up residence shoulder to shoulder with Jim which managed to give Sandburg the juvenile feeling that they were banding together - against him.

Which was stupid. Really.

"Blair, these were attractive people. Very attractive. We're not talking wallflowers here. They were successful, reasonably happy and seemed to have it all."

He scrummaged for a report, found it and opened it as he said , "This is the statement from the bartender at the club in Spokane. He's the only person interviewed who had a memory of a victim. He states that Brian Hemmings stayed at a table by himself, waved off any company and looked," he paused, found the line he was looking for and read, "he looked depressed." Blair glanced up expectantly.

Casey shook her elegant head and said, "I just don't think so, Blair. You don't go to a club like that, not clubs like Death Dance and Blood Rock to look. Brian Hemmings might have been depressed that night, but these clubs are for serious party goers, not observers."

He could easily have said that he did observe, had observed just such clubs, had sat alone, nursing a drink, but he didn't. How pathetic did he really want to sound? Instead, he looked up at Jim and asked, "Jim, is the stakeout still on for Club Doom?"

"Yep. No change. Tonight and tomorrow night. You , me, Casey here, Connor, Rafe, Wilson and Stewart."

Somehow Blair managed not to blink at Casey's inclusion.

Ok-ay, he might be down, but he wasn't out. He was especially not out of the closet he hadn't known he'd been in.


:( :( :( :( :(


The club was wild, raucous and loud with tendrils of smoke ( most certainly not belonging to plain old everyday cigarettes) bathing the garish lights in a blue haze.

The dancing was dangerous and sensual, whether it was slamming loudly or moving to a deep, slow beat. The pulse of the club was erotic, with bodies moving lewdly, recreating the act of sex with some actually engaging in the act itself, bodies plastered together on the dance floor.

The detectives of Major Crime were paired off, with the exception Sandburg. Connor and Rafe constituted one coupling with Connor looking awesome in a slinky red sheath, hair loose and flowing. Rafe, Mr. Buttondown himself, looked hip in black leather. Heather Wilson, short, wiry and looking nightclub perfect in a skin-tight black cat suit was paired with Angela Stewart who was wearing a matching cat suit, but in white.

Jim was paired with Casey and both looked as though they'd been born in the club. Casey wore a cream colored, almost see-through, lacy slip dress and Jim was in tight, faded blue jeans with a chainlink belt, tight white t-shirt managing to look tough and sexy as hell.

Blair, relegated to watching from the bar, wore a pale gray turtleneck sweater, tight black jeans, hair tied back and glasses perched on his nose. His job was to observe, watch the others, keep his eyes open and signal anything suspicious. Oh goody. Hell, he might as well be back in his official observer and consultant phase again.

Sandburg noticed a table open up and he quickly moved in to claim it. His vantage point improved and he became less noticeable. He took a sip of his ginger ale and sat back, discouraged, with a slightly sullen look on his face. His mood took a nosedive into miserable as he watched Casey lead a reluctant Jim onto the dance floor for one of the slow, sexy numbers.

Suicide would be easier than watching this.

As the detectives searched, eyes roving, cataloguing every individual, no one noticed that Blair Sandburg was the very picture of the victims he'd so recently outlined to Jim and Casey. And no one saw the one man seated at the far side of the bar, dangerously insane eyes fixed on a young man in gray turtleneck sweater sipping his drink at a corner table, looking very lonely and depressed.


:( :( :( :( :(


The night wore on, the music got impossibly louder, the smoke impossibly heavier and the dancing completely out of control. The detectives continued to move about, to observe, to watch for the new description of possible victims, the new description given to them that evening before leaving the station.

Their experienced eyes searched out the the man or woman sitting alone, neither wanting nor encouraging company. So far, two people fit the bill and the detectives circled, laughed, danced and watched, but so far no bites. None of them noticed their own lone detective but the killer did and at one o'clock, he made his move.

Blair, eyes hooded, hiding his disappointment, watched Jim and Casey as they danced again, and he alternated his glances between the dance floor and the table, three away from his, where one of the possible victims sat, nursing his drink. Blair was so intent on his scrutiny, he failed to notice the man approaching his table until it jerked against him, jamming him against the wall.

"Oh, man, so sorry. Clumsy. Late. Too much to drink. You hurt, man?"

Blair shook his head, pushed the table back and said, "No, no problem.

No harm, no foul."

"Cool." The man moved off, but not far. He had to remain close now, because the drug he'd just slipped into the drink would take effect fairly quickly. He'd never used it before, but tonight, before coming, he'd felt certain that the one he was looking for would be here and he'd need him pliant and conscious. He leaned against the wall and waited.


Man, this was purgatory. His head hurt and the smoke was finally getting to him. He didn't waste any worried thoughts on his Sentinel, Jim was well armed with an arsenal of techniques and had been well coached before they'd left for the station. Blair, on the other hand, was a mere mortal and putting his .38 to his temple and pulling the trigger was looking better and better.

He glanced around and spotted Connor and Rafe a few feet away, near the man he'd been watching all evening. Connor caught his eye so he gave her a signal which she returned with a barely perceptible nod. He stood quickly, suddenly feeling ill, and made his woozy way to the bathrooms, content that his victim was being watched by Connor and Rafe.

The closer he got to the bathroom, the better he started to feel - like, really good, kinda loose and very happy. There was a hand on his arm, quiding him, which was really nice because he'd forgotten where the bathroom was. He turned his head and looked up into almost midnight black eyes and he smiled his thanks to the nice man who just kept helping him right on out into the parking lot and over to a white van.

His body was propped up against the side of the van and he watched, befuddled, as the back doors were opened and his body manuevered to the rear of the van. He was pushed down and he thought this was really getting odd, because while he knew the club now had valet parking, he didn't think they drove you to the bathrooms, but hey, things change all the time. He was pushed back, his legs folded and then the doors were shut and he wondered idly where the heck those bathrooms could possibly be....


Jim leaned in close to Connor and whispered, "you seen Sandburg lately?"

She shook her head and mouthed back, "Not since he went to the bathroom, about fifteen minutes ago."

Jim had that feeling, the one that said his partner was in trouble. He left Connor and hurried to the bathroom but found nothing.


He concentrated, filtered out all that he could, listening....and coming up empty-handed. Blair was no longer in the club.

As he turned the corner he wasn't surprised to find the others waiting for him, all clearly concerned. One of their own had disappeared.

"Angela, you and Wilson stay here and keep an eye on our other two possible victims, Rafe, call for back-up and Connor, you're with me."

With those short, terse commands, he and Connor headed out to the parking lot.


:( :( :( :( :(


As Jim hurried to his truck, he handed the keys to Connor and continued to listen.

Connor started the engine, causing Jim to wince at the sudden intrusion of sound. He refocused, filtered out everything....and....

<<"Oh, man, is this bathroom moving?">>


Connor pulled out onto the street as Jim ordered, "Head toward Placentia."

<<"Oh, man, where the fuck am I?">>

"Turn here, Connor. And speed it up, the man's got fifteen minutes on us."


:( :( :( :( :(


What the hell was going on? And since when were bathrooms in competition with rollercoasters?

Blair tried to straighten out his world, he even put out his hands and tried to tweak it, but in all honesty, he liked his world like this, kind of hazy, nice and warm, but damn, bathrooms really shouldn't move like this.

As quickly as he thought it, the movement stopped and someone was breathing heavily beside him. He looked up, squinting to see but was rolled over before he could stop the wiggly lines. His hands were pulled up behind him and....

Oh, shit. Not again. Fuck, this was sooo embarrassing.

"I'm not in a bathroom and I'm not in Kansas anymore, am I?"

"Nope. But soon you'll be in a very good place, I promise you.

Sacrificed for my eternal soul. Doesn't that make you feel better?"

"Well, actually, now that you mention it, I already feel pretty damn good and where are we?"

"In my van. But soon, we'll be at the place of your ascension and you'll have no more cares or woes...."

"Bye, bye blackbird...and did you know that your van really stinks?

Anyone ever tell you that?"

The man rolled him back over and fingered his hair as he murmured, "I knew you were the one, the one that would free me." He stood and made his way back to the front of the van, restarted the motor and pulled back onto the street.

"Well sure," Blair muttered, disgusted. "Aren't I always the one?" He took a deep breath and yelled, "OH, JIIIIIIMMMMMM!"

"Shut up back there! Yelling won't help, no one can hear you."

"You think you're so smart? I so don't think so, man. And when my partner gets through with you, well let me tell you, your soul will be the least of your worries."

Sandburg tilted his head back and began to sing his own unique version of Mack the Knife, loud, with a good voice, but horribly off key. Evidently a drugged Sandburg was a tone deaf Sandburg.

The killer just shook his head and sped up.

Several miles back, Jim shook his head and in spite of the danger and the worry, he grinned.


"He's singing. Mack the Knife. Stay on Edwards."

"He's drugged?"

"Oh, yeah. And in absolutely no pain, but he knows we're here and he's singing so that I can find him."

The van finally stopped and none too soon if Blair's stomach was any indiction. The killer climbed out, opened the back doors and pulled the pliant body toward him, then slung Blair over his right shoulder.

Sandburg opened his eyes and realized he was upside down.

"Shit, why do you guys always do this? I'm always slung over shoulders and it's uncomfortable as hell, the blood always rushes to my brain and you idiots invariably....OW!....do that, namely slam my head against some stupid, fucking, unyielding surface.....and shit, couldn't you slow down?"

Upper half of his body thumping against the killers back, Blair tried to lift his head and get a peek at his surroundings. but hair, now loose from all the man-handling, kept getting in his eyes and obscuring his view. Still, he managed to recognize enough.

"Hey, I know this place, even upside-down. The old Temple Theater."

He let his head fall back to thud against the guys shoulder blade and mused out loud, "Oh, I get it. Clev-er. Temple - ascension, sacrifices...HEY, JIM? YOU GET IT?!?"

"Who the fuck do you think you're talking to?"

"I'm talking to GOD Jim, that's who, you moron and he's gonna kick some serious butt when he catches up to you. Hell, I'd do it myself if I were half angry or half sober, you know? Plus, I think I'm gonna puke. I may be getting seasick."

The killer harumphed even as he unlocked the back door to the theater and moved sideways into the building. He walked up several stairs, barely huffing at his load, unlocked another door, stepped in, shouldered it closed, relocked it, then out onto the stage. He dropped his cargo onto a large, wooden table to a loud, "OOMPH, and do you mind?"

Blair, now on his back, screwed his head around to check the place out.

"Let me guess - this is the sacrificial stone? Man, this is so lame. Couldn't you do better than this? Show a little imagination? And are we actually on the stage?" He peered out over the expanse of deck and nodded to himself, "Why yes, I see that we are. Well, cool. I gotta tell ya, I'm impressed. I finally made it to the stage. I actually thought about being an actor once - for about five minutes, to impress this chick, you know? I was seventeen and you should've heard my Hamlet.....mmmpph...."

The killer gagged his talkative sacrifice, but somehow the body kept moving in time to the sounds emanating from behind the cloth. The killer turned Sandburg over a bit, and while holding the young man's head down, quickly untied the rope around Blair's wrists and before Sandburg could do anything, other than wax poetic about his Hamlet, the killer brought both arms over Blair's head and manacled them to the table, one on each side. He then repeated the action with Blair's ankles, leaving the vulnerable but happy man spreadeagled on the table.

The killer stood back to admire his handiwork. Perfect. Except....

He went to the large makeshift altar and lifted a huge, ornate dagger and a small carafe of oil. Carrying both back to the table, he immediately poured the annointed liquid on each wrist, at pusle point, then lifted the hem of the gray sweater and sliced up the length of the soft material with the knife, revealing Blair's chest.

He set the knife and oil down and from under the table he pulled a jar, dipped his finger in, then carefully began to draw a complicated design on Sandburg's chest.

Blair wiggled a bit, but then the motion of the finger moving over his chest started feeling really good, so he stopped moving and relaxed. As the man worked, Blair felt the oil, hot on his skin, working its way under the metal of the shackles and he thought, "why not" and began to wiggle experimentally and found that he might actually be able to pull his right hand through the manacle.

Man, this guy is a real jerk, Blair thought as he kept wiggling, and considering that subtlety was not his strong point at the moment, he still managed to pull one hand free without the killer's notice.


:) :) :) :) :)


The truck careened into the parking lot of the Temple Theater, but before Connor could put the vehicle into park, Jim was out and running, gun in hand. Megan quickly followed.

The front doors were locked so the two detectives ran swiftly around back and with little wasted effort, Jim kicked the door in.

Moving cautiously, Connor followed Jim's lead, trusting that the man would lead them to Sandburg.


:) :) :) :) :)


*Man, this is so ridiculous. Again I'm targeted, like maybe I have

this red bulls-eye painted on my forehead? And it blinks on and off

saying, "Take me, take me, take me." *

Uh, oh. Knife. Big, shiny, jeweled. Curved, thick and I bet it's real

sharp too. Why do you suppose these guys always have curved, thick,

jeweled knives? I mean, just once I'd like to see, say, a paring knife?*

Blair's body began to shake in mirth at his own lame joke and the killer, thinking his captive was trembling in fear, smoothed back Blair's hair and patted his cheek.

"You won't feel anything, I promise. That's why I used the drug this time, see? I knew you were the one and I didn't want you to feel any discomfort, but it will be over soon so close your eyes and know that your blood will free me."

Blair's eyes did the opposite of course. Instead of closing, they widened, not in fear but in surprise. He started to shake his head, tried to warn the guy, to tell him....but the man started muttering incantations and lifted the huge, gleaming dagger above his head, his own eyes closed, his mouth moving, grinning dreamily as slowly, his hand began to descend....

o :o :o :o :o

<<You won't feel anything, I promise...>>

Jim veered left, pushed through heavy, old curtains and started up the stairs to the stage, Connor right behind him....

o :o :o :o :o

Blair found the light bouncing off the knife to be fascinating. And damned if the jewels weren't like colored stars...and the one just above the blade, twinkling pale blue, was exactly the color of Jim's eyes - well, one eye anyway, which got him laughing all over again, but then the knife was moving down and maybe he should do something because obviously Jim wasn't here yet and wasn't that typical and then Blair remembered that one hand was free and as he swung, he wondered about where Connor hid a gun in that slinky red dress of hers...

...his fist connected nicely and the killer windmilled back, then dropped like a sack of potatoes, his head connecting nicely with the bottom of the altar.

Blair shook his head, mentally did a little tsk-tsking, then instead of freeing himself, he used his right hand to pull off the gag and started singing again, this time, "Bad, Bad, Leroy Brown, at the top of his lungs - which was the precise moment Jim and Conner made their appearance.


:) :) :) :) :)


It was a certainty that neither Jim nor Connor would soon forget the scene as they ran onto the stage that night.

A myriad of candles cast an eerie glow over the stage, the altar with so many jeweled statues and jars, capturing and reflecting the flickering candlelight; the huge, gaudy mirror over the altar; the killer sprawled in a heap at the foot of the altar, and Blair...

....spreadeagled on the old wooden table, gray sweater hanging loose from his one bound arm, the other arm waving madly in the air, a piece of sweater flying recklessly behind as the owner sang at the top of his voice, his body bopping in time to his off tune tune.

For Jim, it was a moment of extreme emotions as he rode erratically from absolute terror at what had almost occured, to a cold, murderous anger as he gazed at the unconscious deranged killer on the ground, but then to genuine, heartfelt laughter at the picture his partner made bouncing and bopping on the wooden table.

Ellison pushed it all down and rushed to Sandburg's side while Connor took care of the killer.

Blair turned to face his company and when he saw Jim, his face split into a wide, beautiful grin.

"Hi, Jim. Isn't this wild?"

As Jim freed the ankles, he nodded and agreed, "Yeah, Sandburg. Real wild. How ya feeling?"

"Cool. Good. Top 'o the world, man. Hey, remember that time they spiked my punch at the first holiday party I went to for Major Crime?"

Jim was freeing the still bound left wrist, struggling as Blair tried to talk with that hand, so he just nodded and added, "I remember Chief and STOP moving. And you were really flying that night."

"Well, this is, like, so-o-o much better and instead of a bunch juvenile cops trying to make me feel like an idiot, this guy was only trying to kill me. Way cool."

Jim finally had Blair free and hooked an arm around his waist to help him sit up. The blottoed young man spotted Connor then and yelled, to Jim's mortification, "HEY, CONNOR! HOW YA DOIN? YOU LOOKED REALLY HOT TONIGHT!"

Megan moved to join them and smiling, she placed her hand on Blair's thigh and said, "Thanks, Sandy. I appreciate the kind words."

"Hey, my pleasure." Then he turned back to Jim and pleaded, "Can we go back to the club now, uh, can we?"

Jim and Connor were perfect in their unison as they yelled out, "NO!"

Pouting, Blair said forlornly, "Gee, ya don't haveta shout, I'm like, right here."

Catching Jim's eye over the curly head, Connor whispered, "let's get him outside, pronto. get some fresh air into him."

As they both steadied Sandburg, Jim shook his head helplessly and said, "Yeah, right, fresh air. Like that's gonna help."

As they exited the theater, the calvary arrived in the form of Rafe, Casey, Stewart, Wilson and a parade of officers. The crime scene was rapidly secured.


For a Friday night, Cascade General was fairly quiet, with Jim, Casey and Simon the only ones waiting nervously in the ER waiting room.

Simon had been quickly caught up on the events of the evening and now sat watching one half of his best team as the man tried to hone in on the other half of said team, Casey beside him, stroking his knee, oblivious to the reason for Jim's fixed attention.

Banks shook his head in wonder at the idea that any woman could come between Jim and Blair and yet, apparantly, that was exactly what had happened. But then Simon glanced at Casey, who was still trying so hard to capture Elllison's attention and Simon realized that Casey didn't have a chance. Smiling to himself, he wondered if Jim understood anything.

"Detective Ellison."

Three heads swiveled to the door and the man in scrubs. Jim stood quickly. "How is he?"

Doctor Weber smiled and shook his head as he answered, "He's in no pain and the drug won't hurt him. He'll start to wind down in about thirty minutes to an hour and you'd best have him near a bed because when he crashes, it's going to be hard and fast. He'll feel like shit tomorrow, and probably the next day as welll, but ultimately, he's going to be just fine."

"So I can take him home?"

"Oh, please do, Detective. We don't want him, trust me. Right now, he's very concerned about the state of his toes. He's certain that they can't breathe. Please, Detective Ellison, take him." The man's words were softened by a gentle smile.

Jim, sighing in relief, moved past the man and unerringly found the cubicle containing his very happy partner who glanced up from studying his toes to give Jim that wide, shitfaced grin again.

"Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy...you gonna take my and my comatose toes home?"

"Yep, Chief, right now."

"Swell, because I'm telling ya, man, they can't breathe and I just know they're gonna fall off. I just know it."

Helping Blair down and into Jim's own jacket, he said, "Come on, buddy, the right arm goes in here...that's it, and I'm sure your toes will make it home, trust me."

Blair gazed up at Jim then, his eyes wide, his expression earnest and open. "Oh, I do, Jim. I do trust you. I don't trust anyone like I trust you."

For a moment, Jim couldn't identify the feeling that was rapidly spreading throughout his body, but then he did and he smiled gently and lovingly. "Come on, Chief. lets go home."


Connor had taken Jim's truck back to the station, so it was to Simon's car that they attempted to bundle the drugged Sandburg. Finally Jim just gave up any pretense of consideration and shoved the guy in, using his own body to anchor Blair to the backseat.

As Simon drove through the quiet streets, Jim marveled at the frenetic movements of his still wigged out partner while Casey sat up front with Simon. By the time they were half way to the loft though, Blair's head began to nod as his energy seemed to hiss out like a tire with a slow leak. When the body finally collapsed, Jim just naturally pulled the man over and gently pushed his body down, letting Blair's head rest in his lap.

Blinking, Sandburg put a finger to his lips and went, "Sssh," followed by a, "psst, jim?"

The man in question looked down at Sandburg, who was gazing up at him, smiling sadly.

"What is it, Chief?" Jim asked, suddenly concerned.

"I just wanted to say that I think you and Casey make a great couple, you know? Oh, not as good a couple as you and I would have made, but I'm happy for you. I promise I am."

Jim found his own eyes suddenly blinking and his breath coming in little wuffs. He glanced up quickly and found Casey's eyes glued to his in the rear-view mirror.

"Uh, thanks, Chief. Thanks, but -"

"And I promise you, Jim, you have my solemn oath, cross my heart," his finger crossed over his chest - on the right side, "and hope to die, I promise never, ever try to suck your brains out through your mouth. I promise. So don't worry. And if you want me to move out, I will, right away. Anything you want, because all I want is your happiness. Do you believe me?"

What could Jim do or say? With Simon and Casey right there?

"Yeah, Sandburg, I believe you."

"Okay, good. So, do you think Casey will be moving in anytime soon?

Because you know me, I can be packed in minutes."

"Let's not jump the gun, okay, pal? Just relax and we'll talk about it tomorrow."

Blair nodded, his eyes going sad again, then closing.

By the time Simon parked in front of 852 Prospect, Blair Sandburg was dead to the world which was not a good thing because the only choice Jim Ellison had, was to, in front of Casey and Simon. carry the limp dishrag upstairs.

In all fairness, Simon did offer to do the carrying, but one look at Ellison's face squashed that idea flat.

Now Simon stood in the living room, shifting from one foot to the other, trying to look casual as he and Casey stared at the closed french doors, behind which Jim was undoubtedly tucking the unconscious Sandburg into bed.

Of course Simon, under normal conditions, would never have envisioned Jim Ellison tucking in Blair Sandburg, but because it was so clearly what Casey was imagining, well, it was like being told not to think about pink elephants. Simon snorted because of course, now he was seeing pink elephants that looked suspiciously like Jim and Blair. He couldn't win for losing.

After several awkward minutes, Jim finally backed out of the room and softly closed the doors. Simon decided to take pity on everyone, himself included.

"Jim, why don't I take Casey home? You probably don't want to leave Sandburg and as long as I'm taking her home, why don't I just rush down to the car right now and get it started?" Without further ado, Simon made like a tree and - left.

Jim smiled uncertainly at Casey, who smiled back and lightly touched Jim's arm. "It's okay, Jim. I understand. And it's not like we were in love or anything. It was a fun couple of weeks."

Jim felt himself relax, the tight ball that had been his stomach beginning to unwind. "Thanks, Casey."

She looked up at him quizzically and asked, "You didn't really know, did you?"

Shaking his head ruefully, he answered, "Not much of a detective, am I?"

"You're okay, Ellison, just been in the forest too long and you know how those trees start looking then, right? And you know, Blair was right," at Jim's raised eyebrow, she finished, "about you and he making a much cuter couple than you and I."

She stood on her toes and kissed his cheek tenderly, then left quietly.

Jim locked up, turned out the lights, then picked up the living room chair and carried into the small bedroom where he sat it down next to the bed and took his place as his guide's guard.


By the time Blair shuffled into the kitchen the next morning, Jim had already moved the chair, taken a shower and was currently sitting at the dining room table drinking coffee and munching on toast.

"Morning, Chief."

The body stopped, looked at Ellison through the kind of glazed eyes that would look good on a donut, blinked, focused, looked around dazedly, then asked in a raspy voice, "Who am I?"

Jim smiled indulgently and answered, "You're Blair Jacob Sandburg, soon to be Blair Jacob Sandburg-Ellison."

"And you would be?"

"I would be James Joseph Ellison."

"I live here?"

"Yep. With me."


"Turn left, walk two paces and turn right."

"Thank you."

"My pleasure."

Jim winced as Blair hit the wall.

"I said two paces."


Ten minutes later Sandburg shuffled back out, pulled out a chair and sat down.

"How do you feel?"

"I don't. No feeling at all. Anywhere. What did I drink last night?"



"Well, you had a squeeze of lime in it."

Blair rested his head in his hands and muttered, "Man, what are they putting in limes now a days?"

"You were also drugged. Don't you remember anything?"

"Hey, I'm taking your word that I'm Blair Sandburg. For all I know, I could be Jack the Ripper."

"That's Blair Jacob Sandburg, soon to be Blair Jacob Sandburg Ellison."

"Whatever," he moaned piteously.

Jim scraped back his chair, walked into the kitchen, poured coffee into Blair's mug, walked back and carefully placed it between shaking hands.

"ooh, I remember this stuff. Liquid of the Gods. You're a prince, whoever you are."

Jim just shook his head and sat down.

Suddenly Sandburg looked up. "Hey, you're not supposed to be here, are you? Aren't you supposed to be fishing? With Casey?"

"Called off."

Worry shown clearly in Blair's eyes as he asked, almost afraid, "Not because of me? I mean, it was just a little mishap, I'm fine. You should go."

"So you remember?"

"Well, it seems I was kidnapped yet again. Right?"


"And he slipped me something and I hit him because man, he was one real jerk, then you came, and, and, and....that's about it."

"You sang. Twice. First Mack the Knife, then Bad, Bad, Leroy Brown."

"And I sang, twice - and oh, god, I'll never be able to show my face inside Major Crime again."

"No one heard you, except Connor and I, and she only heard Bad, Bad, Leroy Brown. Your secret's safe."

"Goody. So, since I'm fine, why aren't you fishing?"

"Well, Casey and I came to an understanding last night and under the circumstances, it would be highly inappropriate for me to go fishing with her when I want to fish with someone else."

Blair jumped to his feet and yelled, "SOMEONE ELSE? THERE'S SOMEONE ELSE NOW?" He immediately sunk back down as the Vienna Boys Choir struck up the Anvil Chorus in his brain. He dropped his head onto the table.

"That had to hurt, Chief." As Blair moaned softly, Jim got up, entered the bathroom, shook out two aspirins from the bottle on the sink, then back to the still moaning Sandburg. He took one hand and dropped the pills into the palm. "Come on, take these, Chief."

Blair lifted his head enough to throw back the aspirin and swallow a gulp of coffee. Then he dropped his head back down and closed his eyes. Could his life get any worse?

Several minutes went by as Jim watched his miserable partner and waited for the younger man to catch on. He was rewarded a moment later as Blair shot up, looked wildly about, then asked, "Who did you say I was?"

"Blair Jacob Sandburg, soon to be Blair Jabob Sandburg-Ellison."

Blair looked at Jim. Jim smiled gently back.

Blair sat down. Then he smiled.

"Who did you say you were?"

"James Joseph Ellison."

"Ah, yes. Soon to be James Joseph Ellison-Sandburg."

"I'm not picky, I can go either way."

"Good, because that's the way it's gonna be."

"Does this mean you'll start taking out the trash?"

"Hell, no."

"Just thought I'd ask."

They sipped their coffee and smiled at each other.

Eventually, Jim asked, "Chief, about something you said last night - I think we should explore it."


"You mentioned something about sucking my brains out through my mouth? I was just wondering - was that just small talk?"

"Hell no."

Blair got up and walked around the table to stand over Jim. He bent just a bit, captured Ellison's head between his hands and proceeded to suck out Jim's breath, his tongue and yes, his brains. But he must have left just enough, because Jim had the wherewithal to rise, taking Blair with him and move them to the wall where he pinned the younger man and did his best to show him that he was pretty good at the brain sucking thing too.

In a few seconds, Jim had Blair's robe on the floor, Blair had Jim's tee shirt in shreds and both were working hard at jeans and shorts. They succeeded admirably as skin glided against hot, sweaty skin. Hands slid over previously forbidden terrain and cocks bumped and rubbed.

It was good. It was feverish, but it wasn't enough. Jim hefted his partner up slightly and Blair automatically wrapped one leg around Jim's thigh and the whole table leg remark took on all new dimensions. Blair was frantically humbing as Jim thrust, eyes fastening on Blair's adam's apple. He dove in and latching on, he started sucking and biting. Blair's answering moan shot straight to Jim's groin as his entire body caught fire.

It seemed that they couldn't last, that this intense blaze, the need, couldn't sustain itself, that it could only burn hot and bright, then explode and implode.

Both men felt the pain of their pent up passion and their orgasms shuddered through them, Blair coming first, groaning out Jim's name, then Jim following, Blair's name hissed into a mass of damp, sweat soaked hair as fingers tightened convulsively.

They hung suspended, chests heaving, legs unsteady, bodies still entwined. Feeling his legs giving way, Jim guided them to the floor, holding Sandburg tightly against his chest. He shifted so that his back was flat to the wall and dropped his head into hair.

Several minutes passed as they concentrated on the journey back to earth amd as they learned how to breathe again. Blair was the first to speak.

"Don't we have to go to work? Reports and stuff?

"Yep. But then - we go fishing."

"And fucking. Don't forget the fucking."

"Fishing, fucking and of course - sucking. You, Blair Sandburg, are one fine brain sucker outer."

"That's Blair Jacob Sandburg and you James Joseph Ellison, soon to be James Joseph Ellison-Sandburg, are not bad yourself."

"Thank you, it's nothing. Years of practise, fine tuning. Rehersals for the main event."

"I've always wanted to be the main event. I've been close to being the main course, but never the main event. And hey, senior, experience counts."

"Don't you forget it, Junior. And you are the main event and the main course."

"Should we move, or stay here?"

"Stay here."


Jim started to nuzzle Blair's neck, letting his tongue lap up the sweat as his cheek grazed the sensitive skin. As he lavished attention on this incredible area of an incredible body, he murmured, "Chief, have I ever told you that you have the most incredible neck? I could suck on it all day."

"Well, now that you mention it, no, you've never told me that you could suck my neck all day. Personally, I'd have thought you'd be more fond of my ass, really thought you'd appreciate it, but hey, who knew you were a neck man?"

A hand crept down Blair's body until it reached the aforementioned ass.

Fingers squeezed deliciously, causing Blair to shiver uncontrollably. Jim rested his lips against Blair's ear and whispered huskily, "i have very definite plans for this ass later. It's your second best feature and I've coveted this ass for the last three years."

"Three years?" Blair demanded as he tried to shift around to meet Jim face to face. "And what do you mean my second best feature?"

"Your brain, Sandburg. Your brain. I love every single cell, each and every bit of gray matter, both lobes and every ounce of trivia and knowledge cotained within." He knocked on Blair's noggin, as he added, "You have the sexiest brain on this planet, Chief."

Grinning, Blair tried to look modest as he said, "Aw, shucks Jim. You mean I'm not just another pretty ass?"

"Nope. Brains and ass, my favorite combination."

"Want to know your best feature?"


"Your - - - gun."

"This one?"

"That's the one."

"Well I do believe that if we were to put my best feature together with your second best feature, we'd have a winning combination."

"Race you?"

"You're on."


#} { #} {


*This is so good. So very good. And just as I've always imagined. He's

good, so very good.*

Jim Ellison smiled down on the body spooned up next to him as he gently brushed hair from the sleeping man's face. Then he dropped a loving kiss on top of Blair's head.

Good. Perfect. And hadn't he always had impeccable timing?


~End of Timing~