"That wasn't so hard now, was it?"

Michael glared at the Head of Section One. Operations had never been one of his favorite people, but what he was doing now strained the bounds of the purely practical working relationship forged between the two men.

It wasn't that Michael was surprised to find himself in the White Room. Again. Operations was a fairly easy read when it came to predicting what he would do. He was heavily invested in power plays and mind fucks…and yes, he *would* use anything and everything against a target.

But Michael was no target.

Or he hadn't been.

Until the anthropologist came to Section. Blair Sandburg. Short, cheerful, animated Blair Sandburg. Not at all the type of man Section usually concerned itself with. Targets were invariably one of two types. Either they were dull gray, crafted and cloaked for concealment. Or they were bright, heartstopping red, meant to be taken seriously at all times.

But Sandburg was different. His doctoral dissertation just published, Sandburg epitomized the social scientist. Ceaselessly curious, he could not help but ask questions. And in this case, those questions hypothesized the existence of Sentinels. A Sentinel was something of a behavioral throwback even as it was something too cutting-edge to exist in the current world.

What a paradox. On the outside, Sandburg became a pariah, initially for espousing views that sounded so outlandish, it didn't matter whether or not they could be proven, later for denigrating his own work as that of a charlatan. Decried as a fraud, living like an outlaw, Sandburg had no idea that anyone would be interested in what was left of that work.

Inside that alternate reality called Section One, however, Sandburg was treated like visiting royalty. Though he was in fact denied the right to call himself Doctor, Sandburg could not help but be intrigued by Section's tendency to overlook that detail. Hell, the truth was, he was positively fascinated by the closed society that Section represented. Why, the operative hierarchy alone would be worth a lifetime of study.

But fascination or not, Sandburg eventually realized just how dangerous Section was. This was no trip down the Amazon. There were no friendly natives. But there *were* cannibals. They even had their own language. And the word "loyalty" was not in their vocabulary.

Which, in a way, was how Michael ended up in the White Room.

It wasn't like Sandburg was an invited guest. He wasn't. He was, in fact, abducted at gunpoint. Sad to say, it was not the first time. Or even the third. Or fifth. As Jim Ellison's partner, he was continually subjected to things that only police officers, or God forbid, hostages, might endure.

But Jim Ellison was a detective with the police department in Cascade, Washington. Blair…ah, Blair Sandburg enjoyed, if such a word could be applied to his situation, all of the privileges of being shot at, kidnapped, poisoned, drugged, and dragged into a helicopter thousands of feet in the air. All of this on the strength of his credentials as an observer. Not a police officer.

Not that it mattered. Sandburg did all those things and more, but not because he lusted after a change in career. No, he did those things to stay at the side of his Sentinel. He would have followed Jim Ellison anywhere. In fact, he often did. But like an everpresent shadow, he was taken for granted. Until the day he died.

Wouldn't Section have been interested in the details of that particular day? Tell us how you died, Dr. Sandburg. Well, there was this woman…and then a fountain…and…are you sure you want to hear about this? Oh, yes, Dr. Sandburg.

It wasn't one of his happier memories. Obviously. People could talk all they wanted about the near-death experiences they had, but they weren't anything like this. That mystical bonding was what brought Sandburg back. His animal spirit, the wolf, and Jim's animal spirit, the black jaguar, literally merged, becoming one entity. It brought Sandburg back to life. But it didn't make him happy.

What would have made him happy would have been Jim admitting that he loved Blair, in every sense of the word. That was what Blair longed for. That was what he never got. No, Jim said, "I'm not ready to go there with you, Chief." Now whether he meant that he couldn't make their relationship physical was a question that tortured Blair. Sometimes… Sometimes he thought that he wouldn't even mind if Jim never touched him again…if he would only tell him that he was in love with him.

But that would never happen. Not now.

Once Sandburg's dissertation was released, it didn't matter that he had no hand in it, however small. It didn't matter that once again, his mother, who popped in and out of his life like that cute witch Samantha's mother on Bewitched, ran roughshod over his wishes, trampling the essence of his dreams under her unwitting feet. It didn't matter because of how Jim reacted.

He didn't trust Blair. He pushed him away. No more careless caresses. No more hugs. No more "I love you, Chief," even if it *didn't* mean what Blair wanted.

So Blair did the only thing he could have done and still stay true to his heart. He gave it all up. His life's work. Because nothing meant *anything* without Jim in his life. Even now, if he let his mind linger too long on that press conference, he could feel the unshed tears choking his throat. It wasn't about the public humiliation. God knew, he had little enough self-esteem as it was. He never placed a very high value on himself. No one wanted him, at least not enough to brave the obstacles he put in their way. Only Jim had gotten inside his meager defenses. And he would do anything to keep him there.

No, when he announced that he was a fraud, his dissertation a fake, he chilled to see how willing the public and the university were to believe him. But like a Sentinel subtext, the real message was meant for Sentinel ears alone. I love you, Jim. I'm doing this for *you*. I was wrong. It wasn't about friendship at all. It was about me loving you so much…I would die for you. I *did* die for you, man. But I *came back* for you, too, Jim. And now, if you can't hear me, if you can't love me back, I *will* die, man. Cause I got nothing left. Not a goddamn thing.

All things considered, when Sandburg was taken at gunpoint to Section One's headquarters in Europe, he really couldn't find an immediate reason to object. He'd spent his entire life waiting for the other shoe to drop. Now it had. Big fucking deal.

It was the interrogation that gave him his first inkling that things might not go nearly as smoothly as he thought.

Michael cut a daunting figure, all in black. Tall. Like Jim. Strong. Like Jim. Terse, even silent at times. Again, like Jim. The long, cinnamon-colored hair that curled at his neck combined with those changeable grey-green eyes made him look exceptionally attractive to Blair.

Unfortunately, that wasn't why he was there.

Or was it?

"Mr. Sandburg…"

Blair noted that Michael did *not* address him as though he had his doctorate in Anthropology. He wondered if a European like Michael read the Cascade papers. That struck him so funny, it was all he could not to laugh out loud. One look at that stern visage told him that would not be wise.

"Our organization…" Pause for effect. Michael was nothing if not a master of the dramatic. Nice work, man. Blair gave the man a mental thumbs' up. He made it sound like the fucking Mafia or something. Heh.

"…is extremely interested in your…work." Heh. The way Michael paused over the word "work" made Blair think, Gee, I wonder what *you* do for a living. Nope, don't answer that question. Probably something that starts with anarchy and ends in terrorism.

His extraordinary eyes, the color of dull pewter now, flickered over Blair's face with more than casual interest. "We want to know everything you can tell us…about the Sentinel you described…in your…dissertation."

"H-he's not. A Sentinel, I mean. I m-made it up. Didn't you read the headlines? I'm a fucking fraud, man. It's all a lie."

Michael gave Blair a disappointed look, the rise of one eyebrow indicating his almost palpable feeling of disbelief. Blair filled the ensuing silence with almost painfully bright chatter. "What do you think? It's like a comic book. It's X-Men stuff, man. Hyperactive senses. I mean, come on. Get real."

All at once Blair wished desperately that he were a better liar. He knew he could never survive a real interrogation. He swallowed hard, a lump the size of a peach pit in his throat now. He had no life anymore. He could handle death. Hey, God? Been there, done that. No offense, man. But when he thought of giving up Jim's secrets, secrets that had never really been *his* to tell…well, that would just be, like, the final violation, man.

As if he were reading Blair's mind, Michael switched tactics, using his own very real attraction to Blair to full advantage. Slowly, inexorably, he drifted closer to the smaller man, letting the roughened tips of his fingers gently abrade his cheek. Michael registered the other man's sharp intake of breath as arousal, automatically cataloguing it along with other thoughts and feelings he was picking up.

"You-you're just doing this c-cause Section told you to, man. You're like a fucking robot. You're not g-getting to m-me." Blair clenched his teeth together so hard, his jaw began to ache.

Michael smiled enigmatically. "Section did tell me to use any…means…necessary." He tucked a strand of Blair's long curly hair behind one ear, the gesture strangely intimate yet not inappropriate.

He leaned close, his breath whispering across the top of Blair's ear. "But they don't own me."

"Are you…um…telling me…you…um…want to do this?"

In answer, Michael touched his lips to Blair's ear, his tongue flicking out to moisten, his teeth seeking to nibble, at that delicious earlobe.

Blair started to tremble in earnest as Michael's tongue caressed the inside of his ear. "S-stop. Please?" He kept telling himself that the only reason it felt so good was because it had been a long time since he had any kind of sex. That included saying hi to Mr. Hand.

That was what gave him the will to withstand the temptation of Michael in full Valentine mode. To put it simply, there was enough of a resemblance between Michael and Jim for Blair to become aroused. But the reason he had gone so long without sex was because he didn't want anyone but Jim.

"Your body wants it," Michael whispered into his ear, and Blair's manacled hands clutched at the arms of the metal chair.

"My body wants a lot of things. That doesn't mean it gets 'em," Blair snapped back.

Michael smiled. What a telling remark. "Your Sentinel doesn't appreciate all of your…assets?"

"If you mean, am I sleeping with him, the answer is emphatically no."

A soft chuckle escaped Michael's lips. "But you'd like to."

"What is this? Twenty questions? Just ask me whatever the fuck you want to know and be done with it." Blair was fast running out of patience. Not to mention willpower. The urge to sublimate his attraction to Jim through Michael was growing stronger by the minute. He didn't know if he could resist. Especially if Michael turned up the heat.

"Does your Sentinel know that you…crave his body?" Michael whispered into Blair's other ear, totally disconcerting him. Just when he got accustomed to where Michael was in relation to him…Michael changed things. It was a good way to keep him off-balance.

"Look, he's not my fucking Sentinel. I told you. None of that stuff is true. He's just an ordinary cop."

Michael walked slowly around Blair until he stood in front of him again, his arms folded neatly over his chest. "An ordinary cop," Michael repeated. Giving Blair a curious sidelong glance, he said, "An ordinary cop could never hope to elude Section. Ellison seems to be one jump ahead of us at every turn. How do you explain that? If he's…*not*…a Sentinel?"

"What do you mean?"

Michael shook his head. "He sees and hears us coming. Even on dark approach. That sound familiar to you?"

Blair narrowed his eyes, looking up at Michael. "If he was a fucking Sentinel, why would he let me be captured?"

"Good question. Maybe he doesn't place that high a value on your life." Michael's casual words struck true fear into Blair's heart. It was what he'd been telling himself for months. But to hear it from another's lips, especially a somewhat disinterested party, hurt.

Michael took note of the younger man's apparent distress, which he was unable to keep off his face, briefly wondering why it bothered him. He was no stranger to interrogation. Nor was he inexperienced with Valentine missions. Even the fact that Blair was a man was not necessarily a deterrent. There were things in Michael's past that Section wasn't aware of. Some potentially dangerous. Some merely…interesting.

"The truth is…" Michael began, only to be cut short by Blair's surly, "You wouldn't know the truth if it jumped up on my lap and introduced itself!"

Stifling the desire to choke the life out of the young scientist, Michael continued, his face showing absolutely no trace of his inner irritability. "As I was saying…" Michael paused, as if waiting to be interrupted again, pondering how it was possible that Blair Sandburg seemed unaffected by the not-inconsiderable array of weapons of intimidation present.

"The truth is, Section wants Jim Ellison. To study. To…create a whole new breed of anti-terrorist warrior. One with advantages the other side could only dream about." It was unusual for Michael to feel so passionate about his work. Most of the time, his feelings were carefully compartmentalized, divorced from the task at hand. It was a necessity. To take any other path would mean madness.

"Then why take me? Why not just read my fucking dissertation? Hey, I've got an idea. Let me up, I'll just run down to Kinko's and make you a copy. Be back in a jiff," quipped Blair sarcastically.

"As I said…" Michael averted his face, curiously loath to admit that Section had in fact failed in its primary mission. To acquire Jim Ellison and his Sentinel abilities. "So far, he's managed to elude capture."

"And you think I can help you?" As if.

Michael turned back to face the younger man. "We think that Ellison will come for you."

"In other words, I'm the cheese."

Michael almost smiled. "Something like that."

"There's only one problem with your splendid scenario," Blair sneered at the Level 5 cold op.

"Ellison doesn't want anything to do with me."

At Michael's raised eyebrow, Blair added, a ferocious note entering his voice. "We've already established that I want him. But what you seem to have missed, despite your state-of-the-art technocrap, is that he doesn't want me."

This time, Michael did smile, his eyes glowing a brilliant shade of green. "*We* think you're wrong."

"Then you can all get fucked."

Birkoff stood in the doorway of the White Room, his entire body tense. He had memories of the time he was sent there, memories so terrible, so indelible, he might never get over them. Still, he came. His feelings for Michael, never voiced, clawed their way from the depths of his being and into his throat, choking him.

Michael sensed his presence, but never took his eyes off the man he was interrogating. "What is it, Birkoff?"

"Michael…" he began, eyeing the threshold of the room anxiously. He couldn't bring himself to enter the room. "Operations wants a report on what you've got so far."

"I'm not done here."

At the risk of sounding insubordinate, Birkoff promptly contradicted Michael. "Yes, you are. Operations said-"

"I heard you the first time, Birkoff," Michael snapped. Birkoff blinked. He was accustomed to Michael's terseness, even his apparent moodiness. It was all part and parcel of the dark knight's persona. But Michael never became personally involved. Never. His bittersweet chocolate eyes studied the man in the chair. So this was the exception to Michael's rule. Shit.

Birkoff resisted the urge to protest, But you never look at me that way! How can you waste all this time on someone who doesn't want you? I want you. I…it's more than that. It's always been more than that. Birkoff's emotions were painfully visible, written across a sensitive face that probably deserved better, but would never find it.

Blair's smoky blue eyes met Birkoff's for an instant. Birkoff jerked back a half-step from the contact, seeing kindness, compassion, even empathy, in the eyes of a prisoner. How could a stranger see what he so carefully hid inside himself? What he never revealed to anyone, not even the man he…no, he didn't dare think that way.

Slowly Birkoff backed away, deciding to let Michael take the consequences of his actions. It wasn't up to him to interfere. But it would kill him if Michael failed. If Operations sent Michael to Abeyance. Or worse, if he finally acted on his fervent desire to cancel him.

"Are you still here, Birkoff?" There was an underlying edge to Michael's voice that Birkoff rarely, if ever, heard.

"What do you want me to…tell him?" Birkoff couldn't believe he'd asked that. He wished the words back into his mouth, but it was no use.

Michael glanced at Birkoff curiously, as if he were weighing some unseen option. He moved closer to the younger man, his hand reaching out as if he would touch Birkoff's cheek, a gesture that would be as familiar as it would be out of character. His hand abruptly dropped to Birkoff's right shoulder, settling for an avuncular pat. His eyes more gray than green now, Michael unconsciously rubbed his thumb against Birkoff's shoulder as he spoke. It was all Birkoff could do not to shudder and melt into that body. "Birkoff…it won't reflect badly on you. There's no need to worry."

"It's not me I'm worried about," Birkoff blurted out, his face flushing dark red.

Michael gave Birkoff a crooked half-smile that Blair would have sworn would never cross the older man's lips. "I'll be okay." Birkoff took that to mean that Michael thought his only interest in him was protective. Relieved that Michael still seemed in the dark about his feelings for him, Birkoff nodded slightly and left.

"So…you want to continue your research? Let us set you up in a state-of-the-art lab. Wouldn't that be your dream come true?"

It would be if you had asked me before the whole dissertation fiasco, yeah. Talk about timing. But now, you're asking me to help you set a trap for Jim.

"All I have to do is give you Jim, huh?"

Michael nodded.

"Well, he's not mine to give." Blair blushed at the unbidden desire that welled up in him. I wish he was mine, but I certainly wouldn't trade his life for my own. State-of-the-art, my ass. Captivity is captivity, no matter how nice the cage looks.

"You're being very altruistic, Mr. Sandburg," Michael purred in that low sensual voice of his.

"Hardly," Blair snorted. "If you really want to know, I'm being goddamned selfish. I need Jim to survive. If that means he has to do it without me, so be it."

Michael made a moue of disappointment. "Such a sacrifice. And so unnecessary. You could always be together. Here."

"Jim will never come for me." He prayed he was telling the truth. Once he'd been convinced that he no longer mattered to Jim, but somehow, the effort, the lengths to which Section was going, cast doubt into his mind. And his heart.

"I think he will. But let's make sure that he does."

Michael bent to unfasten the manacles that restrained Blair's legs. Producing a pair of handcuffs, he quickly released Blair from the arm restraints as well, snapping the cuffs over his wrists.

Michael stared deeply into Blair's face, his eyes no longer dispassionate and cool. "There's a bond between you two. He will come. If he thinks that someone else is interested in possessing what he already considers to be his."

"I told you. He doesn't have those kinds of feelings for me."

"Too bad. But he will sense that his Guide is in danger…and he will respond. Won't he? Even if he doesn't care?"

Blair clasped his manacled hands together in front of him and stared at the floor. "Yeah," he whispered, almost inaudibly.

Michael moved so rapidly, Blair never saw it coming. He claimed the younger man's mouth in a kiss, his hands threading through all those silky brown curls. Nudging his mouth open under his, Michael plundered the treasure within, his tongue sweeping inside.

"You are so beautiful," Michael whispered against Blair's mouth.

Blair felt helpless against such a sensual onslaught, but he couldn't prevent himself from responding. An inarticulate noise escaping him, Blair nuzzled the mouth that bedeviled him.

Unable to tell if Michael truly desired him, or if this was just another in a series of manipulations, Blair sighed Jim's name. In his heart, there would always be Jim.

Michael drew back, quite breathless himself. "Ellison must be a fool."

"What?"

"To not take something this beautiful when it's offered?"

Blair started to shake his head. "I-I never said I told him, man. Just that he doesn't feel the same way."

"How do you know?"

"I just do, man. Okay?"

"I meant…how do you know that he doesn't know how you feel?" Michael traced a path along Blair's cheek with his tongue, making the younger man groan.

"Well, look at me. I mean, the man'd have to be totally asleep at the switch to miss how I feel."

Michael smiled. "Then let's wake him up."