Michael escorted Blair through the maze of corridors that made up Section One. No one so much as gave them a curious glance. That made Blair wonder about Michael's reputation. He didn't think it was respect alone that compelled everyone to give them a wide berth. Again and again, he reminded himself that this was an undeniably dangerous man.

After a short ride in the lift, they entered a new area. Section personnel who were temporarily assigned to One were quartered here, along with a certain percentage of people who lived there on a more permanent basis. Interestingly, Birkoff was one of those people.

What no one except Oversight knew was that there was an apartment on this level, a suite of rooms that could not be found on any blueprint nor accessed by anyone but Michael. Keying in the entry code, Michael pushed the handcuffed man through the doorway as soon as it opened.

Plush by Section standards, the apartment looked like a futuristic version of a mediocre hotel suite. However, one of the reasons it remained so valuable was its lack of surveillance. Everyone everywhere was constantly being watched. People who forgot often ended up dead. But this set of rooms did not exist. Therefore, it left a gaping but invisible hole in One's surveillance net.

Michael opened his suit jacket with one hand, commanding Blair to sit down.

"Where?"

"On the bed."

Blair involuntarily shook his head. He could feel the waves of attraction emanating from the Level 5 cold op, but he would be damned if he would assist in his own seduction.

Michael strode over to where Blair stood uncertainly and gave the smaller man's chest a shove with the palm of his hand, causing him to land on the expansive double bed with a bounce.

"Hey," Blair protested. Then he shut his mouth, realizing that far worse things might lay in store for him than this.

"Take your clothes off."

That took him by surprise.

"Shit, you're a real closet romantic, Michael. Does that tone of voice usually get you anywhere?" Blair asked sarcastically.

"Would you feel better if I said please?"

"I'd feel better if I wasn't the only one getting undressed here."

"I don't need to get undressed yet," Michael said softly.

Blair rolled his eyes. "Don't tell me. You like to watch?"

"That would be…difficult…since there are only two of us."

"You could invite someone else to the party. How about that kid I saw earlier? What's his name, Birkoff?"

That struck a nerve. Michael's face shut down completely. That wasn't a blank stare. It was an emotional blackhole. "No."

"No, his name isn't Birkoff, or no, he can't come out and play?"

"You ask too many questions."

"What are you going to do to me, Michael? Kill me?"

"Without thinking twice," the senior field operative replied coolly.

"Sorry, I've already been dead. I didn't like the scenery." Blair crossed his arms in front of him, setting his sensual mouth into a mutinous pout.

"Your mouth is going to get you into trouble someday."

"My mouth is what you want. Isn't it, Michael?"

"We can do this one of two ways. Either you lie down willingly. Or I take you by force."

Blair's eyes narrowed. "You won't rape me."

"You sound very sure of yourself."

"I am. You forget. Observing people is what I do for a living. Or it…was." Blair shifted uncomfortably under Michael's continued scrutiny. "Granted, you don't give a helluva lot away. But I know you, man. Taking someone by force isn't your thing. You already get way too much of that here. Nah…you want someone to come to your bed…because they want to be there."

Michael flushed, a perfectly normal involuntary reaction in most people. But Michael hated anything he could not control, and he felt his body betraying him.

Blair looked intently into Michael's face, seizing what little advantage he might have. "Fucking me would be an exercise in futility, man."

Blue eyes blazing, he stood up, face to face with the older man. "I know who you really want. I'm just a fucking stand-in for the real thing. You know it, too, don't you?"

"You can't seduce me into giving up Jim. I won't do it. You won't rape me. It doesn't serve any purpose. And you're nothing if not a company man, Michael."

Michael stared at him silently, neither confirming nor denying what he said.

Suddenly there was a loud rapping at the door. Michael's eyes turned black as his pupils dilated. No one knew about these rooms. No one.

Motioning Blair to move into the bathroom, Michael drew his gun. He edged closer to the door, hearing what sounded like muttering and cursing on the other side. Pressing the panel to open the door, he readied himself to grab whoever was out there. But he had to admit, he wasn't ready for the sight of the slight young man wavering in the doorway.

"Birkoff!" Michael exclaimed, pulling the Comm op inside with a hushed cry.

After re-locking the door, he holstered the gun and faced the younger man, a taut expression on his face. "How did you find us, and what are you doing here?"

"I always know where you are," Birkoff whispered.

Michael blinked. "What do you mean?"

"I…watch you."

"Why?" Michael demanded.

Blair chose that moment to come out of the bathroom, determined to intervene. "Why don't you leave the little guy alone?"

Birkoff flinched as if struck. "Little guy? Gee, thanks. Coming from you that must be what passes for mordant wit."

"Hey, I'm on your side, Birkoff," Blair frowned.

"Don't do me any favors, okay?" The head of Comm seemed quite beside himself. "I've been watching you, Michael. It's been days now, and you're practically obsessed with this hippie punk!"

Michael calmly returned, "It's my job to-"

"-gather intel. Right, Michael. So what kind of intel-gathering did you have in mind? Fucking him stupid?"

Michael's eyes grew glacial, twin chips of pale green ice warning Birkoff that he was on dangerous ground.

"I've been waiting for you to come to your senses for too long now. I can't stand it anymore! What's wrong with me?"

"There could never be anything between us, Birkoff, and you know it. You're too young-"

Birkoff pivoted on one heel sharply, poking Blair with his finger. "How old are you?"

"Uh…um…uh…30…why?"

Birkoff ignored Blair and turned back to the man he wanted more than breath itself. "I'm 25, Michael! Five years! He's five years older than I am! Next excuse!"

Michael's voice abruptly gentled. "Birkoff…you don't know anything but this life. You've never been anywhere but here. I can't ask you to give up the rest of your life for a one-night stand."

"The rest of my life? What life? Michael, we're all fucking dead! Dead to the outside, yes! But we might as well be dead here on the inside, too!"

Birkoff's anger empowered him in a way that left him aching as well as breathless. Moving closer to Michael, Birkoff insinuated his body into the space between Michael's legs. Pressing against Michael's groin, Birkoff was gratified to note that he had a fairly assertive erection.

"You don't have to ask me, Michael. I'm offering," Birkoff said, obviously forgetting Blair's presence. "And if I had anything to say about it, it wouldn't be just one night," he finished hoarsely.

"You…want me that much?" Michael sounded incredulous.

"I've wanted you for so long, I can't remember a time when I didn't. But no, it wouldn't be just sex for me, Michael. I'm in love with you."

Blair's bright blue eyes grew round. He liked happy endings. But he didn't think he wanted to be at ground zero when Michael and Birkoff came together for the first time.

Michael sighed. Birkoff held his breath. Blair chewed his fingernails.

"I'm not an easy man to love, Birkoff. Everyone who's tried is gone. Are you sure you want to be a part of—?"

Birkoff kissed him. What he lacked in experience, he more than made up for with enthusiasm. Michael relented at last, his body accepting the inevitable and welcoming the youthful intruder.

When the two men broke apart, it was rapidly apparent that they were both under the influence of more than mere hormones. They gazed raptly into each other's eyes until Blair coughed. Politely.

"I'm sorry. Question from the man still in handcuffs. Could I please be excused from this part? I'm really not a voyeur, and I don't like participating in anybody's sex life but my own."

Birkoff shivered as the roughened edges of Michael's fingertips caressed the side of his face. How many times had he watched him use that same gesture? On other people? Usually female. But it was different now that it was directed at him.

"Ohhh…" Since Blair was certain that this was a groan of impending ecstasy, he nearly interjected again. But Birkoff wasn't moaning, he was remembering. "Michael, Ellison's on his way. I confirmed the intel myself."

Blair couldn't help himself. "Jim's coming? For me?" he asked hopefully.

Michael almost smiled. "I told you he would, Blair."

"Well, yeah, but that was when you were talking about taking me to bed and all that and-Shit!"

Michael and Birkoff looked at Blair in unison. "What?"

"They'll fucking kill him, man! They don't know how to treat someone like him! They'll run him through tests that'll obliterate his senses and drive him crazy!"

"Michael, we've got to help them," Birkoff said.

"You can be frustratingly human when you remember to be, Birkoff," Michael said dryly.

Birkoff smiled coyly at his dark knight, a tiny crease around the corner of his mouth betraying that it was a genuine heartstopper. "I've got an idea."

That was how Michael ended up in bed with Birkoff for the very first time. At first, he was convinced that it was a manipulation, but Birkoff was, as usual, without guile. "Are you sure this is going to work?"

"If it doesn't, at least I'll die happy," Birkoff whispered softly against Michael's neck.

Birkoff deliberately leaked the location of the room to the normal surveillance channels, knowing that eventually, the news would reach Operations. By that time, though, they hoped that their ruse, Birkoff taking Blair's place with Michael, would buy Blair enough time to re-connect with his Sentinel.

Michael lay on his back, feeling strangely at peace, now that his secret desire for Birkoff had been discovered. By the young man himself. Running his fingers over the top of Birkoff's short-cropped hair, he thought it felt like brushed velvet. "I can't promise you forever, Birkoff. I wish I could."

"That's okay, Michael. You've already given me more than I had any right to expect."

"No, you have every right to expect…someone to love you. But I don't know if I will ever be able to say those words to you."

Birkoff's dark eyes gleamed as he looked down at Michael. "But you can feel them, in your heart, can't you?"

Michael nodded mutely.

Birkoff smiled. "That's all I ever wanted."

Trailing warm, wet kisses down the length of Michael's lean but muscular frame, Birkoff stopped just above his groin, as if waiting for permission. The clenching of Michael's hand in his hair was all the signal he needed. Taking Michael's already-hardened length into his hand, Birkoff stroked lightly as his tongue flicked out to acquaint itself with its silken texture. "You taste good."

"Considering you don't have any basis for comparison, I'm not sure how much of a compliment that is, Birkoff." Michael arched his back, thrusting his throbbing erection deeper into his lover's mouth.

Birkoff let Michael's cock fall slowly out of his hot, moist mouth, nuzzling the tip with his nose. "If you're mean to me, I'll stop," he said in a sing-song voice, knowing it was an idle threat at best. He loved the taste of Michael in his mouth, and he wasn't about to give up that pleasure any time soon.

"I'd rather not play oneupsmanship while your teeth are so close to my dick."

Birkoff groaned and rubbed his own cock against Michael's firm thigh, wetness leaking from its head. "Mmm, all these years, we've never had a real conversation, and now that we are…I'm surprised by what's coming out of your mouth."

"But not by what's going into it?" Michael gave Birkoff an enigmatic look.

"Does that mean, if I suck you off, you plan to return the favor?"

"If I'm still awake."

Birkoff grabbed the other pillow and started to pummel the senior field op with it. But Michael rolled over, taking the Comm op with him. Now Birkoff was lying trapped beneath Michael, a fact that might have made him nervous if it were not for the fact that he was already pulsating with excitement. "Don't fuck with me, Birkoff."

"I want to fuck with you, Michael."

"Mmm…I'll think about it." He gently pushed his way between Birkoff's legs, preferring to forego penetration this first time.

"Michael, I'm not afraid. I know you won't hurt me," Birkoff declared. On the contrary, Birkoff sounded like he could barely wait to merge his body with Michael's.

"I'm too hot to make it good for you now. Maybe later."

"*I* made you that hot, Michael?"

"Birkoff, you have no idea."

Another ardent kiss, another thrust into the younger man's groin, and sticky wetness covered both of them as Michael came first, followed by Birkoff.

"Ohhh, God…" Another gasp as sensation spread through him like sleepy fire.

"I love you, Michael."

If Birkoff hadn't closed his eyes at the moment of climax, he might have seen the fervent glance those words engendered. But then again, he might have told himself that he imagined it.

Jim Ellison would give Section One its due. They knew how to bait a trap successfully. Jim knew that he was walking into what was more than likely a no-win situation, but he had to come. This was Sandburg. No…it was Blair. Strange how it took yet another abduction to make Jim realize just how much Blair meant to him.

But this was different. This wasn't Lash or Brackett or anyone else they had dealt with in the past. These people were serious players who didn't believe in negotiation. The only agenda was their agenda.

Section might indeed be a totally worthy adversary, but they should never have tried to fuck with Jim Ellison. He had only one agenda: to protect what was his. And goddammit, he was sorry it had taken Blair's complete subjugation, not to mention his death, for him to see what had been staring him in the face all along. Blair was his.

He could not sit this one out. He would save him…or die trying.

Jim approached Van Access as quietly as possible, though he was certain Section already had him on whatever passed for high-tech radar these days. Making his way through the doors, which automatically opened, he was struck by the silence and the lack of resistance that greeted him.

He could almost hear the voices in his head wailing, Sucker… His gun hand stretched out straight in front of him, Jim took one step at a time, checking each and every intersection he came to before proceeding. He was concentrating so hard, he nearly zoned. Only the thought that he must stay alive or Blair would die kept him going.

He turned a corner sharply, abruptly registering that in his zeal to find Blair, he wasn't using every advantage he had. His hyperactive Sentinel senses had helped him elude capture up till now, but he had no idea where he was or where he was going. Well, that was okay. Jim didn't need a map. He had something better. Blair's heartbeat.

Of course, Jim had listened for Blair's heartbeat before, if only to reassure himself that Blair was still alive. But now, he let it lead him…straight to him.

Operations stood on the Deck, overlooking all of Section One's common areas. Definitely feeling master of all he surveyed, the man formerly known as Paul Wolfe flicked open a Comm channel, his thumb holding it in the active position. "Davenport…let Ellison proceed without challenge. I'll give the command when everything's green to pursue."

So Michael thought he could best Operations at his own game… Too bad. He once believed that Michael was his heir apparent, though Section's dark knight rarely demonstrated that kind of ambition, despite countless opportunities literally dangled before him.

If Michael had what it takes to be the new Operations, Operations would willingly accept the gauntlet thrown down. There could be only one.

The constant tug of war between his senses and his need to find Blair was beginning to wear on Jim. All that adrenaline surging through his veins, readying his body for fight or flight, was doing what Section couldn't. Taking him down. Exhausting him. Soon he would have no reserves left. Nothing with which to continue the hunt. But he was almost there. Blair's heartbeat was growing louder. And faster.

That couldn't be good.

Jim assumed the worst. That Blair was in imminent danger. But he was wrong. Blair actually managed to make his way fairly close to Jim's position. Some might have called it blind luck; some might have called it instinct. Whatever it was, Blair sensed that Jim was here somewhere, and that alone was enough to escalate his heartrate.

Finally it seemed as though they would literally collide with each other. Jim came into the next corridor, his gun drawn, and suddenly he was face to face with his Guide. Dropping his gun hand, he immediately exclaimed, "Blair!"

"Jim!"

For once, Jim obeyed an impulse that was probably buried so deep inside him, he wasn't even consciously aware of it. Wrapping his arms around Blair, all at once he found himself with an armful of excited, wriggling Guide. "I thought I'd lost you," he whispered into the dark silky curls that framed Blair's face.

"You never had me," came the charged reply.

Jim closed his eyes on an intense wave of pain. He deserved that. And he said so. "I'm sorry, Chief. I know I let you go-"

"*Let* me go?" Blair broke the embrace with an agility that Jim was ill-prepared to counter. "You fucking pushed me away, man!"

Jim froze. He heard a noise. It could be nothing. But they couldn't take that chance. They were completely vulnerable, standing in plain sight. Jim searched automatically for a place to hide. Someplace to buy them time.

He found it on his second sweep of the area. A fucking porter's closet. He literally dragged Blair after him, forcing him into the closet, and shutting the door behind them. "What? You heard something? Someone coming?"

Jim put his fingers to Blair's lips in an effort to silence him. Big mistake. Suddenly every nerve ending in his body went into overload. "Blair!" he whispered huskily, before he gave in to one more impulse, this one undoubtedly buried deeper than the first. He kissed Blair, a tentative caress of that full sensual mouth that left him aching.

"Kiss me back…please." Jim was unfamiliar with the concept of begging, and now was a helluva time to start, but he couldn't help himself.

"Give me one good reason," Blair said in that low voice that captivated Jim's overwhelmed senses.

"You want it as much as I do."

Okay, it wasn't the declaration of love he was seeking, but it was a confession of sorts. Jim might never feel ready to take that trip with him, but Blair had a notion to drag him, kicking and screaming, into the Sandburg Zone.

Hey, he'd worked with less.

"You are way overdue for a major revelation, man," Blair said, taking great care to keep his voice low. "But not now. We've got to get out of here."

"Just like that? You're going to drop this, like I never said a word?"

"What words, man? I didn't hear you say a goddamn thing."

"But you know…the kiss. Didn't that mean anything?"

"A kiss is just a kiss. A sigh is just a sigh-"

"Sandburg, if you start singing, "As Time Goes By", you're a dead man."

"You got something against "Casablanca"? Now there was a movie, man-"

Not for the first time, Jim realized that Blair had raised obfuscation to an artform. This wasn't mere misdirection. Any self-taught magician could do that. This was a song and a dance and a shave and a haircut. When Blair didn't want him to know something, he indulged in this kind of blithe chatter. It was superficial, it was completely beside the point, and it shifted Jim's attention away from whatever it was that Blair didn't want Jim to examine too closely.

"Dammit, Chief, I'm ready to take the next step!" Jim almost shouted.

Blair gave him a slow blink. "In your dreams, Ellison. But don't worry, we'll come back to this later. Now pay attention, Jim. Or there won't be a later to come back to."

Now it was Ellison's turn to fall silent. His epiphany, if he could call it that, was being ignored. He wasn't sure how to react to that. So he took refuge behind the usual wisecrack. "Guess we're in Hell, huh?"

"Gee, Jim, that was a pretty educated guess," Blair replied sarcastically. "Now follow me. There are a couple of friends I gotta check on, man, before we blow this popsicle stand."

Jim shook his head as he checked his pockets for the extra clip for his gun. "Only you, Chief. Only you could make friends in a place like this."

"Yeah, well, these guys are special. They saved my ass, man. Now we gotta try to save theirs."

Jim felt his nostrils flare as if he were smelling something bad. "You wanna run that by me again, Chief? You had time to develop a special relationship with someone who basically wants to kill you? What are you, a masochist?"

"Must be. I know you, don't I?"

"What the hell does that mean?"

"What the hell do you think it means, Jim?"

"I don't think I like this side of you, Chief," said Jim, his eyes narrowing to slits.

"Yeah, well, get used to it, Jim. Cause the only time you're gonna see my ass in the next hour is if you're following me." He cast one last look around the tiny closet that was fast becoming claustrophobic for him. "Let's go."

Blair actually had his hand on the doorknob before Jim grabbed his wrist. "Chief, tell me the truth here. This-uh—special relationship you developed? Should I be-I dunno, jealous?"

"The only way you could be jealous, man, would be, like, if you actually fucking loved me. But we both know that isn't gonna happen."

"Christ, Chief, I love you. You know that. I've said it before."

Blair's smoky blue eyes never moved off Jim's face. They didn't have time for this. They needed to reach Michael and Birkoff. Now. Or they could never go home again.

Telling himself that he might regret this for the rest of his sorry life, Blair opened the door and stepped back out into the corridor. Jim followed, gun at the ready.

Blair managed to find his way back to the suite where he had last seen Michael and Birkoff. The door wasn't locked. It wasn't even closed. The suite was obviously empty.

Suddenly Blair had a very bad feeling about all this. "They must have taken them."

"Where?"

"To that place where they were holding me. The White Room."

"Think you can find it again?"

"I have to. I can't let them die on my behalf, Jim. It's because of me that they're in there."

"Then we go, Chief. No one's dying tonight, if I can help it." Especially not you. I think I may have finally found something to live for.

"Why the fuck did I listen to you?" Jim muttered under his breath.

But Blair heard him. "Look, man, you can bail if you want. You got what you came for. I forgive you. For whatever the fuck it is that you think you did or will do. Okay? Now blow."

"Chief, stop right there." Jim was as still as a statue. Now he knew why there had been such silence and such a complete lack of resistance so far. Section had concentrated all its manpower, not to mention whatever high-tech wizardry it had at its command, into one small area.

Putting a finger to his lips, Jim whispered, "Up ahead. Outside that place you called the-what was it?"

"White Room."

Blair hid his fear well. He didn't know why he felt compelled to do this. God knew, Michael and Birkoff could take care of themselves. They wouldn't expect his help, meager as it was. They knew the drill. They…

…were his friends. He couldn't turn his back on them and walk out of here. That bastard, Operations, the one who ran Section One, was probably counting on that. Well, it was too bad that Blair couldn't find it in himself to be more unpredictable.

"How many?"

Jim shook his head. "Hard to say. Too many to count." Jim sighed and looked at Blair. "This isn't how I saw the end, you know."

"What end?"

"Us."

"There never was an "us", Jim. You were too afraid to go for it, remember?"

"It's just that-if it has to end like this, Chief, I want you to know something."

Shifting his gun to his other hand, he reached out to trace the curls that fell gently along the side of Blair's face. He could feel Blair's fear, and he knew that the kid was pushing himself beyond that fear for a reason. "You are the best thing that ever happened to me-"

Whatever else Jim might have said was lost in the ensuing confusion. A large Native American man, almost as big as Jim, was coming down the hallway towards them, his gun drawn and ready. "Put the gun down and your hands up."

Jim dropped the hand that was stroking Blair's face, and Blair instantly felt the loss. This was it. He was going to lose Jim. Forever. As in dead. As in not coming back. Shit, he didn't care if he died. But he didn't want Jim to risk his life.

Jim raised the barrel of his own gun and stared back into midnight-black eyes, cold as stone. "No."

Blair whispered, "Jim. No."

Without looking at Blair, Jim said, "Only way this can go, Chief. Sorry. I was hoping we'd have more time together before-but hey…at least, we'll be together, right?"

"Jim…" Blair said between clenched teeth. "You can't fucking die on me, man. I love you."

Jim turned his head just enough so that he could look into those beautiful blue eyes one more time. "I know."

He could feel tears welling up in his eyes, but he blinked them back. They'd only get in the way of his shot.

Suddenly the slight young man that Blair knew as Birkoff stood at the other end of the corridor. "Davenport!" he called out to the shooter.

"Not now, Birkoff."

Birkoff closed his eyes and took a deep breath, fortifying himself for whatever lay ahead. "Davenport, stand down."

That got Davenport's attention. He frowned and took his eyes off Jim, whirling to face the young Comm op. "What did you say?"

"I said, stand down."

"That's what I thought you said. This ain't a mission you're running tactical oversight on, Birk. Don't get involved."

Birkoff started to move closer to the senior field op.

"Don't come any closer, Birkoff. I mean it. I'm under orders to shoot any and all comers."

Still Birkoff kept on coming. Shit, that was one brave kid, Davenport thought. His attention totally on Birkoff, Davenport lost sight of where his primary targets went. "Dammit, Birkoff!"

When he was close enough to whisper to Davenport, Birkoff stopped. There was a new light in his dark chocolate eyes. "Dav, Michael's in the White Room with Operations."

"I know."

"You've gotta do something, Dav. Please."

"Michael can take care of himself." Davenport refused to meet the younger man's eyes. He knew what Birkoff meant. Michael wouldn't defend himself. Not if he thought it would save Birkoff.

Suddenly Birkoff could read the truth in Davenport's eyes. "You know. About-"

"You and Michael. Yeah. Michael gave himself up on the condition that Operations spare you, Birk."

Tears blurred Birkoff's vision. "Nooo!"

Davenport patted the head of Comm on the shoulder. "Sorry, Birkoff."

Michael stared expressionlessly into the glacial eyes of the head of Section One. He had only one regret. That he hadn't acted on his feelings for Birkoff sooner. They had so little time together. Now they would never be together again. But at least Birkoff would be alive. Operations promised him that.

"You know, Michael, I never expected to see such naiveté in a man in your position." Operations' sardonic smile grew as he considered breaking the news that he had absolutely no intention of honoring his promise.

Michael's eyes grew wide as they focused on something over Operations' shoulder. Operations finally reacted. But it was too late. He read the identity of his captor in Michael's face.

"If you put down the gun, we can work this out to your satisfaction, Ellison."

The barrel of his gun pressed against Operations' neck, Jim Ellison pondered his options. He didn't trust this guy as far as he could throw him. Therefore, he couldn't believe a word he said.

"I don't think so."

"You won't shoot me in cold blood. You police types are all the same. Hooked into an archaic system that makes true justice impossible."

"You know, I'm not stupid. But I'm not real big on abstract concepts. You know, it's a cop thing. Concrete thinker." Ellison tapped his temple with one finger. "So give me a good reason not to fucking shoot you right now."

"You'll never get out of here alive. And even if you did escape somehow, you'd never be able to go home again. How's that?"

Jim pretended to think it over. "Not bad, except for one thing. I really don't have a problem with shooting you, but I promised-" Jim gestured to someone standing directly behind him. "—*him* that he could do it."

Operations glared at the man standing behind Jim. "Davenport, stand down."

A tiny smile made Davenport's lips twitch. "Let Michael go first."

"This is not a request. It's an order."

"Well…" Davenport drawled, moving into a better position. "I figure it this way…I shoot you, Michael takes command, and everybody gets what they want. Oh, except you."

"You'll never get away with this," Operations spat.

"Hmm…Michael, what do you think?"

Michael blinked without any visible change in expression. "Is Birkoff safe?" he asked quietly.

Davenport nodded almost imperceptibly.

"Do it."

Operations looked truly frightened for the first time in many years. "What about George? Oversight?"

Michael's eyes glittered like fiery green emeralds as they flickered over Operations' face. "George has been trying to get rid of you for a long time now. I don't think he'll ask too many questions. Given the right scenario and plausible deniability."

That was how Michael came to be in command of Section One.

Blair was happy to be headed to the airport. Happy to be riding in a cab. Happy to be contemplating getting air sickness. Happy to be alive to be happy.

He looked at the man sitting on the other side of the cab. So near and yet so far away. His Sentinel. "Jim, I told you. You don't have to come with me. I'm not a little kid whose hand you have to hold all the way home."

Jim sounded weary. Running a hand over his face, he frowned. "Just making sure you get there, Chief."

"So…just like that, we're back to square one, man?" Blair looked at the cabdriver, who seemed cheerfully oblivious to the drama unfolding in his back seat.

"I don't know what you mean."

"Like that fucking kiss never happened, man?" he hissed.

"I did say I'm not much on abstract concepts, Chief." Jim stared out the window, wondering how come it didn't matter whether they were in Europe or Cascade.

"That kiss felt pretty fucking concrete to me, Jim."

"Maybe your hormones need a tune-up, Junior," Jim said dryly, wishing he could claim plausible deniability, too.

"Maybe I should've used a two by four to knock some sense into you, man."

"Your point?"

"Man, you are so lucky that I'm going to forgive you."

"For what, Sandburg?"

"Oh, no, oh, no, you don't get off that easy, man. No way. I had a dream last night. You said certain things to me, man."

Jim gazed at the man he had somehow managed to save one last time.

"Sometimes all we have is our dreams, Chief."

The still-estranged couple settled themselves into their seats, comfortably situated at the back of First Class. "I'll say one thing for him. Michael has class," Jim muttered under his breath.

Blair stared at his soon-to-be former partner. "I don't believe you, man. He didn't have to set us up this nice, you know. He didn't have to make sure we never had to fucking worry about anyone coming after us, either. But why am I bothering to explain this to you? You don't give a shit."

Abruptly ripping the earphones out of their sealed plastic bag, Blair placed them in his ears in a blatant attempt to shut out Jim. Closing his eyes, he turned on his side, facing the window. Away from Jim.

Blair fell into a troubled sleep, the muscles in his arms and legs jerking involuntarily now and again, like a puppy having a bad dream. It was all Jim could do to just sit there and watch, feeling as though even the most casual touch would be off-limits now.

He had absolutely no idea how the time managed to pass. The flight seemed endless. Instead of the joyous homecoming he had hoped for, there was only endless silence and the occasional whimper from Blair as he slept on.

By the time the plane landed in Washington, Jim was almost literally climbing the walls. For someone with hyperactive senses, a plane was a frightening place to be. Every creak spelled certain disaster. Every squeak a potential hydraulic leak. Every thump a gear that refused to deploy.

I want my Guide back, Jim thought, his mind exhausted from trying to figure out why Blair wasn't appropriately grateful for being rescued.

"You can't have me," came the sleepy voice from the seat next to him.

"I made a mistake, Chief-"

"You sure did."

"I meant by not telling you how much I wanted you back."

"Who is it you want back, Jim? Me or the Guide?"

Jim looked momentarily confused. In actuality, he was so happy that they were even speaking to one another that he missed the hostile undertones in Blair's voice.

"They're the same."

"Do you really believe that, Jim? How many times have you gotten pissed at me because you thought my only interest in you was as a test subject?"

Jim opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

"Not too flattering, huh?"

As if by divine intervention, a flight attendant appeared. "Gentlemen, we will be landing in a few moments. Please fasten your seatbelts and return your seats to the upright position."

Without any luggage, the two men made short work of going through Customs. In minutes, they were in yet another cab, in a different traffic jam, headed away from an airport this time.

"You can drop me off at Rainier."

"Chief, I thought you were coming back to the loft with me."

"Now why would you think that, Jim?"

Jim glanced at the cabbie, then he shot a meaningful look at Blair. "Aw, come on, Chief. We've got unfinished business," he whispered.

Blair raised an eyebrow, his expression clearly shouting, "No shit, Sherlock!"

"Are you saying that you want me, Jim?"

Jim colored furiously. He averted his face and turned his body towards the open window, the breeze running through his short-cropped hair. "Christ, Chief."

"Well, gee, Jim, if you can't even say it, how do you expect to be able to do anything about it?"

"I…"

"Ohhh, I get it, the Guide is supposed to anticipate his Sentinel's needs or something. Well, I tend to lean more towards empathy than telepathy myself, Jim, so I dunno if I can help."

"Chief…*Blair*…I think you're the only one who can help," Jim said hoarsely, turning to face Blair again, this time with tortured eyes.

"That's a mighty particular itch you need scratched, Jim. Any reason it has to be me?"

"You know why."

"I do?" Blair turned his head and saw the turnoff for the University coming up. "Hey, man, turn right there," he directed the driver.

"No!" Jim all but shouted. "I mean…come back to the loft with me, Blair. Please."

"Tell me why first."

Jim looked like he was being drawn and quartered. But no, he was merely being dragged, kicking and screaming, into the Sandburg Zone, as Blair had vowed.

"Don't make me do this."

"Whoa, I'm not holding you at gunpoint, Jim. Far be it for me to inflict a little pain on you for a change. I knew you wanted a sacrifice, Jim, but I fucking died for you, man, and you not only refused to take our relationship to the next level, you stopped treating me like a fucking friend. Then when my diss got leaked to the press, I did the only thing I could do. I gave up my life's work for you, man! And you've got some set of balls if you think I should be fucking grateful that you came after me when Section kidnapped me! And I know you do, I can see it in your eyes!"

"But you are grateful, Chief. I know you are."

"Maybe I am, but do you even fucking know why?"

Jim shook his head the tiniest bit, afraid to take his eyes off Blair for even a moment. God, he had never seen Blair this angry, and yet…the way his eyes glittered, the way his hair fell silkily to his shoulders, the way his mouth, oh, God, that mouth had touched his, he'd kissed that mouth, and shit, yeah, he'd liked it, wanted to do it again, wanted to do it now.

Frustrated by Jim's apparent ignorance, Blair roared, "You're in love with me, dammit!"

The cabbie looked into his rearview mirror, wondering when he had picked up the crazy one.

Jim actually smiled at Blair. "I know that."

"And don't you-what?"

"I said I know that."

Blair gave Jim an exasperated look. "Could you possibly be more specific?"

"I know you want the words, Blair. But we're in the middle of a fucking traffic jam, Chief, and I wanted to wait till we got back to the loft. I wanted it to be, well, romantic."

"Romantic? You think making me crazy is romantic?"

Jim wrapped his arms around Blair, pulling the smaller man against his body for a clear demonstration of just how much he wanted him. "Yeah, I think making you crazy is romantic. I think arguing with you is romantic. Hell, I think every time you open your mouth to speak, which is so fucking often, you should be in the Guinness Book of World Records, it's fucking romantic."

Jim nuzzled Blair's neck, while he grabbed two fistfuls of hair. Suddenly he didn't care that he was in the backseat of a cab, stopped in a traffic jam, in full view of half of Cascade, his arms filled with suddenly willing, almost boneless Guide.

"You just wait till I get you home, Chief."

"Promises, promises," Blair mumbled.