---

"Jim! Phone for you!"

Blair watched as his partner sashayed across the room and took the receiver from Henri. "Thank you, darling. Ellison."

His face went white. "Funeral? Wake? Timothy, honey, we didn't know. Not...oh, my God! Who's handling the case? It's been *how* long? Darling, that is *not* acceptable. Of *course* we'll be there. We were on stakeout, hon. No one told us a *thing*. I *will* find out. We'll be there."

Jim hung up the phone and sat down heavily in the chair next to the desk. Blair walked over and put his hand on the padded shoulder of his partner's elegant window pane plaid jacket.

"Jim? What was that about?"

Jim's eyes were wet. "Miss Freddie. Some *bastard* killed her. Funeral's tomorrow."

"Oh, damn! Who did it?" Blair could feel the tears welling in his own eyes.

"We don't know. An incompetent *boob* named Atkins has been investigating for a *week*. I'm going to call him *now* and find out just *exactly* what's been going on." Jim's eyes were flashing. Blair understood perfectly.

"Why didn't anyone tell us? If it's been a week...Miss Freddie's Catholic, right? Wouldn't there be wakes or something?"

"We've been on stake out, Chief. And I know we haven't listened to our messages. We'll probably have a *dozen* waiting for us at home."

"Oh, man. I'll call Miss Melly now. Poor guy...he must be falling apart about now. How long were they together?"

"For*EVER*. Homicide? This is Jim Ellison. Do you have a...person by the name of 'Atkins' there? No, sweetcheeks, I will *not* hold. You just get him now, or tell me *where* I can find him, or I'll just *drop* by. Thank you."

Blair grinned. Atkins was not going to know what hit him. If anything, Jim was more intimidating *now* than he had been before he came out. He walked back to their desk and picked up the phone.

"Hello?"

"Miss Melly?"

"*Blair*! Blair, they killed Freddie!"

"I know. We just found out. I'm *so* sorry, Melly."

"You and Jimmy *will* be there tomorrow? She would have wanted you there. She loved *both* of you *so* much."

"We loved him, too. He was so happy the last time we all got together."

****

Zacky Glass and TJ Martin had been playing in the Glasses' back yard under Freddie's supervision.

"Look, Aunt Freddie! No hands!"

Zacky balanced on his swing precariously.

Freddie had come running up, arms outstretched. "I'll catch you, honey! Auntie Freddie's here!"

Zacky giggled as only a child of that age could and timed his jump perfectly, landing gracefully in Freddie's arms.

Blair, who was carrying out a tray full of burgers from two different kingdoms and three phyla - beef, salmon and veggie - put it down on the picnic table to applaud. "Bravo, Zacky!"

Zacky grinned, slipped down from Freddie's arms and bowed the way Maestro had taught him.

"Catch me, Auntie Freddie! Catch me!" TJ stood up in his own swing. However, he didn't have Zacky's years of ballet training behind him. He missed.

However, Miriam Glass, who was at present under Blair's car with Timothy and Jim, had built the playset herself and designed it for safety.

TJ landed, laughing, on a soft mat. That didn't stop Freddie from fussing over him as if he'd actually been in danger.

"Oh, cherub! Auntie Freddie is so sorry she's so clumsy. Where does it hurt, angel? I'm soooo sorry."

"I'm fine, Aunt Freddie."

Freddie refused to be satisfied until he had checked the boy over. "Yes, sweetness, you are. But be *careful*."

Mel came rushing over. "Is he? Freddie, you can't let them be wild."

"Don't worry, Aunt Melly. Mom and Dad will still let both of you babysit." TJ grinned at both of them.

"Of course we will, Mel." Lisa Martin put her bowl of sliced vegetables next to Blair's tray. "We wouldn't trust TJ with anyone else."

Jacob Glass followed her with a bowl of marinade.

"Are you thinking of giving up Freddie and Mel? We'd love to use them some night."

"Us! You want *us*?" Mel stared at Jacob.

"Surely, Mel. Zacky loves you both, and we've seen you for months with Teej. Blair, let's get the grill fired up before the carnivores start demanding meat."

"I resemble that remark, Jake!" Blair laughed as he gathered the trays of food from the table. Jacob had already started the grill, and the coals had burned to white. He began putting out the various sorts of burgers while Blair poured marinade over the vegetables.

"I see you gentlemen have the food well in hand. I'll call in the grease monkeys." Lisa waved as she stepped into the house. Minutes later, as the burgers began to sear, three figures in filthy coveralls came to the back door, sniffing.

"Oooh. Jacob, honey, that smells *divine.* Make mine rare, sweetie." Jim had grease all over his face.

Miriam, her hair tucked up into a hat, grinned. "Well-done for me, Jacob. Blair, your car is purring like a kitten."

"I want one of them salmon burgers." Timothy was standing between both of them, a huge grin on his face. "I wish I had these guys when I was running trucks. Best mechanics I ever seen."

"You girls are sooo filthy. I love it." Freddie grinned at the trio.

"Did it just for you, Miss Freddie." Jim pretended to fluff his hair. "Butch enough for you, sweetie?"

Freddie just giggled, and went back to watching the boys play.

Lisa herded the three of them inside to clean up while Blair and Jacob manned the grill and Mel set the picnic table to perfection.

They'd ended that evening watching the boys chase fireflies and nibbling at the cake Freddie had brought for dessert, while listening to Blair and Lisa jam on their guitars.

*******

Blair shook his head. How could anyone hurt that sweet, gentle man?

"Of course, we'll be there, Melly. Why weren't we told before?"

"We *did* leave messages, Blair, honey."

"We haven't checked them yet. Melly, we *will* find out what happened. This is for you and for Freddie."

He exchanged more promises of support and assurances of love and hung up.

No sooner had Blair put down the phone than it rang again.

"Major Crimes, Sandburg speaking."

"Doc, this is Dixon from Homicide. Your partner looks like he's going to explode. You better get over here." The woman sounded frantic.

Blair jumped up and ran down the hall, his ponytail flying. He remembered Dixon - she'd been at the party the PD had thrown him when he got his Ph.D. a couple of months ago. She'd seemed level-headed enough then.

Homicide was on the same floor as Major Crimes. He practically skidded there. Dixon was at the door. She put her finger to her mouth as she gestured him in.

"...files indicate you did *nothing* for this case." Jim's voice was absolutely calm. He was leaning over the desk of this middle-aged guy in a baggy suit, far too close for that man's comfort.

"I did what I had to do, *Detective*. Why does Major Crimes give a damn? Why should anyone care. It's just some old ex-con fag."

Blair was about to take a step forward when Jim stood up straight and tossed his head back, letting the light from the desk lamp glint off the gem in his ear.

Blair motioned Dixon to stay back. Things were going to get dangerous.

"Would you care to repeat what you just said, sweetcheeks?" Jim leaned even closer to the man, who was beginning to sweat.

"He...he's...just an old fag...Ellison, *you* put him away the first time."

"Uh-huh. Tell me *more*." Jim sat on the guy's desk and crossed his legs at the knee, one foot dangling close to the guy's stomach.

"*M...more*?"

"Yes...tell me just *when* it became Homicide's departmental policy to *ignore* murders. Maybe I *should* look at your files *again*, babycakes. What *would* I find there? And would your *captain* be interested?"

"Give me a break, Ellison - do you know how many people are killed in Cascade?"

Jim touched the man's cheek. The man flinched. "Of course I do...sugar. That's why I make it part of *my* job to get killers *off* the street. Why, even if someone killed *you*..." Blair could see Jim's smile from where he was.

"I...I heard about you, Ellison. I didn't believe it. No way would Banks let a...a..."

"Faggot? Queer? Queen? Which word are you looking for, sweetie?" Jim touched the other man's hand.

Only Blair could detect the anger behind the honeyed words. Jim was all but homicidal right now, and this detective...Blair peered at the name plate...Atkins...had no idea.

But judging from the flush on Atkins' face, he was worried about something else entirely.

"Oh, so soft. You've been letting your training just *slide*, haven't you?" Atkins snatched his hand away and stared at it. "Now, you won't mind the least little bit if I take this *nasty* case away from you, will you?"

Atkins jumped up from his desk, clutching the file tightly. "This is my case, Ellison."

Jim stood up and put his hands on his hips. "The victim was killed five days ago, Atkins. You did nothing for five days. The case is *cold*. And you don't give a damn about it. You can let me have it *now*, all by your sweet self, or I can tell your captain that you let killers go because you don't approve of the victim." There was nothing languid about Jim now.

Atkins seemed to sense it. "Here! If you're so concerned about this old fruit, you can have it. Stands to reason that you'd take care of your *own* kind."

Jim took the file and handed it to Blair, who had up stepped behind him. He walked around the desk to Atkins and grabbed his shirt collar. "I'm going to forget I heard that, detective, for now. But I will be keeping an eye on you." He let go and turned to gather up Blair, not caring that Atkins was sprawled on the ground, staring at Jim.

Blair barely had time to nod at Dixon before he was propelled out the door. Jim took hold of his upper arm, and was squeezing so hard that Blair knew he'd leave a bruise.

"Jim...it's okay. Let's just find some place private, all right?"

Jim nodded and took them to an empty interrogation room. He let go as soon as the door closed behind them and collapsed on the floor, mindless of his expensive suit. Blair got down next to him and wrapped his arms around him.

"I made a *complete idiot* of myself in there, darling, didn't I?"

Blair kissed Jim's cheek. "You were wonderful, Jim. I was proud of you." Jim was shaking.

"I wanted to kill him. Simply kill him for ignoring Miss Freddie. Our Miss Freddie."

"Me, too."

"*You*?" Jim looked at Blair in amazement. "*You* still won't touch a gun, even though we got you a license and training, not to mention that *fabulous* little automatic we found. *You?*"

"He's my friend, too. And that bastard in Homicide thought that no one would care about an old 'fag'." Blair bit his lip to keep back the tears. "We are going to find that killer. We are going to see him where he belongs. I'm your partner now, officially. And then, we are going to make sure they hang Atkins out to dry." Blair let his anger pour out as he held Jim closely to him.

"How is Miss Melly taking it? Is she all right?"

"He's...not good. I want to see him tonight, before the funeral." Blair's arms tightened around Jim at that last word. He hated funerals in general.

Jim just nodded. They stayed like that a long time, until Jim's shaking stopped and Blair had his own emotions under control.

They took the time to open the file and seriously review whatever Atkins *had* done with the case. There was a sketchy autopsy report - just a couple of comments, not even a copy of the ME's file - no forensics, no description of the crime scene beyond an address and there were no interviews at all. Atkins hadn't even bothered to talk to Melvin. Blair felt his anger grow again, but he put a tight rein on his feelings. There would be time after they got the killers.

Finally, they stood up, stretching their cramped muscles. Jim brushed at his suit and made faces at the dust and wrinkles, but didn't say anything. Somehow, Blair knew he'd never see *that* outfit again. Blair berated himself for having that thought at such a time.

Holding the file in front of him like a shield, Jim, Blair by his side, stormed through Major Crimes and into Simon's office.

"Ever hear of knocking, Ellison?"

"Look at this, Simon. Look at this piece of *trash.*"

Jim tossed the folder onto Simon's desk, then leaned back against the wall, his arms folded.

Simon rolled his eyes for a moment, but opened it. He read for some minutes. "This is a Homicide folder, not a Major Crimes...Miss Freddie? And who did such a pisspoor job?"

"His name's Atkins, Simon. Apparently guys like Freddie aren't worth an investigation." Blair didn't even bother trying to keep his voice calm.

"You two want this, don't you?"

Both men nodded.

"And there is nothing I can say - not that it's *not* a major crime, or that you two are too close - is there?"

"Simon, honey, if you even *try*..."

"Good thing I'm on your side. Get who did this, Jim. And then we'll see what else is going on there."

"Hon, you *know* I'm going to find out. They *dare* let something like this go, who knows what *else* those terrible men let go." Jim's eyes were flashing.

"See to it...and...when's the funeral?"

Blair passed on the information he'd gotten earlier, and the two of them left, ready to do battle.

They drove to the crime scene first. It was an alley between Twelve Oaks Gallery and the two men's apartment. One glance told them the trip was useless.

"Freddie was loved, wasn't he?"

"Oh, she was, she was."

The alley was filled with flowers, candles and cards. The largest was a floral cross sent by the St. Bridget's Decoration Committee, but there were any number of single blooms. Their scent filled the damp air.

"Jim, you okay?" Jim had pulled out a handkerchief and was wiping at his face.

"Just *too* many flowers. We won't find anything here."

"Let's not give up, James. Most of these flowers are roses and chrysanthemums, right? Just filter those scents out."

"You *know* I'm not going find *anything* after *five* days, Chief." Jim looked like he wanted to stamp his foot.

Blair sighed. "Just *try* it. Freddie wore a very distinctive aftershave. It just might linger if you try." He put his hand on Jim's arm to center him.

Jim closed his eyes. Blair could feel him concentrate. "It's simply no *good*. It's rained here. All I can smell is dirt. I can't even smell blood, and the autopsy report says she was stabbed."

"Okay. What else is there? Let's try sight, even with the flowers."

"This is *so* ridiculous, Blair. How am I *ever* going to do this?"

Blair dug the file out of his backpack, and handed it to his partner. "He did take a picture or two."

Jim took out the photographs. Blair watched him become all business as he oriented the grisly pictures to the alley. "Okay. They found the body here..." Jim indicated a stretch of wall that had an especially large collection of bouquets. With a murmured "Sorry, Freddie, darling", he began to remove the tributes. Blair knelt to join him. Soon, they had the area cleared off.

"What *are* you two doing? How *dare* you!" Both men looked up to see an extremely well-dressed man with red-rimmed eyes glaring at them. "A very special person *died* there."

"It's okay. This is a police investigation." Blair stood up, his hands spread.

"*Finally.* *No one's* been here since *it* happened. Not that I expected *anything*, sweetie, not from *our* precious PD."

The man sighed dramatically.

Jim stood up. "Things can't be *that* bad, hon."

The man blinked. "Oh, darling, you *don't* know. We might as well not *exist*. That's why poor, dear Freddie..."

"We're here now, and we *will* find the lout who did this. And *then*..." Jim's smile was not pretty. Blair nodded emphatically.

The man looked at them. "Since when does the CPD employ *family*?"

"I've been with them for *years*. I'm Jim Ellison, this is my *partner*, Dr. Blair Sandburg." Blair rolled his eyes at that last. Jim was prouder and louder about his doctorate than anyone else.

The man's eyes widened. "I've *heard* of *you*. Thank *God*. I'll tell all the girls."

With that, the man blew them a kiss, placed the flowers he'd been holding on the rest of the pile and walked quickly away.

Jim and Blair exchanged grins and went back to work.

"Okay, this is about where they found her. Poor girl." Blair nodded and put his arm around his partner. "Simon's right, darling. We *are* too close."

"No one else will do it, James. No one else *can*."

Jim nodded. Then he began to scan the area. It didn't take long for him to stop short at something. Reaching into his pocket, he took out a pair of surgical tweezers and a plastic bag.

"What is it?"

Jim didn't answer at first. He leaned closer to a masonry nail that was sticking out of the brick wall. He removed a tiny scrap of something from it with the tweezers and held it up to his nose.

"Bright green and I can smell hair mousse...that expensive stuff. I think we might have gang colors here."

Blair frowned. "Gang colors? Jim, we know most of the gang territories, and this isn't one of them. It isn't even neutral turf."

"Yeah, I know. They avoid this part of town for the silliest of reasons, but the people here are *so* grateful for that reason. Something has changed - and somehow that news hasn't reached us. We'll take this in to be analyzed later." Jim was decidedly unhappy-looking, but he continued to search the ground near the wall. He bent to pick up something round with his tweezers.

"Chief...beads. Same shade of green as the scrap plus black ones. Definitely a gang. Miss Freddie must have broken them. Good for her!"

Blair nodded. They carefully replaced the mound of flowers and walked back to the truck to drive to Melly's apartment - perhaps two blocks away from the alley. They found a parking place and walked to the front door, Blair carrying a casserole dish.

The doorman, who was wearing a black arm band, nodded them in. "You make sure you catch that bastard, Detective. Freddie was a sweet old girl." Their apartment was just down the hall from the elevator bank. After all these months, they knew their way as well as they knew their own building. Blair wondered how they could've spent so much time around Stonewall Street and not have heard what was going on.

Jim rang the ornate doorbell.

"Who is it?"

"It's Jim and Blair, Miss Melly. Are you decent, darling?"

"Oh, yes!" The door opened. Melly stood there in a gold brocade dressing gown, his hair impeccably combed. "Oh, my darlings, I've been hoping to see you. Please, come in."

As they entered, Blair handed him the casserole. "It's a recipe Freddie gave me."

"She always knew her way around a kitchen. Me, I barely know the difference between a whisk and a spatula." Melly bit his lip. "You know the way. You used to...used to..." Melly collapsed in tears on Jim's chest.

"I'll take care of her, Blair. Then we'll have some girl talk."

Blair nodded. He took the casserole into the kitchen and put in the fridge with the other offerings. Then, so long as he was there, he put up a pot of the special coffee blend Freddie had created, and to which they were now all addicted.

He'd spent a lot of time in that kitchen over the past few months, since "the girls" were let out of prison. Freddie had had every cooking gadget known to mankind and knew how to use them.

But what he cooked the most were casseroles just like Blair had made, to be placed in disposable pans and taken to the far too many people in the area who were housebound, either due to illness or to age. Freddie said it gave him a chance to talk all day long.

Blair choked back a sob as he walked into the living room with a tray of coffee.

"Blair, you are an absolute *angel*. Melly jumped to his feet to take the tray from him, but Blair would not let him. Instead, he prepared a cup for Melly according to his tastes, while Melly sat back down in his antique chair.

Jim was on the sofa, which was equally antique but from a different land. Blair put the tray down on the modern coffee table and sat next to his lover, who had his pad out, ready to take notes.

"He is, isn't he?" Jim smiled at him. "Back to business, Miss Melly, darling. I know you don't want to answer all these questions, but..."

"Oh, Jimmy, *please*. Anything to get who *ever* killed my poor Freddie."

"All right, darling. Now when did Freddie leave the gallery?"

Melly took a sip of his coffee. "Poor thing was working late. We have...had a show in two weeks. I don't know *what* we're going to do now...Anyway, she called me at about eleven, and said she was going home. I told her to be careful, I did. I said call a cab, I said call someone to walk her, I said I'd take the car, but she wouldn't hear of any of it. Stupid, stupid, stupid girl had to *walk.*" Melly broke down.

"Take your time, sweetie." Jim patted him on the hand.

"That's *it*. She should have been home in *fifteen* minutes. An *hour* went by, and I knew those *horrendous* gangs were around. They've been just *infesting* the neighborhood."

"Gangs, Melly?" Blair looked at him.

"There has been *nothing* to stop them, Blair. Not even one single boy in blue."

Jim's knuckles were white. Blair watched as he carefully put his coffee cup on the tray. "Not one? Why didn't *anyone* tell me? It's not like I'm *never* here."

"Oh, Jimmy...we weren't sure if you knew or not, or *what* you could do. We know you *can't* have the same influence now that you're out."

"This has gone *beyond* influence. I'll do *something*, Melly. But first...an hour passed?"

Melly nodded, collecting himself. "Yes, and I was *frantic*. I finally called the police, I was *so* desperate. Of course, they took their sweet *time* getting here..."

"How long?"

"Over an hour. Cascade is *not* that big and it was a Monday night."

"Why didn't you call *me*?"

"I *tried*, but you were on stakeout."

"Too true. I'm sorry. So, the cops *finally* show up?"

"Blair, angel, could I have some more coffee, please?"

"Of course." Blair refilled his cup.

"Freddie's blend?"

Blair nodded.

"Two boys showed up, all pretty in their little uniforms, and ask the most *impertinent* questions. As *if* Freddie were going to step out on me."

"They didn't know him. They had to ask that."

Jim picked up his own cup.

"I know, but *still*...it just *wasted* time. *Finally*, they started looking for her. And...and...and when they found her...she'd *just* died...oh, my poor Freddie!"

Blair didn't know where to turn - Melly was sobbing openly into his handkerchief, while Jim looked like he was ready to explode out of sheer anger.

"I am going to find out exactly *who* responded. Who the dispatcher was, and just *where* they were. I am going to see them hung out to *dry*. Darling, they won't forget this *or* Freddie." Jim's jaw was twitching and his eyes were flashing.

Melly looked up over his handkerchief. "Jimmy, are you sure? This can't be good for your career, darling."

"This will be *worse* for *his* career, Miss Melly. I'm getting that cop up on charges of negligence." For a moment, Blair saw and heard the old Jim. "I left this area for my damn career, and I'm not going to let you girls pay for it any more." He got up and knelt by Mel's chair, taking his hand. "I promise you, I will find Freddie's killers. All of them. And I will make sure this will not happen again, no matter what price I have to pay."

Mel grasped Jim's hand so hard that Blair could see his knuckles whiten. His eyes, which were normally as sweet and mild as any Southern belle's, flashed with anger. "Make them pay, Jimmy. I'll help you anyway I can, but make them pay. For my poor Freddie and for all the others."

"Others? What others? What has been going on here, darling? What have you been keeping from us?"

"We thought you knew. We thought you couldn't do anything about it." Mel bit his lip and looked from Blair to Jim. "Some of us even thought you didn't care."

"Tell me, Miss Melly. Tell me everything you know." Jim sat on the edge of the sofa and stared right into Mel's eyes.

Melly told. He told a story of neglect and abuse, and another of gangs and protectionism, of streets that no one walked alone, of crimes unreported or unnoticed.

Blair could feel his own anger grow at this willful negligence. He controlled it with an effort. Instead, he sat next to Jim and kept his hand on him somewhere. Jim was seemed calm, but his eyes were white and his hands were clenched hard.

"And no one told me this? I've been back for almost a year now, and no one told me?"

"What could you have done, sweetie? We knew that just being *out* would damage your career. And, some of us thought you did know. I'm sorry."

"Damn my career. Damn my blindness, too. I *knew* something was up...I knew it when you took TJ. I...I was so *selfish*. Oh, Melly, I'm sorry! I could have done *something*. I killed her, too."

Jim threw off Blair's hand, stood up and began pacing the living room, dodging antiques every step of the way.

"Jim? Jim, it's not your fault. If you could have been there..." Blair stopped. There was nothing he could say now. He was feeling the same way Jim did.

"I *was* there. I was just too happy, baby. I had everything. I have to do something. Miss Melly, will you be all right if we leave you alone?"

"Just knowing you're...I'll be *fine*, darling. And let me know what's going on."

Jim nodded and bent to kiss Mel before turning towards the door. Blair went to shake Mel's hand and to give him instructions on reheating the gourmet tuna casserole he'd brought. Then he followed Jim out the door.

*************

"Uh-uh, Jim. No way am I letting you drive." Blair reached out his hand as soon as they came to the truck.

"Oh, *please*. *As if*." Jim put his hands on his hips. "You're as mad as I am, sweetcheeks, *and* it's *still* my truck."

"Keys, James. Now." He stared at Jim, his arm still out-stretched. Jim stared back, then rolled his eyes.

"Will I *ever* win?" He tossed the keys to Blair, who caught them neatly, and climbed into the passenger side.

Blair paid for his victory, though. He got to listen to Jim fume all the way to the police station. Jim was incredibly gorgeous when he was angry, and Blair shared his feelings, but he could have managed without the snaps and glares.

Finally, though, he pulled into the garage. He ostentatiously pocketed the truck keys as he left.

Jim snapped his fingers and stalked off, not deigning to look at Blair.

Blair just shook his head and followed him to the elevator. It was better that Jim's anger had a focus. The ride up was completely silent, with Jim refusing to even look at him. Blair let him act out.

He was so busy letting Jim enjoy his own dramatics that he didn't notice until they passed the floor that they were not heading for Major Crimes.

He brought this to Jim's attention just as the elevator came to a stop.

"We'll get there, Chief. I just have a little...errand to run." Jim's smile was downright nasty. "I'm paying a visit on some...old friends." He turned right out of the elevator, walking so quickly that Blair had to run to catch up - the long legs that he appreciated so much when they wrapped themselves around his waist ate up a lot of ground when Jim let them.

Jim paused briefly at the door to Vice, and took a deep breath. Blair had seen this before, but it never failed to amaze him - Jim's entire bearing changed. His shoulders straightened just slightly, his spine grew even stiffer and his face hardened. Even his eyes changed - they flashed with cold rather than with heat. Blair could feel his own heart beat faster.

Thus transformed, Jim strode into Vice, through their bullpen and straight to their captain's door, which he opened without a knock. Blair walked right next to him, unable to ignore the gaping mouths and shouts that followed them, but not caring, either.

"What the hell do you want, Ellison?" Captain Ron Hart looked up from his paperwork. "Someone break one of your nails?"

"What the hell's been going down on Stonewall, Hart?" Jim leaned on his hands as he bent over the desk.

"Besides your little friends? The usual. Sorry you're not there to protect them anymore?"

"I had the best record in Vice before I left - better than *yours*."

"How come I'm captain, then, and you and your boytoy are still working for Banks?"

Jim's jaw clenched. Blair wanted to put a hand on his arm, but knew this was not the place - anyway, he wanted to punch this guy, too.

"Maybe he just wanted to work someplace they gave a damn."

"You have nothing to say, Sandburg. You aren't even a cop."

Blair smiled. "*Doctor* Sandburg. And I'll bet my record's better than yours. My partner asked you a question...Captain. Have your people done *anything* but harass citizens?"

"What the hell business is it of yours? Did someone's makeup get smudged by one of my boys?"

"I have had enough of *you*, Hart. Do you know what your people are doing or not doing? Or are you *that* incompetent?" Blair knew he should have been quiet but this man was infuriating.

"Get the hell out of my office, both of you! You have no business being here! You have no business being on the force at all, Ellison. I thought so when you worked Vice and I think so now. As for *Doctor* Sandburg - if I were Banks, you wouldn't be allowed to step foot in my division. Damn fags."

Jim dropped the act. "You're just jealous, sweetcheeks. *My* boyfriend has more...cojones than you'll ever have. I want the records of the past year, Hart, and I *will* get them by any means necessary. And when we do, you can kiss your division good-bye."

"I'd tell you what to kiss, Ellison, but you'd probably *enjoy* it."

"You're projecting, man, just projecting." Blair winked at Hart.

The two left, but not before seeing Hart pick up the phone and shout for Major Crimes.

They didn't bother waiting for the elevator. They ran down the two flights to Major Crimes, and walked in just in time to hear Simon's bellow.

Jim looked at Blair and nodded. They walked to the captain's office as the rest of the bullpen saluted them.

Blair knocked on the door. "Enter!"

They walked in. Simon glared at them as they did. Blair wanted to back right out again. There were too many emotions for such a small place, and a good part of them were his own. But, this was his place and no emotions were going to drive him away.

"What the hell is going on here? Are you determined to get *every* other division on my case, Ellison? No sooner do I placate Homicide then Vice calls me. And I do not enjoy placating people."

"Simon..."

"I don't want to hear it. Look, I said you could investigate Freddie's murder, and I'm already catching major pain with *that*. You took a standard case away from Homicide, which means you are not doing your real job."

"We're not giving it up, Simon. We promised Melly. Anyway, it *is* our real job." Jim looked straight at him.

Simon ignored it. "Do you know what the brass is going to do about this? Jim, you don't know what I've done for the past year, all the arguments I've gotten. I've been able to keep them at bay because your record has been excellent but this..."

Jim stood still for a moment. "What have they been saying? What have you kept from me?"

"Look, don't worry about it. You proved you were a good cop. They've been quiet for months now."

"*Proved?* That is *just* the *limit*!" Jim tossed his head, making the light reflect off his earring. "I didn't become a *different* person when I came out. Why would I have to *prove* myself again? As if I didn't know."

"Calm down, Jim."

"My *record* should have spoken for *itself*. *Our* record...it's as much Blair as me. *Nothing* ever changes. It's why I went into the closet in the *first* place. I should have stayed there."

"I can't deny my life would have been easier." Simon sighed as Jim sat down and buried his head. "But I wouldn't take back a day of this past year. I like knowing who you really are, Jim, and I like knowing you two are happy - once I got used to the whole idea. You're my best officers, and you're better *now*."

"But..." Blair, who was rubbing Jim's shoulders, looked up. "I heard a but, Simon."

"I can't let you take the case. I know I said I would, but you're too damn close to it, and people would talk about you playing favorite, since he was your friend. And mine."

"Simon, it *is* a major crime. Listen." Blair told him everything Mel had said, from his problems getting help to what was happening on Stonewall Street.

Simon was silent for a long moment. "Go for it. Bring me proof of all of it - and make it airtight. Mel's a good person, and his word is good enough for me, but he's an ex-con and, well..."

"We *will*, Simon. We will *bury* them."

"First, get the killers. You say you have gang colors. Find out *which* gang and who might have been around that alleyway."

Blair nodded, but Jim shook his head. "I want to talk to the precinct. I want to know who let Freddie die like that."

Simon closed his eyes. "Let me do that. I know the guy running the Two-One. I think you've stepped on enough toes today."

"I'm going to be stepping on *more* than *toes* before we're done. I'll get the gang, but I'll get the others, too."

"This could cost you your career, Jim."

Jim took Blair's hand and looked him in the eyes. Blair understood the question and nodded. Jim smiled, and turned back to Simon. "It will be worth it. I'm not playing anymore *games*."

Simon sighed. "I can't stop you, can I? Let me call my pal Joe at the Two-One for you, okay? I think Michaelson's doing gangs now - you go talk to him, all right?"

Jim nodded. "He's on the sixth floor, right?"

"Yes. And, Jim? Let this one live. I do *not* want to hear any complaints from him."

"I'll be a *perfect* lady. I'll be in touch, Simon...and we'll see you at the funeral tomorrow, right?"

"We'll see, Jim."

Blair gave Simon a look, but he responded with a shrug and a glance at large pile of paperwork. Blair nodded, and led Jim out of the office and back to his desk.

Dave Michaelson was in his office and he had time to see them. In fact, Blair thought he sounded eager to meet them both. They gathered up their evidence and took the elevator to his floor.

His office door was open. When they entered, he stood up and offered them both his hand. The handshake was firm without a challenge. Blair took the time to look him over. Michaelson was a man of medium height, with very dark skin and short dreadlocks. His dark eyes were intelligent and Blair could see that he'd processed Jim's clothing and bearing and filed it away.

Michaelson himself wore a conservative gray suit with a light shirt and a bright tie. His expression was wary but welcoming as he indicated they should sit in the chairs in front of his desk.

His office was lined with books - psychology texts, books on negotiation and handling disputes and books directly about gangs. He had a neat pile on his desk as well.

"Now, what brings you to see me, Detective Ellison and Dr. Sandburg?"

"Last week, there was a murder in the Stonewall Street area. Are you at *all* familiar with it?"

Michaelson nodded. "More than you know. You get away from the clubs and the restaurants, and my boys run free."

"Your boys, Lt. Michaelson?" Blair tilted his head.

"The gangbangers. I've been working with them for a couple of years now. I used to be a teacher - any kids I work with, they become *mine*."

"You sound proud of them, Michaelson." Jim's voice was quiet.

"I am...of some. The ones who get out, who risk everything to get away. It takes a lot of guts to do that. But we're talking about Stonewall Street here, and they have things too easy to want to leave."

Michaelson sounded angry. He clenched his hand around the pen in his hand.

"No one does a damn thing, either. I've been all alone there."

"Michaelson..."

"Dave. Call me Dave."

Jim smiled. "Dave, this is just *disgusting*. How long as it been going on?"

"Since I got here, a couple of years ago. I'm not saying the rest of Cascade is perfect, cause it's not, but at least I got some of the gangs talking to each other, and some of the violence way down. At least I'm making progress, you know?"

"That's good news, man. It must be great to know you're making a difference." Blair fidgeted with a pencil.

"It only works when I get it all together. The cops, the kids, the schools, the parents...I'm sorry. You came here for information." He shook his head again. "I shouldn't unload this on you guys anyway."

Blair reached forward and touched Dave's hand. "We *need* to know this, Dave. Why isn't it working in Stonewall?"

"Because I'm getting no help at all. You guys have to know that's the gay part of town. I mean, you two are no secret." Jim and Blair nodded. "So you have to know that there might as well not be any cops in Stonewall. And the gangs don't even live there. They just...use the place like a playground."

Jim clenched the arm of his chair. "I know no such thing, girlfriend. When I was there, when it was *my* territory, there were plenty of boys in blue around...at least to pick on the queers."

"Oh, they do *that*. If they can get away with it. They just don't help out."

"I am going to *kill* them. Not one word. They didn't say *one* word to us." Jim was on his feet, gesturing broadly. "This is beyond tacky. Did they think *we* were involved?"

"I have no idea. I've been trying to get people involved for the past two years, and no one there will talk to me, from any side. Other cops don't trust me because I'm working with the kids, my kids don't trust me because I'm a cop and I want to take away their toys, and the gays...I don't know what's up with them."

"You are too straight, girlfriend. Those *are* your wife and kids in that picture, right?"

Dave shook his head. "That can't be all."

"It's enough. They don't trust *me* because I'm a cop...and *I'm* family."

Blair looked at Jim. "And because you went away and played straight. And they know that, too."

"I was *just* an idiot. I simply *betrayed* them. No *wonder* they didn't tell me. And now poor Freddie...I feel like a murderer *myself*."

"Gentlemen...perhaps we should get our minds back on your friend." Dave's voice was gentle but insistent. He must have been a truly effective teacher. Blair wondered why he left the classroom, and what he'd taught.

"You are *sooo* right, Dave. I cannot believe I forgot her. We found gang colors at the site. A shred of bandana and a couple of beads close to where she died."

"Good eyesight." Blair noticed that Dave didn't blink an eye at the pronoun. "What colors were they?"

"Bright green and black. Do they sound familiar at all?"

Jim took out the evidence bag and showed them to Dave.

"I know them, all right. These boys are the Terror Kings, and they were the biggest gang in Cascade Valley High School. Are the biggest gang. I hear tell they have the principal completely cowed right now. Got out...And you think they whacked your friend?"

Jim nodded. "I *don't* think they meant to kill him, just take his money and go. The *garbage* that call themselves *cops* killed poor Freddie. But, yes, they did the actual *deed*."

"I'm surprised. My boys are violent and homicidal, but they don't do things like that in the daytime."

Jim and Blair looked at each other. "Dave, Miss Freddie was killed *at night*. Late, around midnight."

Dave frowned. "That can't be. They go back to their own territory at night - leave Stonewall for the, excuse me, fags. They mostly use Stonewall for drug trafficking anyway."

"And just *how* is the business there?" Jim leaned forward.

"Too damn good. And it's not just the gays. It's become the local drug supermarket because the local cops just don't give a damn." Dave banged the table. "You sure it happened at night?"

"*Positive*. Miss Melly was certain, and *that* girl is *never* late. Except fashionably."

"Something's definitely up. Mind if I horn in on your investigation? These are my boys and I *need* to know what's happening."

Once again, Blair looked at Jim and nodded. "You are *so* welcome, man. I have a feeling we're going to need all the help you can give us. When do we start this?"

"I have to make arrangements. I can't bring two strangers to a meet - get all three of us killed. I'll let you guys know what's going down."

"Please. The trail is *freezing* cold already, but I *really* don't want to waste time."

The three of them stood up and Jim and Blair shook his hand before they left the office.

*****************

"It's about time you two showed up." Simon was waiting for them in the bullpen, his arms crossed. His voice was hard and his eyes were blazing. "In my office. Now." His voice was far too calm. Blair nearly trembled as they made their way through the crowd of detectives getting ready for shift-change.

Simon gestured them into his office and pointed to the chairs in front of his desk. He then fixed both of them cups of coffee and made one for himself. Blair recognized the activity as a calming ritual, and quietly accepted it. So did Jim, carefully balancing it on the knee he had crossed over the other one.

They waited until Simon had taken his own seat with his own coffee cup. Finally, after he neatened a pile of papers, he seemed ready.

"Simon? What's wrong?"

"It's that obvious? You're good, Sandburg." Simon sighed and took a sip. "I called the Two-One. Took me forever to get in touch with Joe, and then he wouldn't talk to me. He flat out told me that what went on his precinct was not my business. I even threatened him with IAD. Not that he cared." Simon very carefully put his cup down. Blair could see the effort he needed to *not* break it.

Jim took a dainty sip of his own. "Well, that was tacky. What *did* you say to that?"

Simon glared at him. "'Tacky' is *not* the way I'd describe it. Frustrating and suspicious is more like it. There is something going on there, and I'm going to find out."

"Does that mean you're on our side, man?" Blair didn't even pretend to drink anything.

"I'm *always* on your side, Sandburg. You're on my team, remember? And Joe's on his team's side. When you come in tomorrow, I want you to do a search for the time of the call. That's in the central records. Then we can find out who and what."

"Ummm...Simon..."

"Spit it out, Sandburg."

"Funeral. Freddie's funeral. No *way* can we miss it."

"Damn."

"Simon, Melly would *never* forgive us, I couldn't do that to her."

"I know, I know. When is this funeral?"

"10 AM tomorrow morning. At St. Bridget's. I don't know when it'll be over. How long do Catholic funerals last?" Blair looked at Jim, who shrugged one shoulder.

Simon rolled his eyes. "Try not to be all day at it, okay? And if I can find the time...maybe I'll show up."

"Please *do*. It would mean *so* much to Melly. She *worships* you, Simon." Jim set his coffee cup on the desk and stood up.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Just get this done right, okay?"

Simon looked distinctly unhappy at that. Jim waggled his fingers at him and dragged Blair out of the inner office. The night shift crew were just coming in. It took only a couple of minutes for them to get their desks put away and then they were able to leave.

******************

"You barely touched dinner tonight, Jim." Blair pulled his head through the old sweatshirt he'd downgraded to sleepwear and climbed into bed.

Jim finished buttoning his silk nightshirt and joined him there. "I'm just *not* hungry, sweetie. Too much happened today."

"I know. I keep getting waves of grief and anger fighting inside me. Poor Freddie." Blair shut off the light and wrapped his arms around Jim.

Jim sighed and pulled Blair close. "Of all the people...she was..."

"He was special. I saw all those flowers."

Jim was very quiet for a long time as he held Blair very tightly. Out of long experience, Blair waited for him to say something.

Finally, he spoke, almost too softly for Blair to hear. "She saved my life."

"When?"

"It's a long story...are you sure..."

For an answer, Blair brushed Jim's cheek with his lips and nodded, knowing that Jim would see it. "I love you, too, Blair." Jim kissed Blair's forehead. "I...I was fifteen."

"Oh, no." Blair knew what that meant.

"So *true*. I'd just figured out that *just* because I was the captain of *both* JV football *and* basketball *and* had every girl in school following me, and had *even* slept with one or two didn't mean...didn't mean I wanted to. Didn't mean...that the locker room wasn't torture. Sweetheart, when did *you* figure out..."

Blair was silent himself for a bit. "I figured out I was bisexual when I was about that age. It's damn hard...It's harder to be more different. I mean, I was already *different* but now it was worse."

"Could you tell your mother?"

"Oh, man. It took me *years* to tell her. I was already in *college* before I could, but she was cool. But you *know* that. She treats you like a...like a..."

"A daughter-in-law?"

Blair had to smile. "Yeah, sort of. Freddie...?"

"Yeah, well...I finally figured out that I was gay. And admitted it to myself. And I was terrified. What would the other guys do? What would my *father* do?"

Blair repressed more anger. They'd tried to talk to William Ellison in the last year, but he tossed them both out of his house.

Jim stroked his hair. "I wasn't wrong, was I? Anyway, I couldn't see any other option, and there was *nobody* I could talk to. I ran away. I had about twenty dollars saved from doing chores and *one* change of clothes in my bookbag, but I had to leave before I was kicked out. Before I was found out."

Jim's voice held no expression. Blair was chilled at that thought. He might have been scared of telling Naomi, but he *never* thought she'd be more than disappointed.

"Anyway, I got a bus to Stonewall. You know how far that is from my dad's house. I got off the bus and I...I had no idea what to do or where to go. I wandered for awhile, fending off...well, you can guess what I was fending off. I was *almost* scared enough to go home right then. But I didn't."

Jim took a deep breath. "I found...you know those restaurants on the south end? They used to be...flophouses, I guess you could call them. You get a bed, sheets extra, bathroom down the hall. Don't leave anything in the room. Fleas come for free. Five bucks a night. In advance. I could...I could hear them going at it in the next room. It was...I cried myself to sleep."

"It's okay, Jim...you don't have to..."

"In two or three days, between the flophouse and food...and I was in a growth spurt, always hungry...I was completely out money. I spent one night outside, and it was...it was worse than the flophouse. I kept hearing *things*...I didn't sleep at all. And someone stole my other clothes. And I knew...I knew what I was going to have to do. Blair, I was a virgin with guys, and..."

"You had to have been terrified out of your mind."

"I was. And this...this guy...this *old* guy sees me. He was at least *thirty*. And I'm too scared to even move. He comes up to me. And he says, 'Oh, no, no, no, NO, baby girl. Aunt Freddie is *not* letting this happen.'"

"Oh, my God. *Our* Freddie?"

"Our Freddie. He took one look at me and just *knew*. Next thing you know, I'm in their apartment. Miss Melly is nowhere in sight, and I'm convinced that this...creature was going to have his way with me without *even* discussing the price. I'm even *more* convinced when he shoves me into their bathroom and insists I take a bath and that I hand him *all* my clothes. Babycakes, I was terrified."

Blair couldn't help laughing. "I'm sorry, Jim. I'm really sorry, but I cannot picture Freddie as this...dirty old man."

Jim giggled. "What did *I* know? I *was* a baby girl. On the other hand, I was also filthy and I couldn't stand my clothes anymore, so I did as he asked. I had *never* seen such a bathroom. Or the bath soaps or *anything*. I was actually having fantasies about being *kept*, between total *panic* attacks."

"Oh, you poor kid!"

"Eventually, I had to get out of the tub. I couldn't *believe* the towels...or the robe he had left for me. It was...incredible. And then...and then..." Jim giggled some more. "And then he sat me, in this silk bathrobe, at their kitchen table in front of a bowl of soup."

"Now, *that's* Freddie."

"Yep. He'd tossed my clothes into the wash, and I wasn't going anywhere until they were dry and I'd eaten at least one real meal. And he assured me that 'baby girls' weren't his dish and just then Melly walked in, and she took one look at me and scolded poor Freddie for not giving me something more than soup and silk. Next thing I know, I'm wearing a velour running suit...it *was* the seventies, darling...and telling them *everything*."

Jim fell silent. When he spoke again, there was a catch in his voice. "They...they listened. They *understood*. They said I could stay as long as I wanted. And two hours later, and I *still* don't know how they managed it, I was on a bus home, and I slept that night in my own bed, still very much a virgin with men, but I also had their phone number in my pocket."

Blair bit his lip. "He *did* save your life."

"Yeah. They both did...not just then. You *can't* imagine what it felt like to have someone to *talk* to, who *understood*, where I didn't have to be Jim Ellison, jock. And that made the rest of it easier. When...when I ran away again, after the car thing, that's where I ran. And that's when Freddie told me about his own stint in the army. 'The most *fabulous* non-com that ever was.' So I joined. Best thing I could have done, too."

"Did...did they do that a lot? Rescue kids?"

"No. Mostly they happened on hustlers too late to do anything but give them some cash or something. I know now how *incredibly* lucky I was. And yet...I totally lost touch with them when I joined Major Crimes. If only...I feel like *I* killed her."

Jim began to shake in anger. Blair held him. "You didn't, James. The ones who hit him and the one who let him lie there...they're to blame. Not you."

"I *should* have known. I'll never forgive that. And I *will* get those cops."

"*We* will get them. Together." He kissed Jim softly on the mouth. "Let's get to sleep now, okay?"

"Yes, of course." Blair opened his arms so that Jim could, as usual, pillow his head on Blair's chest.

Jim went to sleep right away, but Blair lay awake a long time, thinking about a scared and hungry teenage boy.

******************

Blair waited patiently while Jim brushed the cemetery mud off his well-polished black shoes. He himself was wearing the closest thing he had to dress shoes - black sneakers - and didn't worry about a little dirt. "Man, do you believe the turnout for this funeral?" He took off his gray suit coat and the black tie he'd borrowed from Jim, and put them more or less neatly in the back of the truck. All around them, other people were getting ready to drive off.

Jim straightened his black Italian suit jacket and readjusted the cobalt blue tie that matched his eyes. "It was for Freddie. I'd have been *shocked* if there were less. It was a *beautiful* funeral, too. She looked *perfect*."

Blair tried to hide his distaste. "I wouldn't know." He'd hung out in the last pew of St. Bridget's with the Glasses and a few others who felt uncomfortable either in church or around open caskets or both, whereas Jim, with his permission, had lent his support to Melvin.

"It's okay, sweetie. Father Jack did a *perfect* job, and old St. Bridget's never looked better."

"Or more full. Who was at the organ? I didn't recognize him." Blair got into the passenger seat of the truck. Jim walked around and got in on his side.

"Lady Eve, of course. She's been playing the organ there for *years*, ever since Father Sean's...friend died."

"That was Lady Eve? My God...I don't think I've ever seen him in...well, in male drag. It's...unnatural. How come? Lots of other drag queens wore dresses."

Jim shrugged and turned on the ignition. "Evie knows when to bring out the boy clothes."

"Will Mel be all right? Are we supposed to go home with him or something?"

Jim carefully followed a Ford Taurus out of the cemetery. "Normally, yes, we would, but it's already past noon, and Simon is going to be spitting *nails*."

"At least he showed up for the service. Melly looked pleased."

"Melly has *such* a crush on Simon...Darling, I'm *perishing* for a Wonderburger. It's on the way..."

Blair laughed. This was the man worried about Simon? "You're the one driving, James. I could do with some dead animal flesh myself."

"Oh, that sounds *so* appetizing."

*****************************

Jim settled the bag of burgers and fries on his desk, and carefully draped his suit coat over the back of his chair. Simon walked out of his office and gave them an "It's about *time*" look before taking some food for himself and disappearing. Jim stared after for a moment and then sat down. He carefully spread a napkin over his desk and set his food neatly in front of him.

Blair reached into the bag and gobbled down the remaining burger. He'd already scarfed down his fries in the truck. He turned his chair around and straddled the back, facing Jim, who was taking delicate bites of his food.

"Okay, now what?"

"You mean *after* I finish my lunch?"

"Yeah. Do we talk to the 21rst, or interview people on Stonewall or talk to Atkins or bug Dave or what? I gotta do *something*." He felt like he was going to burst out of his skin.

"Calm down, darling. I'm going to be spending half the day on the phone arguing with the dear ladies down in dispatch. Why don't you be an angel and go fetch us some coffee or something?"

"That's me. Dr. Sandburg. Coffee boy." Blair shook his head with a grin. He took their coffee cups to the break room. As he filled them, he noticed a couple of other guys sitting and talking. One guy, who looked vaguely familiar, stared at him. He was wearing a dark suit...funereal, in fact. Blair blinked. He'd been there, sitting in the same pew Blair was. He was a cop - he wore a shoulder holster and there was a badge on his belt. He wasn't one Blair knew, so it wasn't anyone on their floor.

"...the only Vice cop there. Other guys just don't give a damn about some old fairy."

"Anyone else?" That was someone from Homicide...not Atkins - Copley.

"Don't know. I mostly know you and the other guys from Vice. I think the captain of Major Crimes was there..."

Blair picked up the coffee cups and went back to Major Crimes before he could be identified. Jim, who was sweet talking some woman down in dispatch for her records of that night, just nodded and kissed his cheek. "Darling, you *know* I'll keep this *strictly* between us..." Jim murmured that to the phone, not to Blair.

He went to his own desk and logged into the system. The records of other departments were supposed to be closed, but Blair had long since found his way around whatever barriers they'd put up. He quickly found his way into the Vice personnel files. He glanced at each photo as it flickered by, until he hit on the guy he'd seen earlier. It was clearly him, although his hair was now a little shorter and he didn't have the pierced eyebrow yet. Matt Green. Made detective about six months ago and transferred over from the 21rst to Vice. Blair raised his eyebrows. He definitely had to talk to him.

He quickly took his suit coat and Jim's black tie out of his backpack, shook out the wrinkles as best he could and put them on, using his computer screen for a mirror. He could *feel* Jim's amusement as he dressed. He tied back his hair, grateful he'd left off his earrings that day, as opposed to his lover, who'd worn his best black onyx. Finally, he slipped on his glasses.

Jim held a hand over his phone. "What's going on, darling?"

"Guy from vice went to the funeral. I'm going to pay him a visit."

"Why bother dressing up? And next time, do *not* let my tie get so wrinkled."

Blair grinned and shrugged. "Kinda thought it would work better if I *looked* like Dr. Sandburg."

"You *look* adorable, and you are certainly working for *me*, baby....no, no, sweetheart. I said *maybe*...yes, that's right..." Jim smirked at Blair.

Blair looked around and gave Jim a peck on the nose before heading for the stairs and the next floor. This time, the door was open. He made sure his id tag hung neatly from his lapel and walked in.

A woman with her own id tag walked up to him and smiled. "Can I help you, sir?"

"Yes, please. Is Detective Green available?"

She nodded and indicated his desk with her chin.

Blair thanked her and walked to him. Green looked up at his approach. Blair stuck out his hand. "Hello. I'm Dr. Sandburg. I'm a consultant to the department. Can I talk to you right now?"

Green's eyes narrowed. "You a shrink?"

"Actually, I'm an anthropologist. I'm attached to Major Crimes. Is there somewhere private we can talk?"

"Uh...sure." He led Blair to an interrogation room. "You look sort of familiar, Dr. Sandburg."

Blair sat down on the prisoner side of the table. "I should. You sat three people away from me at Miss Freddie's funeral today."

Green blinked. He had rather nice brown eyes and long eyelashes. "Yeah...I remember now. You know Miss Freddie?"

"I met them about a year ago, when my partner and I arrested them for kidnapping."

"Right. I remember Major Crimes being involved in something like that, back when I was in the Two One. Stupid, stupid thing, but given the Two One..."

"What about it?"

"They just don't give a damn. It's like...that part of town might as well not exist...I shouldn't be talking about this."

"It's okay, Detective. Besides, it has to be better in Vice. My partner used to be here."

"You keep talking about your 'partner.' You're not a cop."

Blair grinned. "That's what Captain Banks keeps telling me. It's...complex, but it's also official. Really."

Green shook his head. "Whatever. I got out of the Two One as soon as I could, and I thought this place would be perfect. Look, if you're really official, I guess you're sort of one of us. Hell, you *have* to be better than some of the scum who really wear badges these days."

Blair shrugged. "I wouldn't know. But I'm a decent listener, and if nothing else, we shared a loss today. That's some sort of bond."

"Yeah. I guess." He rubbed his face. "Okay, Dr. Sandburg."

"Call me Blair, okay? You're making me sound like real a shrink, and I am so not one."

Green smiled. "You don't sound like one, either. I'm...I'm Matt. Vice was...damn, I hate to rat them out, but I know my partner's on the take, and the captain doesn't give a damn about any of the people. Do you know who we deal with in Vice half the time?"

"Who?" Blair knew. After last night, he knew even better.

"Kids. Damn, stupid kids, running away from home, getting mixed up with the crap out there. And when I say *anything*, Hart tells me I should be a social worker, like that's something evil. My mother's a social worker. She's why I became a cop, dammit. And I know I can't save the world, or even most of them, but I can at least *try*. Except...Bobby, my partner, doesn't see any percentage in it and Hart just laughs. I mean...look at Stonewall. I patrolled there a couple of years ago. I was an idealist, wanting to bring the cops to the people, so I stayed in uniform. And they told me stories, some of them."

"Like what?"

"Like how it used to be, when the Two One did more than eat donuts and watch the gentrified areas. Before they let the gangs run wild. Like this one cop who worked Vice who gave a damn. Guys in Club Purple, the two sweet old ones who ran that art gallery...poor Freddie. He used to bring me hot cocoa because he knew I hated coffee. They raved about "Jimmy" but they never gave his name. Don't blame them. God, I'd hate to be a gay cop." Matt looked sharply at Blair. "There's one in Major Crimes, right? I mean, Hart was sounding off about the faggot...a man that homophobic shouldn't be a cop and shouldn't be in charge of Vice, either."

"Yeah. One of the cops in Major Crimes is gay. Came out about a year ago, actually. There's been no real trouble - it's a pretty tight unit and they've known him for years. Captain says there's been some problems with the brass, but...." Blair shrugged again. "He's the best one they have."

"God, he'd be killed in Vice. I mean, literally. He'd be given the worst assignments and no one would be his partner, just in case...you know. And no one would back him up. And the Two One? Forget about it. Ol' Joe says let the fruits on Stonewall take care of themselves, unless there's something in it for him."

"Why do you stay here? Why don't you transfer out or go into social services?"

"Because then, what sort of a difference could I make? Hart's driven out everyone else who doesn't do what he wants. I'm not going to follow. God, those gangs. I hate to say it, but it's like...like cockroaches, you know? You can't do anything about them. And they're mostly kids, too. It all comes down to kids. I can't sleep at night, you know? All I see are kids...strung out or hopped up, or selling themselves, or in gang colors. And dead. I see a lot of dead kids. I'm so sick of dead kids, Blair." Blair could only nod.

"Freddie...he used to tell me that he would watch the kids. He'd managed to save *one*. He got damn lucky, and he knows it. 'All those baby girls, Mattie. And I got one.' That's what he used to say when he brought me my chocolate. Damn, I'm sick of this." He rubbed his eyes again.

"Do you make a difference now, man?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I do. I got my one. This little girl...she was already on drugs, already attached to a pimp, but it was early. I got her out and I got her in treatment, and she *writes* me, and she's doing it, you know? And I got her pimp off the street for a whole *week*. Bobby laughed at me the whole time, but I did it." Matt's laugh was bitter.

"Then you got it. What you're doing, Matt...that takes *guts*."

"No more guts than it takes to ride along without a gun...and with a gay partner. Or being gay." Matt looked right into Blair's eyes.

"You figured it out?"

Matt grinned. "There's only one out gay cop in this building and everyone knows he's partnered with a college professor. Rumor has it you're his boyfriend, too."

"I'm not a college professor. I'm a part-time instructor - I teach one class a semester. The rest..." Blair shrugged. "Even before he came out, Jim couldn't work effectively with anyone else. I can't explain why, but it's true. So Simon, our captain, had to let me stay with him. And I really am a consultant. You'd be surprised how useful an anthropologist can be."

"Yeah. Like talking to a depressed cop who was thinking seriously of quitting, but isn't anymore. Thanks, Blair." Matt reached out a hand.

"Anytime." Blair took it firmly. "I hope this hasn't affected your...reputation."

Matt shrugged. "I'll live." Blair smiled and got out, making sure he wasn't seen.

*******************

Jim was waiting for him, his hands full of faxed phone records. He passed a stack of papers to Blair. "Seems Freddie picked a busy night."

"I gotta tell you what I learned, Jim."

"Multitask, darling. Talk *and* look."

"No problem. The guy's name is Matt Green and..." Blair quickly perused the lists, looking for Melly's phone number. There were pages and pages. His eyes were bleeding with the tiny print.

"What do we do when we find it, Jim?"

"We see who took the call, and pay them a visit on Monday."

Blair frowned. "Why Monday? There's still some time tonight, assuming we find anything."

"Because they'll expect us *tonight*. Monday, on the *other* hand...Anyway, we need to get home in time to get ready." Jim turned to his computer. The sheet listed call signs. He would have to match car to call sign, and cop to car.

"Get ready for *what?*"

"For the party tonight, sweetcheeks." Jim looked up, puzzled. "You don't know about that? Right. How *could* you know?" He snapped his fingers. "It's something we do on Stonewall. It began in the..."

"Hi. You guys busy?" Dave Michaelson walked up to the desk.

Jim glared at him. "Just a *bit*, girlfriend." He shook his head. "You got news?"

Dave sat on the corner of Jim's desk. "Yeah. I spoke to my contact in the Terror Kings. He's willing to have a meet tomorrow. We just need to set up time and place and number. He wants to know how many so he can have parity."

Blair snorted. "He didn't really say 'parity', did he?"

Dave grinned. "Yeah, he did. I think he's on a word a day thing. How many? The two of you, me...are we bringing the detective from homicide?"

"Not if *I* can help it, sugar. Just us three."

Blair frowned. "What about Matt Green?"

"Who's Matt Green?" Dave looked at Blair.

"He's a Vice cop. I think he needs to be involved in this...he went to the funeral today. Look, the guy has had his hands tied every where he's worked."

Dave and Jim looked at each other. "I trust Blair's instincts. Call him, sugar."

Dave nodded. "I wouldn't mind having an extra man with us."

"While you're at it, tell him about the party."

"I *would* if I *knew* anything, James."

"Party?" Dave looked from one to the other.

"Yeah." Blair dialed Matt's extension. "Hi...want to do something? Yeah...we've arranged a meet with the gang...Terror Kings...want to go? Dave Michaelson...nice guy...yeah...Tomorrow...get back to you on time...okay. Take care."

He turned to face Jim. "Okay...what's the deal about this party thing, man?"

Jim pressed his lips together. "It's a *thing* we do. There was a time when funerals happened every week...sometimes more often. They became *the* social outlet, you know? *Too* depressing, and you kept looking at people and wondering who was next. So Rich opened his club on Friday nights. No cover, no act, free food and half price booze. It was a tradition for a long time. Guys and some girls would even play music for free. Kept us sane during a real bad time."

Blair blinked in confusion. "But...two Fridays ago we were at the club..."

"This was before he opened Purple, and, well, things got better. Less people getting sick, and the ones who are sick aren't dying so much. Rich renovated and the parties kinda stopped, but there has to be one for Freddie. And we *have* to go."

Michaelson stared at them in amusement. "I'll let you guys argue this one out. I'll leave a message with the time and place. Tell you what...give me this Matt Green's number and I'll call him, too."

Blair nodded and gave him a card. Dave nodded and waved as he left the room.

*************************

"Jimmy, darling, you look *fabulous*." Rich whistled.

"You like?" Jim twirled, modeling his shades of white outfit - white boots, white jeans, white silk t-shirt, white *leather* overshirt. Blair had been amazed at that one, but it was beautiful. None of the whites were the same, but the effect was startling. His eyes glowed with the contrast.

"You're probably the only one here who'd keep it all *that* clean, girlfriend." Automatically, Blair looked down at his own burgundy silk shirt. Nope, he hadn't spilled anything on it...yet.

"It's been a *long* time since you've had one of *these* things, Rich."

"We had one just a few weeks ago, Jimmy." There was an edge to the clubowner's voice.

Blair looked up in surprise, in time to see Jim frown. "No one told me anything about it."

"You were probably *busy* that night with your *straight* friends." The edge was sharper now.

"What are you trying to say, *darling*?"

"Oh, *please*, Jimmy. You have an entire *life* out there. You just come here to *play*."

"Do you really *think* that?" Jim put his hand on his hip.

Rich rolled his eyes. "You still work *Major Crimes*. I see your name in the paper *all* the time. And you *do* hang out in suburbia."

"So did Freddie and Melly. Just because..."

"And that little *boyfriend* of yours...trust *you* to get a straight boy."

"Hey! Rich, I am *not* straight."

"Coulda fooled me, Professor. I *read* that paper of yours...the one about two closed societies. Now that you got your data, when you going to dump Jimmy here?"

Blair froze for a moment. Then he carefully put his wineglass down and walked over to Rich. Jim put a hand on his shoulder, but Blair shrugged it off.

"You think I'm going to dump Jim?"

"I know all about you biboys. I got fooled by a couple just like you, trying to have it both ways. You'll find some girl and get married. You won't be able to handle the pressure."

Blair tossed his head. "You don't *know* about pressure, Rich. No one believes we exist - either we're gays fooling ourselves or we're straight guys being curious. The cops think I'm a moonlighting professor, the academics don't why I want that macho crap. But you know something, Richiegirl? I don't give a damn. Why not? Because I have *Jim.*"

"Yeah, she's just *perfect* for you. Can pass as your straight roomie or as your girlfriend."

"Do you think I care? I fell in love with Jim when he was Mr. Straight Arrow, and I was too dumb to see behind his mask. And he *never* plays it straight anymore. He doesn't even pretend in *court*."

Rich looked at Jim, who nodded. "I didn't know how *hard* it was to pretend until I stopped."

"And..."

"And what, Rich?" Blair glared at him.

"And what *is* your point, Blair?"

"He's *here*. We may *live* by the bay, but he's *here*. He's taken, we've taken, our boss has taken...so much." He turned to his lover and touched his arm. "I *know* about those fights, James. I know just where you got those bruises."

"Why didn't you *say*?" Jim stared at Blair.

"Same reason I didn't tell you about my arguments. Guys trying *for my own good* to get me to break up with you. Colleagues, other cops...friends. I didn't want you to worry. Same reason Simon kept his battles secret.

"And if you didn't want to tell me, I understood. It made me crazy sometimes, but I understood. It doesn't *matter* if we don't spend our time here...we're *here*." He directed that last back at Rich.

"But *you* can leave whenever you want. You can find yourself a wife and be as straight as you want." Rich glared at him.

"I *am* as straight as I want." Blair stopped and took a deep breath. He gestured with his hands. "Look, I've *never* lived the straight life. I don't even know what the hell it is, except that it's *not* me. And if it doesn't have Jim, I don't want it."

"I *tried* that, Rich. You see Carolyn anywhere?" Jim finally said something.

"Look, I'm sorry. All I know is that you are *still* living in that loft in straightland, and *still* working for the cops and they have done damnall for us."

"And no one bothered to tell *us* that, either. Maybe...maybe if we'd *known*..."

"Right, Jimmy. Sure. Like your knowing *now* will make a difference."

"Maybe it will. Or maybe we'll quit and sell the loft and move back *here*, or...darling, I think maybe *this* is the *wrong* time and place. Look at Miss Melly." Rich and Blair turned. Mel was staring at them, tears in his eyes.

"God, we're *idiots*. I'm sorry, darlings. It's just...it's been so *bad* here, and you weren't doing *anything*. We really thought you *knew*."

"We were idiots *again*, Rich. And...you were right. We came here to *play*, not work."

"Huggies?" Rich spread his arms. Blair hid his wince as he and Jim allowed themselves to be wrapped up.

After extricating himself, Blair left the two men to kiss and make up and began to wander the crowd. As he did, a new face caught his eye. He meandered to the corner of the bar.

"Matt? What are *you* doing here?"

Matt Green turned around, startled. He was dressed for the party in an open white shirt and leather jeans, but he still looked out of place.

"Blair? I should have known you'd be here."

"Mel and Freddie were friends of ours. Of course we're here. What's your excuse?"

Matt blinked. "You sound like you want me to leave."

"If you'd have asked, I'd have told you not to come, man. *Jim* can handle the heat because he's, well, *Jim*."

Matt shrugged. "I don't care. I wanted to pay my respects for Freddie." His words were defiant, but his tone was resigned.

Blair shook his head. "Let's find a seat, guy. I think we need to talk." He led Matt to a small table filled with empty glasses. Matt took one of the chairs and turned it around, straddling the back. Blair took the other and found a clean place on the table to lean.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Yeah, right."

"Can't a guy go to a party for a friend?"

"Not here. Not someone who works for the Vice *you* told me about. Not someone who's ready to jump out of his skin when someone looks in his direction...or tries to touch him." To demonstrate, Blair brushed against Matt's hand. Matt flinched.

"I'm sorry. I've never...I mean, on duty or something, but never by myself...this is weird."

"So why are you here?"

"I don't know...for Freddie, I guess. And...Blair, how did you *know*?"

'Oh, no.' Blair knew exactly what Matt was asking. "Know what?"

"That...that you liked, well, guys?" Yes, that was it.

'Be careful, Sandburg.' Blair thought about his answer. "When I started to dread showering after gym class."

"You were in high school? Oh, God. What about girls? When did...?"

"I'm bi, Matt. I like girls and guys about equally. And I didn't *do* anything about it, not really, until I was finished with college." He stifled a sigh. 'Oh, that expedition...love in the jungle with anyone who crooked a finger or said yes...' He'd have thought those memories would be pleasant, not desperate.

"But you *knew*. You had no doubts in your mind?"

Blair shook his head. "I knew what was playing in my mind at night."

"Lucky guy." Matt bit his lip and turned away.

"Not where I was. Being bi does not mean you get twice as many chances for a Saturday night date. It means...it means confusion."

Matt's eyes lit up. "I know confusion. Why am I telling you this? I just met you *today*."

Blair shrugged. "You needed to talk."

He nodded and closed his eyes. "I'm twenty-seven years old, Blair. I should *know* if I like boys or girls, or both or...or...or *sheep*. I look at girls and *something* happens but I'm not sure what; I look at guys and something different happens, and you don't want to know what...plays in my mind at night. And I don't know..."

"Have you ever...?"

Matt blushed. "I've...tried. With girls. Nothing. I was ready to die of embarrassment. But...guys? The idea..."

"Maybe it is sheep, man."

"*Don't* joke about it. This is...I'd rather be *gay* than not know. I'm in *hell*, Blair."

"I'm sorry. Look...some people think *I'm* confused. Pick one side or the other, you know?"

"But you *did* pick. You're with *him*." Matt looked at the center of the room, where Jim was being dipped by Lady Eve, who was back in drag.

"Some would say I didn't pick...the fact of the matter is I fell in love with James Ellison, who's a guy. Most of the time." Blair laughed as Jim executed a neat curtsey. "I fell for the person, not his clothes or his mannerisms. And it's not the same, is it?"

Matt shook his head.

"I wish I could help. The only thing I can say is that there are other people like you - confused. And there is nothing wrong with you."

Matt shrugged. "I've never talked about it before, you know? There was no one I could trust...thanks, Blair." He reached out a hand. Blair grinned and took it. "See you tomorrow at the meet?"

"Dave talked to you?"

He nodded. "Playground by the big high school. 10AM."

"Yep."

"I'm going home, I think. I don't belong here."

"Not right now." Blair smiled. "But maybe Jim and I will have you over for dinner when this is all over."

"I'd like that. Bye!"

"Bye!" Blair watched Matt walk to the club's door and wave. Then he turned back to the dance floor, and walked up to a certain couple.

He tapped one on his shoulder. "May I cut in?"

Jim grinned, nodded and relinquished Lady Eve to Blair's arms. Eve smiled brilliantly and flirted as he led Blair around for several turns, until the music changed.

He went from partner to partner, sometimes leading, sometimes being led, sometimes taking turns, losing himself in the music. He did one waltz with Melly, staring into his grief-filled eyes, and then the music became slow and easy, and he found himself swaying in Jim's arms.

After that, there was nothing to do but kiss Melly goodbye and hug Evie and get in the truck and drive home.

And when they got to bed, Blair made love to Jim with an urgency he hadn't felt in a long time. He had to show Jim what he felt, how much he needed him. He also needed to try to forget the pain and loneliness in Melly and Matt's eyes, and how they bore straight into his soul.

Instead, they filled his dreams that night as he slept holding Jim as tightly as he could.

************

For a wonder, the next day dawned bright and clear. It even felt almost like summer - not bad for August. Blair decided he could get by on one long sleeved shirt.

They drove up to the school at about a quarter to ten, and parked the car in the teacher's lot. As they got out, two more cars pulled in - a minivan and a Saturn.

"Hey, Jim, betcha..." Sure enough, Dave got out of the van while Matt maneuvered his long legs out of the Saturn.

Blair introduced Matt to the other two. He didn't miss either Jim's sharp glance at Matt or the way Matt stared at Dave, despite the dark glasses they were all wearing against the almost unnaturally bright sun.

Dave, oblivious to all by-play, shook Matt's hand in greeting. "I'm glad to meet you, Detective."

Matt bit his lip. "Good to meet you, sir." Was Matt blushing? Blair didn't have time to consider this when three young men, boys really, came sauntering up, halting at the entrance to the playground. A fourth stood behind them, on the sidewalk.

They were dressed in the latest gangwear - designer polo shirts and oversized jeans, glowing bright green and black.

"Yo, Mr. Michaelson! These the dudes you want us to meet?" The biggest one gestured to the others.

Dave extricated his hand from Matt's and waved the boys over. They moved closer, but stayed about twenty feet away. "Can't put anything over on you, Timothy."

Timothy scowled. "That's Super-T, man. I ain't in freshman history no more."

Dave just smiled. "I'm old, guy. I can't remember new names real well. These guys have a couple questions about something went on last week."

"I ain't been nowhere last week." Super-T began backing out, his friends flanking him.

"We're not looking at you, Timothy. Detective Ellison, maybe you can say what's going on?" Dave gave Jim a look that Blair could only interpret as "butch it up, please." The boys stopped moving.

Jim frowned but nodded. "Super-T, I'm going to get right down to it. Last week, a friend of mine was killed in an alley off Stonewall Street. We found Terror King colors right there."

"It ain't us, DeTECtive. We ain't killed nobody." Despite his words, he and his friends began to try to move again.

"You or someone in your gang robbed someone late last Monday night, and left him bleeding in an alleyway. You *can't* fool us about that."

The three boys looked at each other. "Hey! Mr. Michaelson, you tell'em. We don't hang round the fags at night. It's kinda the deal."

"Deal?" Jim looked at Dave.

Matt was the one who answered. "You got a deal, Super-T? Who'd you make the deal with?" His voice was quiet. As he turned to face the boys, Blair noticed something odd behind his sunglasses.

"No deal! There was no deal."

"Sure there was. The daytime, the place is yours, right? You get to sell your drugs and harass the fags for fun, and then you go back to your home territories at night, because someone else works Fagtown at night, right?" Blair controlled a shiver.

"What you know about that? Who are you?"

Matt took off his sunglasses. Blair held back a gasp. His left eye was swollen nearly shut. "I'm Matt Green. Detective Green. Let's just say I *know*. And a couple of your boys violated the deal, didn't they? They stayed out past their bed time."

"I don't have to talk to you, man. Right, Mr. Michaelson?"

"No, you don't." Dave grinned.

"I ain't under arrest or nothin'. I know my rights."

Jim smiled, too. "You *don't* have to talk, Super-T, but we *will* catch who killed that guy. It's only a matter of time. If we do it now, and with your help, maybe we'll let them off, seeing as it was really just a mugging gone wrong. If I catch them, they will be charged with negligent homicide. If you help us at all, I can make things go easier." He gave his head an aborted toss.

'James, you are *so* out of practice...' Blair hid his grin.

The kids noticed this action and looked at each other. "Are you a fag, or are you a cop?"

"Oh, I'm a cop. I'm the best. With my partner here, we solve practically *every* case we get. And we will solve this one. Now, you three going to help us?" Jim stared right at them.

The boys looked at each other. The one on Timothy's right bit his lips. "It wasn't them. They didn't mean nothing by it! Now they all scared!"

"RD, you don't say nothing!" The third boy tried to grab him but RD broke loose and ran to Dave.

"Mr. Michaelson, you gotta know, before this guy gets my brother. Don't let him get my brother, man." RD was practically shaking.

"It's all right, Richie. Which brother? Kwame or LeShaun?" Dave reached out his hand. "We'll take care of them."

"You gotta. LeShaun, man. The baby. He and Jamal - Jamal his homie - they joining up. Need some money. Them homos, they all rich. LeShaun figure it easy money - old homo can't fight back, neither. And the...the cops don't give a damn. We got a deal, but this ain't part of the deal."

"LeShaun is twelve. Jamal is...eleven, right?"

"Twelve next week. They had them a knife and a baseball bat, and..."

"And it wasn't worth it, was it?" Dave put his hand on RD's shoulder.

"Naw! Old fruit had maybe twenty on him. And they hit him hard, but they didn't kill him. Mr. Michaelson, they just kids. My moms...she *kill* me cause they in the gang." RD looked at him, pleading.

"I'll see what I can do, RD. We'll talk to juvie, maybe we can get counseling or something. But...the man died. LeShaun and Jamal will have to face that."

"You talk to 'em. Okay? That okay, Super-T?"

"You takin' care of 'em, Mr. Michaelson?" Timothy looked every year of eighteen at those words.

"You trust me to do it right?"

"Don't trust *nobody* else." The boy looked pointedly at the other three men, and then turned back to Dave. "Take care of my cousins, okay?"

"I will. I promise. Where are they now?"

"Hiding. Both of them. They mamas' worried to *death*. I know where they is."

Dave looked at the others. "I'll take care of this. You go after the *real* killers, okay?" The three boys looked confused but the men nodded. "Okay, guys, we'll take my van. Yeah, yeah, I know. Uncool." The boys all mugged at each other, and pretended to dawdle, but they got to the van fast enough to tussle for shotgun. Jim gave Blair a smirk, but Blair barely noticed. He was focussed on Matt, who was staring at Dave as he cajoled the boys into using their seat belts before driving off.

He walked up to him and touched him on the shoulder. Matt jumped. "Sorry, man. Just wanted to look at that eye of yours."

"It's nothing. Just useful for some...drama is all." Matt backed away.

Jim frowned and moved closer. "Let me see that, darling."

"No, no, it's all right. You don't have to...please, Jim...ow!"

"This is *nasty*. I'm surprised you can *see*." Jim probed the bruised flesh. "This looks hours old...why didn't you put some ice on it?"

Matt tore himself away. "It's just *fine*. I can see just *fine*. It's not worthy bothering about. I'm not..."

Blair blocked his way to his car. "Matt, man, this is not something we can ignore. Who did that to you?"

Matt shrugged stiffly. "I walked into a cabinet last night. It...it didn't hurt so I just went right to sleep. It's...it was just an accident, Blair. Really."

Blair looked at Jim, who shook his head slightly, but shrugged. "Sure, sure, man. Gotta watch out for those cabinets. Look, go home, put some ice on it and try to bring the swelling down. And if...that cabinet shows up again, tell us, okay?"

"Not going to run from any pieces of furniture, Sandburg."

Before they could say anything more, he tore himself away from Jim, walked past Blair to his Saturn and drove off.

"What do you think about that, James?" Blair watched the small white car drive off.

"I think that I'd run from any cabinet with a real fist. I could *feel* the marks."

"Yeah...bruising was too big, too. It had to happen...when? You said hours."

Jim was silent for a long time. "Yeah. The swelling felt like it was starting to go down. I'd put it at a good seven or eight hours."

"That's about when he left the party last night."

Jim closed his eyes. "I was *wondering* when you were going to talk to me about *that*, Chief."

Blair frowned. "There was nothing to say." Jim looked at him.

"James...oh, God. Look, let's find some place for brunch, okay? I need some caffeine like...now."

"We *are* going to talk, darling." Jim led the way to the truck.

******************

Jim fluttered his eyes at the waitress. "I'd like the pancake breakfast, sweetheart. Scramble the eggs, cook the bacon crisp and I want simply tons of butter for the pancakes. And, *please* tell me you have real syrup."

"Well...Mrs. Butterworth..." She blinked in confusion.

"So long as it's *not* boysenberry. I simply *loathe* boysenberry."

"Uh...sure. And you, sir?" She focussed on Blair.

"Get me a spinach and feta cheese omelet - make that an egg white omelet, okay? Whole wheat toast, butter and jam on the side. And a big glass of OJ. And *coffee*."

"You want the home fries?"

"Oh, yeah. And get *him* some orange juice, too."

The waitress looked from one to the other, shook her head and left.

"You gotta stop doing this, James."

"Doing *what*?" Jim grinned as he took a gulp of water.

"Confusing people."

"Who, me?" Jim fluttered his eyes again.

Blair just grinned. The waitress showed up again with a tray of coffee cups and glasses of juice. She set them down, goggling as Jim stuck out his pinky as he sipped. She gave them one last odd look before she went to fill more coffee cups.

"Okay, Jim. What's wrong? You're paying more attention to Ms. Tightpants then you are to me."

"Maybe if you wore tighter pants yourself..." Jim smirked at him.

"That is *so* not funny, James. Talk."

"Just a touch of jealousy, darling?" He took a sip of his juice, and grimaced. "Concentrated."

"Drink it anyway. As *if* I'd be jealous of *her*...you're jealous. Jim, tell me you're not jealous, please?"

Jim said nothing. He just downed his juice fast.

"Oh, my God. You *are* jealous." Blair shook his head. "What brought this on?"

"What brought this on?" Jim put down his glass. "We go to a party last night and you spend half the night talking to that Green guy. That Green guy whom you'd just *met* that afternoon *and* whom you drag along to our meet today. What *should* I think?"

"I do *not* believe you. Matt is in *Vice*, you know? He went to Freddie's funeral, he's the only one there on *our* side, and you *know* he took a beating for that last night. I thought he might be useful today, and he *was*."

"He's very pretty, with those brown eyes and long eyelashes. And he's young. Younger than me."

"Hell, Jim, he's younger than me, too. What difference does *that* make? He's *not* you. He's a kid with a lot of problems. Look...I was as surprised to see him at the party. *He* knew about those things...which is *more* than *I* did, and *I* thought I was a part of the whole thing." He looked at Jim.

Jim shrugged. The waitress came by with the food.

"Is everything all right here, guys?"

"Uhh...sure...no, the omelet's mine." She nodded and put the pancakes in front of Jim.

"Just try to hold it down a little, okay?"

"Sorry, darling."

She shot Jim another look and walked away.

Blair deliberately held his voice down, knowing Jim could hear it anyway. "Am I getting through to you, James?"

"You still spent most of last night with *him*."

Jim began to slather butter over his pancakes.

Blair sighed at all that fat. One day Jim would pay the price...and he didn't want to think about that right now. "I did not. I spent maybe twenty minutes. He *needed* to talk, anyway."

"About what?"

Blair cut into his omelet, trying to delay. "I...damn, look, he's having problems - with himself, not the other cops. And he didn't ask me not to talk about them, but I don't feel comfortable right now. Just trust me a *little*, okay?"

"I'm sorry, Blair. We old ladies worry when their boyfriends start hanging out with sweet young things, you know? I would absolutely *die* if you left me."

Blair shook his head and speared a forkful of butter and syrup drenched pancake off Jim's plate. "I'm not going anywhere, James. I love *you*." He chewed his prize. Why did fat and sugar have to taste so good? "Are you going to be jealous of all my friends?"

"Just the pretty young guys. And the pretty young girls. And the sexy older men. And the sexy older ladies."

"I can only have ugly friends?" Blair blinked as Jim took a bite of his omelet and made a face at the spinach and feta..

"This is not *fair*. You eat *half* my breakfast, but yours is so nasty I can't manage a taste."

Blair grinned. "Why do you think I ordered it?" He became serious. "James..."

"I'll try, Chief, okay? But tell them to keep their hands to themselves."

"I'll try, too, but it's so *hard*...all that *temptation...*"

Jim just smirked at him, and the conversation moved to plans for the rest of a sunny Saturday.

Those plans would remain just talk, because as soon as they'd signaled the waitress for their check, Jim's cellphone rang.

"Dave? Yeah. You got them? Juvenile? Want us to get Green? Yeah, no problem. No, he never said what happened. Okay. See you in about twenty minutes."

"Dave has the kids already?"

Jim nodded. "He's really fabulous. Why don't you pay the bill while I try to get Green?"

Blair tossed the tip on the table. "You're just afraid I'll make a date with Matt behind your back." He grinned and took the check to the cashier.

By the time he came back, Jim had closed up his phone and they were ready to go. "Matt'll meet us at Juvie."

**************************

"My God. They really *are* just kids." Blair could not keep his eyes off the two boys sitting on the other side of the mirror. "*They* got poor Freddie?"

Dave nodded. His eyes looked red, as if he'd been rubbing them. "They had weapons and the element of surprise."

"And they had *help*. They had a whole *precinct* full of help, and I'm damned if those two *babies* are going to carry that *whole* thing alone. God, Freddie loved kids. If they'd asked, she'd have given them the *shirt* off her *back*. Dave, what the *hell* is going on?"

Jim couldn't stand still. He paced nervously around the observation room.

"I wish I knew. Then I could stop it. And then I could start sleeping at night. I toss and turn so much my wife threatens to get us separate beds."

Matt, who was standing between Blair and Dave, turned sharply at those words. "You're married?"

"Going on eight years and three kids."

"Oh." Matt managed to pack volumes into that single syllable, but Blair couldn't read any of it. He was too distracted by the little boys, who were now talking to a woman and wolfing down hamburgers.

"Did they actually confess to you, Dave?"

"What they *did* was come out of their little hidey hole saying they didn't mean to do it. None of it...the robbery or the homicide. Manslaughter, I guess."

"So why were they carrying around a baseball bat at midnight so far out of their territory? And where are their mothers?" Blair couldn't imagine being left to wander the streets at that age.

"Juvie called their mothers, but both ladies work. And the jobs they work, you don't work, you don't get paid, and you get real hungry."

"Were they working that night?"

"It's possible. Waitressing, or being a nurse's aid or security...they all can happen at night. Notice you're not asking about fathers."

Blair shrugged. "You know, my mom raised me all by herself. I never had a dad, not a real, permanent one. And she worked, sometimes strange jobs, jobs she couldn't even tell me about. But she always knew where I was, and I always knew where she was."

Dave looked at him. "You were damn lucky, Sandburg."

Blair thought about it for moment and nodded. "I guess so." He turned back to the kids. They were gesturing now.

"Where Mr. Michaelson at?"

"Yeah. We don't know you, lady. Me and Jamal, we not saying nothing until Mr. Michaelson be here."

"You boys certain?"

They nodded.

"I'll be right back. I'll see if he's available. You two be quiet."

The woman walked out of the room and joined them in the observation area. "You really have those kids, Dave."

"I keep telling you. These kids are mine."

"You want to go in now? Or wait a minute or two, see what they do?" The woman dropped down into a chair next to Jim, who smiled at her.

Dave shrugged. "Good question, Amy. Let's wait a bit. At least until I finish my coffee."

"Want more, Dave? I can go and get you some more if you like." Matt jumped up from his seat.

"It's okay." Dave laughed gently. "Two cups are plenty. Relax."

"Okay. But if you need *anything*..." Jim and Blair exchanged looks.

Dave emptied his cup and stood up. "Thanks, Matt. Amy, looks like our young friends are not going to help us on their own." He looked at the two of them, who were discussing Pokemon, and shrugged. "Let's do it."

"You're the man, Dave." The lovely brunette led the way back to the interrogation room.

Matt sat and stared at their side of the mirror as Dave appeared and greeted the two boys. "Look at him. He has the most amazing rapport. I've never seen kids like that talk to a cop with such trust or respect."

Jim turned to Blair and smirked. Blair was relieved that Matt was too wrapped up in the mirror to notice. He motioned for Jim to join him away from their friend.

They met in the corner furthest from Matt. Jim was still smirking. "Looks like your little girlfriend found figured out *who* she is."

Blair nodded. "Looks that way. And looks like it hit him hard." Blair shook his head. "He's taking this better than I would have, but I think he's just relieved he *knows*."

Jim sobered. "Oh, the poor girl. Yeah...that'll hit her soon, I think. Right now, she's in love. And so *darling* about it, too."

"It won't be *darling* for long." He turned to look at the mirror again. Dave was talking earnestly to the two boys, who were shaking their heads.

Matt was just staring. He turned to follow Dave as he moved from one boy to the other, and Blair caught sight of his black eye again when that side of his face came into view. It was still quite spectacular, even with the swelling mostly gone.

"Something else happened last night. Matt's been a cop for too long to just get jumped like that. I can't help thinking that's all tied up with his crush on Dave."

"Jim! Blair! They're talking."

They rushed to the window.

"Okay, LeShaun, let's get down to business here."

"You said nothing was going to happen."

The boy crossed his arms.

"I *said* we would do our best and that I would take care you. Don't I always take care of you guys?"

"You sent couple boys up to prison. How that taking care of them?"

"They did it themselves, LeShaun. I did what I could...found them a good program...you know that."

"Yeah, LeShaun." The other boy looked at him. "He kept my sister outta trouble. She home now, going to school."

"How's the baby?"

Jamal shrugged. "He not crying so much at night now, and he gots to get new clothes. Mama say that good."

"Sounds good to me. It means he's healthy and growing. He's going to be big like his uncle. Boys, what happened last week? If you tell me, I can help you out. You see, we want bigger game."

"We ain't giving up no one, Mr. Michaelson. We ain't turning on none of our homeboys."

"It's not *your* homeboys we're after, Jamal. Just tell me why you were roaming *that* part of town late at night. I thought the gangs kept clear once the sun went down."

LeShaun nodded. "That be the deal. We do our business during the day and..."

"And?"

"You won't believe me."

"Try me, baby. I've heard things on this case that make me believe anything."

The two boys looked at each other. "It *your* guys. The cops. We pay off the precinct during the day, and night time is theirs, so they can hassle the faggots." LeShaun looked scared and defiant at the same time.

Dave smiled at him. "I knew that, though it's nice you boys could confirm it. What I want to know is why you were there at night if it's not your territory then."

"We wanted to be part of the gang, but Super-T and RD, they say we just kids. Too little for real action. We were gonna *show* them. Show them we could take care of bidness same as them. But we can't get in on no action, you know? Not without no cash. We figured, no one would care if we robbed some old faggot."

Jim winced at those words. Blair hurt, too. Poor Freddie...to be described like that.

"So you waited in the alley?"

"Yeah. Me and Jamal, we had us a couple knives and a baseball bat. Jamal wanted to have a gun, but I ain't never used one, and Super-T, he say if he catch me with his gun, he kill me."

Dave nodded. "I told Timothy that it was his responsibility to keep you alive."

"He in trouble over this?"

"Not from what you told me. So you gathered your weapons."

"Yeah. And we sat there. Lotta guys walked by, in bunches. Nobody alone. We bout ready to give up when this old guy comes walking down. Least, he was dressed like a dude, but he didn't walk like no dude. So me and Jamal, we ask him for his money. He takes out his wallet, and gives us twenty-two dollars. So we ask him for the rest. He say that all he have."

"What did you do then?" Dave looked LeShaun straight in the eyes. LeShaun flinched.

"We...look, we didn't want to hurt the guy. We just wanted to scare him. Make him give us the rest of the money."

"But he didn't have any more money."

"Nope. But we didn't know that. All them faggots are rich, right? He hadda have more money. So we...I took out my knife and told him I'd cut him and Jamal held up the bat."

"And what happened?"

"He scary, Mr. Michaelson. Kept calling us 'angels' and 'sweetheart', like we were girls or something. And he still didn't have no money. So...I cut him. And Jamal hit him."

"And?"

"Mr. Michaelson, he just fell down!" Jamal was near tears. "I didn't mean to hit him that hard. He fell down and he was bleeding and he wasn't moving, and we didn't want to...I didn't mean it! I didn't mean it!"

Dave put his arm around the boy. "I know, baby. But it happened."

In the observation room, Blair hugged Jim, who was shaking his head. "For twenty-two damn bucks! What the hell is wrong with this world?"

"What's going to happen to these kids?" Blair watched Dave soothe Jamal. "I mean, they are only twelve."

"They'll go to juvenile hall, where they can train to be *better* little thieves, and where the older boys can get their slimy hands on them." Blair winced at the bitterness in Jim's voice.

"Look at him. I've never seen kids react to anyone like that. He's amazing." Matt stared at Dave and only at Dave.

Blair held Jim tightly. "I think Dave might have some way around it. The kids are listening. I don't know how we'll tell Mel."

"We'll find a way. Anyway, Chief, these children aren't the only killers. We have some boys in blue to catch."

Blair shook his head. "You are going to be *so* hated, Jim."

Jim snapped his fingers. "For that noise. They hate me *already*, sweetcheeks. What they *need* to do is worry about doing their *jobs*, not *me*."

"All I know is that it's lucky you're big and high profile. They don't *dare* do anything to threaten or..." He looked at Matt again. The young man absently rubbed his shoulder as he gazed adoringly at Dave through the mirror. "We know how he got that shiner."

"Yep."

"You *knew*?"

"I guessed. Angel, it's up to him. If he even knows who it *was*. If he isn't so wrapped up in Sweet Dave in there that he even *cares* right now."

"They'll kill him." Blair closed his eyes.

He felt Jim pull him closer. "He'll survive. I'll make sure of it. Be good to have more family in vice again."

"My baby! My baby! What my baby doing here? What you do, Jamal?" A woman's voice intruded from the interrogation room.

Blair opened his eyes. A woman who looked too young to be Jamal's mother, with eyes that had clearly seen too much, had walked in. She was wearing surgical scrubs.

"Mama! Mama, I'm in trouble."

"You bet you are. I'll tan your hide. What he do, Mr. Michaelson? What LeShaun make him do?"

Dave quietly persuaded the woman to sit down next to her son and explained quickly but sympathetically what had happened. She began to cry and then to scream at Dave for letting her baby get into trouble.

He sat there and took it while the two boys defended him. He flinched with every word she said, and Matt flinched with him. Blair hurt for both of them, but more for that poor woman. He could see her hopes for her son crash and burn in her eyes. She stood to pace the room. She was pregnant. Blair couldn't help but wonder if this one would bring her more pain.

Eventually, the woman settled down and even apologized to Dave, who shook his head. "You were right, Tamika. Every word. I'm sorry."

"What we gonna do now?"

"We're going to wait for Jenet and the lawyers and the social worker. Then we'll all discuss everything. We're going to do our best for these boys." The other woman's name rhymed with "Renee."

"Jenet be here soon. She have to wait till her shift over. Can't afford to lose time from work."

Dave nodded. "Excuse me."

He got up and walked back to the observation room. "Guys, this is going to be awhile. You might as well salvage the rest of your Saturday. Thanks a lot."

"I can hang around a little longer if you want, D-Dave." Blair shared a rueful grin with Jim. Matt sounded like a puppy dog.

But Dave shook his head. "There's nothing you can do, dude. My Saturday's gone. No reason yours should be. I'll see all of you on Monday."

"Call us, girlfriend. Maybe these kids can help find the *real* killers."

Dave grinned. "Will do."

**************

"Darling, I'm serious...Yes...*Twelve.*...I know, it's simply *horrible*. And we *saw* a mother...she's a *baby* too...I don't know...no, sweetie, we'll *get* them....Okay, you take care of yourself, Miss Melly...she is?...Give Evie a kiss for me, then...bye, dear."

Jim hung up the phone.

"How he take it, James?" Blair looked up from the vegetables he and Dave were chopping.

"She's not happy. If the killers were big, *nasty* homophobes, then she'd be *dancing* that we got them off the street. Evie's having dinner with her tonight."

"Evie's good. She'll take care of Mel." Matt rinsed off a couple of tomatoes.

"You really know that area, don't you, Matt?"

"Yeah. I watched it fall to pieces around me when I was a beat cop. The people in Stonewall are...well, some are great and some are jerks and some are just people. And they don't deserve what's going on."

Matt dumped the tomatoes he'd sliced into the salad bowl with the rest of vegetables and carried it to the table. Blair got some dressing out of the fridge and Jim poured the wine he'd opened about an hour ago.

Blair noticed Matt wincing as he sat down. "You don't deserve it, either, guy."

Matt didn't even blink. "Not according to them. You guys are dying to know, aren't you?"

"We just want to help. But it's up to you." Blair poured dressing over his salad.

Matt looked at Jim, who was carefully checking for scallions and setting them aside. "*You* understand, don't you? Why I can't..."

"Yes, I do. No matter what...they're still your brothers. *Our* brothers. And you *can't* betray your brothers."

"Exactly." Matt nodded.

"Even if *they* betray *you*?" Blair frowned, a forkful of salad held halfway to his mouth. "Even if they follow you to a party and beat you up? Even if they talk about you behind your back and snigger? If they treat your...even if they don't consider *you* their brother?"

Matt shook his head. "You don't understand, Blair. You're not a cop. You have to think of other cops as your brothers, so they know you can depend on them. If you don't, you might as well be dead."

Jim closed his eyes and sighed. "Matt, you just made a *big* mistake."

Blair could feel his anger well up. He carefully put his fork down. "Yeah. I'm *not* a cop. I'm just a lousy professor who just happens to have put his *life* on the line for Cascade PD for *years*, and who didn't even get *paid* for it for most of them. I know about the brother cop thing. I know about it first hand."

He rubbed his face with his hands. "And I *know* when it's a *crock*. We can't get anyone out of Major Crimes to be our backups anymore. You *know* that, James. I don't give a damn because they're the best, but the other's are *not* your brothers."

"I can't answer betrayal with betrayal." Matt sounded definite. "It goes against everything I've ever been taught. Look, I'm going to watching out for those guys from now on. They won't catch me unaware anymore."

"He's right, Chief. He's doing it the *only* way." Jim got up and began gathering the salad and bowls.

"I can *not* believe you, man. You're the *last* person I'd think who held to those old macho ideas."

Jim put the salad bowls on the counter and turned to face Blair. "Darling, *honor* is *not* a *macho* idea. If we *didn't* trust other police, we'd be *dead*. Where *have* you been?"

He sniffed, and began to rinse off the bowls and put them in the dishwasher.

Blair clenched his fists in frustration. They were so caught up in this fantasy world of theirs that they wouldn't listen, and nothing he could say would change it. If anything, it would make it worse.

"Are you all right, Blair?"

He took a deep breath. "Yeah." He forced himself to smile. "So...last night you were totally confused. Today...what happened?"

Matt blushed. "It's that obvious?"

"Babycakes, it's *adorable.* There is *nothing* cuter than first love." Jim giggled as he dished up the vegetarian chili and rice. "Either of you want cheese or onions on your chili?"

"Just the onions, please. I am going to crawl into a hole and *die*." Matt buried his head in his hands, laughing.

"Both, James. It's all right. We've all been there."

Jim came back with a huge bowl of chili, a smaller one of brown rice and two tiny ones of chopped onion and shredded cheese. He set them on the table and began to help himself.

Matt's laughter died. "Right. You woke up at age twenty five and realized that not only were you gay, you were in love with a married man. I'll bet that happens *all* the time."

Blair filled Matt's dish and sprinkled on some of the onion. Matt took it and stirred it with his fork. "It happens."

"Darling, we've all had crushes on married men. Have you *seen* Simon Banks?"

"James! You had a crush on Simon?"

Jim smiled. "*Years* ago. It was over before I had that *farce* with Carolyn. You have *nothing* to worry about."

Matt looked at both of them, stricken. "This isn't funny."

Blair bit his lip. "I'm sorry. We shouldn't be making fun of you. If you ever need to talk to someone about this...change in your life, we're here."

"Thanks." He took a bite of his chili. "This is *good*. Thanks for cooking veggie."

"Not a problem, darling. Eat up." Jim led by example.

"That means that we were making this anyway." Blair grinned and the conversation veered on to safer ground.

************************

"Be careful going home, Matt."

Matt waved before he got into his Saturn and sped off into the night. Jim watched him drive off, the smile on his face fading as the car disappeared around a corner.

"He's not goi