Jim stooped down and used the mirrored surface of the toaster to adjust his necktie and cast a glance at his partner's closed bedroom door. Kid spent any more time in there and they were going to be late. "You ready?"

"Yeah, man, just a second." The door flew open and Sandburg appeared, looking marginally more presentable than fifteen minutes ago, which was when he'd rushed in from the University. He was adjusting his earring with one hand and stuffing his shirttail into his jeans with the other while holding a suit jacket in the crook of his arm. At least he'd found time to shave.

"Jeans, Sandburg?"

"It's a bachelor party, right?"

Jim almost laughed at the anticipation on Sandburg's face. He was in for a disappointment. Detective Bowman was 50 years old and getting married for the first time to a woman of the same age who worked as an executive secretary in the Mayor's office. While Bowman wasn't a stick in the mud, he wasn't exactly a wild party animal, either.

"There won't be any horses there," he said.

"Oh." Blair looked down at his attire thoughtfully and turned back to his room.

"Too late. You're fine. Just grab a tie and let's go. No one's going to notice how you're dressed."

Sandburg ducked back into his room and came out with a tie that had a black and white M.C. Escher print on it. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Your fashion sense is renowned throughout the department."

"They're just jealous," Sandburg snorted. "Most of them learned how to dress by watching 'Kojak'. They think polyester is a natural fabric."

Jim smiled. "Nice tie."

Sandburg glared at him, but Jim ignored it and snagged his leather jacket from the hook by the door. "Let's move it. Party starts in half an hour."

Fifteen minutes later, as they were pulling into the parking lot of DiRenzo's, Sandburg was still fumbling with his tie.

Jim reached over and started adjusting it. "Twenty-eight years old and you still haven't learned how to knot one of these things."

Sandburg swatted at Jim's hands, but they didn't budge. "Of course I do. It would've been easier if you hadn't hit every pothole in Cascade on the way here. You use your senses to zero in on them?"

With a final pull, Jim finished the knot. "No, it's just a gift."

Blair batted his eyelashes at Jim. "Thanks, dear."

"No problem, honey."

The back room of the restaurant was already full when they entered. A local oldies band was playing songs from the sixties. Sandburg laughed out loud when they segued into "White Rabbit".

"This party has potential."

"Don't get any ideas, Chief."

Blair ignored him and made a beeline for a large knot of detectives. A chorus of "Sandburg" mixed in with a smattering of "Hairboy" and one "Hey, it's Eddie Vedder," greeted him.

Sandburg grasped the hand of Detective Mark Trumbull, who was about twice his size, and said, "How's it hanging, man?"

Three years ago, that would have earned Blair a black eye, but Trumbull just shook his head and smiled helplessly. "It's hanging, kid. It's hanging."

Things had definitely changed. Whether it was for the better or not remained to be seen.

Jim made his way over to the one corner of the room that seemed to have some ventilation. There were already quite a few men smoking, and he'd seen Simon with a cigar box offering them to any who wanted one.

It was going to be a long night.

Jim had never much liked parties, but understood the need for camaraderie with his fellow officers. There was little enough to celebrate on the job. He'd tried to weasel out of this one, but Sandburg had been a pain in the ass about it and he'd finally relented. Sandburg thought Jim needed to socialize more and maybe he was right, but sometimes Jim wondered exactly who was running his life.

Best not to examine that question too closely.

"I see the life of the party has arrived." Simon blew a puff of cigar smoke away from Jim, but a draft caught it and wafted back it into his face.

Jim nodded and sneezed.

Simon squinted at Blair, who was talking to Rafe and Brown and gesturing wildly with his hands. "What in the hell is on that tie?"

"It's an Escher print." Jim sniffled and wiped his eyes with a handkerchief.

"Escher?" Simon finally took the hint and squashed out his cigar on the top of the box. "Oh, the mathematician. That figures. Couldn't he wear something normal, like Bugs Bunny?"

Jim looked at Simon and smiled. They simultaneously shook their heads and said, "No."

The men watched the conversation for a while. "It's amazing," Simon finally said.

"What is?"

"When you first brought him in, I figured they'd eat him alive."

"Yeah."

The first day they'd met, Blair had thrown himself in front of a moving garbage truck to save Jim's life. Two days later, he'd demonstrated a knack for using anything not nailed down--including his mouth--to defend himself. Since then, Jim hadn't worried too much about minor things, like how he'd deal with some of the less-than-open-minded cops at the PD. Sandburg's survival instincts were in perfect working order.

"He doesn't take any crap from anyone."

"Nope."

Trumbull handed Sandburg a beer, who lifted it up in a toast and said something that elicited howls of laughter from the group surrounding him.

"He's good with people."

"Mmmhmm."

"If he ever decided to sign on permanently, I wouldn't be against it."

"Good."

Simon looked at Jim and raised his eyebrows. "You're chatty tonight."

Jim grinned. "Yeah."

"Think he'll ever do it?"

"We haven't discussed it much," How about not at all? "But I think it's a possibility. He's pretty close to finishing his dissertation."

Simon looked at Jim closely. "That scare you? That he'll be offered something he can't pass up when he's finished?"

"A little," Jim shrugged. OK, a lot. On the Sandburg Fear Analysis Scale, this one was probably off the charts.

"He's sharp; there are a lot of things he could do that would bring in more money than becoming a cop. Jobs that would be a hell of a lot safer."

"Yeah, but he's having a blast working with you fellas." Megan arrived from the bar with a three bottles of beer.

Jim took one from her. "Thanks."

Megan was the only woman in the room. Her presence meant she'd been officially accepted as one of the guys.

Not that any of the other guys would be caught dead wearing a lime green pantsuit straight out of Austin Powers.

"Lord help us," Jim thought.

Simon offered her a cigar. She wrinkled her nose and shook her head. "Dad used to smoke 'em all the time. Can't stand 'em."

They watched the party in silence for a while.

"You're a woman, Conner," Simon said.

"It's that obvious?"

"Explain Sandburg to me."

"Sir?"

"Two women at the university almost got into a fist fight over him last week."

"Oh, that."

When Conner laughed, it made her eyes twinkle. Sooner or later, Jim was going to be forced to admit to himself that he liked the woman.

"Do you see it?" Simon asked.

"Yeah," she smiled. "I do."

"Then explain it to me."

"He's safe."

"Safe?"

"Non-threatening. Open and friendly. Smart." Megan looked over at Blair, who was still talking to Trumbull. "And, quite frankly, he's sexy as hell."

Simon drew himself up to full height and eyed Sandburg. "Define sexy."

"Don't go there," Jim warned.

"You're going to date him," Simon said with something like dread.

"No. He's not really my type."

Jim laughed. "I knew there were one or two of you out there."

"So what is your type, Conner?" Jim asked.

"Short, fat, balding guys."

"More Aussie humor?"

Megan just smiled.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

"I'm sorry, sir, but you'll have to pay the reconnection fee."

Goddamn phone company.

"Look, I paid this bill, in cash, on the first of this month."

"I'm sorry, sir, we have no record of that payment. Our records show that you're two months in arrears."

"Two months?"

"Sir, there's no need to shout."

Digging in his pocket, Fred pulled out two wrinkled pieces of paper. "I have the receipts right here."

He wondered if the phone company trained its employees to use the plastic smile that was pasted on the clerk's face as she reluctantly accepted the papers from him and studied them with a frown. "The man who signed your receipts no longer works here."

"What has that got to do with it? I have a signed receipt from your company saying I paid it."

"We really prefer that you don't pay your bills in cash, sir."

"What? You don't accept money? Look, I have proof," he snatched the receipts back and waved them in the woman's face. "Right here. I paid my god damned bill, now fix it."

The woman began writing something on a piece of paper. "This is an 800 number that you can call at any time to dispute your bill."

"How am I supposed to call this number?" He leaned in close until he was almost nose to nose with the woman, and bellowed, "I don't have a god damned phone!"

The clerk's composure finally broke. She turned pale and looked at the other patrons as if hoping for help. "I'm sorry, sir. I'm just following the rules. If you call that number they can help you. You can use the pay phone over there, it's free for 800 numbers."

"And how long will it take to get this problem straightened out after I call?"

"From four to six weeks."

Fred picked up a cheap plastic chair that was pushed against the wall. It was about the right size for a first grader. Didn't matter; he wasn't planning on sitting on it. With a grunt he threw it hard and watched as it flew up and over the bureaucrat's head, narrowly missing her. It landed in the office area behind the counter, knocking a piece of equipment off a cart that looked like a printer.

The woman screamed and ducked behind the counter, pulling her phone with her. He could tell she was dialing, probably calling the cops. He turned and left, grabbing the handset of the pay phone by the door and yanking it hard enough to dislodge it from the wall on the way out.

He didn't remember much of his trip home.