A little warning, there is some swearing in this chapter. And, as always, it's not mine.

Edited: 8 March 2019

Chapter 9

Blair took one look at Jim and knew something was wrong. In all honesty, he knew something was wrong before Jim even came out of the building. Something was going to go wrong before Jim went into the building. He didn't need the warning bell going off in the back of his head for the past hour. The entire operation screamed bad idea when taking Jim's latent abilities into account. All they needed was something to send them over the edge and he'd be a full-fledged Sentinel with all the inherent problems connected to it. It wouldn't be a problem if Jim had a Guide, but he didn't. Blair mentally kicked himself for not reporting his suspicions earlier. Mentioning them to Simon at the start didn't count since the captain dismissed them so easily. He was tempted to march up to Simon then and there and insist Jim be pulled back because of his senses, but with the chaos from the hostage situation, the crowd and the press it wasn't the right time. Something like this needed to be addressed in the calm and privacy of Simon's office. Simon was preoccupied with the crime scene anyway and there would be no making him see reason until the situation was resolved.

When they finally got away from the captain, Blair focused all of his attention on Jim. The blood threw him for a moment, especially knowing that it came from a bullet meant for his Sentinel's head. Only a few more inches to the side and Blair didn't want to think what would have happened. It froze his insides, but he pushed the thought away and dragged Jim to the detective's truck muttering "I thought you wanted to attract as little attention as possible," when Jim protested.

The jingling of keys caught Blair's attention. Jim had his keys out and was slowly picking through them with the foolish assumption that he'd be driving home. Blair grabbed the keys from the larger man responding to the glare with a quick, "Car accidents tend to attract attention, too. Where do you live?"

Surprisingly, Blair didn't receive as much of an argument as he thought he would just a muttered address, which only increased the worry swirling through his stomach. Helping Jim into the passenger seat, Blair hurried around to the driver's and pulled out into traffic. Blair kept one eye on the road and the other on Jim as he navigated the early afternoon traffic.

"Eighty-five Prospect Ave," Blair muttered to himself. Luckily, he knew the street. There was a good bakery at one end. The address probably went to a tall apartment building not far from the bakery.

Jim didn't seem to notice the trip. He sank down in his seat, eyes closed, not taking in the world around him. After a few minutes, Blair realized his passenger had settled into a meditative breathing pattern. Glancing over to Jim, Blair couldn't help the surprised expression that came over his face. Jim didn't seem the type to practice meditation. Blair was so caught up in his thoughts he missed the street on the first pass but looped around and found a space in front of the building.

Easing Jim out of the seat and pulling an arm around his shoulder, Blair led Jim into the building. Blair gulped slightly at seeing the "Out of Order" sign on the elevator and the stairs off to the right.

"Jim, what apartment?" Blair asked, jostling the other man.

Jim roused, mumbled something about apartment 5A before slumping down farther on to Blair's shoulder. Blair staggered at the additional weight, grimacing at the five floor walkup with Jim leaning on him the entire way.

After a long climb and several stops along the way, the pair finally reached the door to apartment 5A. Blair fumbled with the keys, juggling between them and keeping Jim upright. He swung the door open and dropped the keys on the first flat surface he could find. Taking in the room with a quick sweep Blair noticed open concept design with the living room in the center and the kitchen to the side. The glimpse of a bedroom sat at the top of a staircase. Blair rolled his eyes.

"More stairs," Blair muttered to himself, "Of course there would be more stairs." He thought about dumping Jim on the couch and calling it a night, but Jim would be better off in his own bed. It was just a few more stairs, right? He could handle a few more stairs after five flights. Still, it didn't stop Blair from grumbling under his breath about oversized police detectives with a fascination for stairs.

Finally, Blair lowered Jim down on the bed. He moved around, pulling off Jim's shoes and tugging the covers out from under the detective. After a moment's hesitation, Blair pulled off Jim's jacket. Jim shifted as Blair draped the covers over him before sinking deeper into the bed, his breathing the same deep and even rhythm from the car ride. Jim was pale with fine tremors running along his body. Blair frowned, eyes creasing in worry, as he watched the detective slip into a deep sleep. He didn't know how to take Jim's reaction, it was stronger than he would have expected but not a spike either. Either way, he'd treat it like a spike. It was the safest way to approach any Sentinel reaction and would give him a head start if things took a turn for the worse.

Shaking his head, Blair took off his shoes and closed the thick curtains in the room before heading back down stairs in stocking feet, no sense in making any more noise than necessary. Jim didn't seem to be in too much pain but he wasn't really coherent either. With luck Blair could find something around the apartment to help dim the stimulus coming in from the outside. He headed for the next set of drapes hung over a sliding glass door on the first floor. Blair had to blink as the room was plunged into shade, only the light from one other window preventing complete darkness from engulfing the room.

Blair bumped into the couch as his eyes adjusted to the low light and he made his way over to the cabinet. If he could find a radio and get some static playing it would act as a partial white noise generator, not perfect, but it would help drown out the sounds of the street traffic below. Blair had to blink again as he pulled open the door and found not a radio but an actual white noise generator and not just one, but several lining the dark recesses of the shelf. He pulled the first one out, squinting at it in the dim light. It was a good one, top of the line and very strong. Blair frowned at the contraption in front of him. He looked back to the curtains, his frown deepening, a horrible thought forming in his mind.

The frown stayed on his face as Blair set up the white noise generators, six in all, spacing them around the apartment. By the time he'd finished, Blair couldn't control the unease and suspicion that settled in his stomach. Almost on their own, his feet found their way into the kitchen. He fumbled for the overhead stove light in the dark room. The soft yellow glow acted like an island in the dark shadow around him. Pulling open the cupboards and fridge, he ran his eyes over the contents. No salt, no sugar, no preservatives, no pepper, no spices, only rice, pasta, chicken broth, mild vegetables, a small jar of local honey, Blair counted off the list of food items he found, hardly believing what he was seeing. He just barely remembered not to slam the last door when he finished his inspection. His eyes swept over the curtains and white noise generators also taking in the sparse furnishings and decorations. The realization hit him all at once, like walking into a glass door, only traveling at the speed of sound.

Jim Ellison was a Sentinel, not latent, not in the process of developing his senses, a full-blown, five heightened senses, listen-to-your-heartbeat-across-the-freakin'-room Sentinel!

Blair had to sit down for a moment, lowering his tired body into one of the living room chairs. His mind spun with the realization and all he could feel was disbelief, but the apartment, Jim's behavior, the strange vibes he'd been picking up since meeting the detective, they all led to one conclusion. It was all so obvious Blair couldn't believe he hadn't seen it before, and if he hadn't been so caught up in what he "knew" to be true he might have. Was Jim deliberately hiding this? It seemed like it. It didn't make any sense, though. Why would a Sentinel, fully online and functional, go to such an extent to hide themselves? Blair certainly didn't know, and he couldn't think of any reason why, either. As a police detective, having senses would help Jim do his job and hiding them would make it infinitely more difficult, not to mention more dangerous. Hell, the day to day life hazards made reporting Sentinel senses worth it.

Blair's puzzlement soon gave way to anger and, though Blair knew he had no real reason, he couldn't help feeling betrayed. Jim hadn't told him. True, they hadn't known each other very long, just about two weeks, really. Still, Blair hadn't been unapproachable. He tried to be the exact opposite. Looking around again, Blair shook his head. Jim had been a full Sentinel for much longer than two weeks. Yet that was all the more reason why he should have mentioned something to Blair, someone, anyone! Didn't Jim know the risk he was taking not telling anyone? How dangerous it was for a Sentinel without a Guide?

Aggravation drove Blair to his feet again and sent his pacing across the living room. "That stupid, stubborn…What the Hell was he thinking?!" He bit off his almost rant with a glance at Jim's room as he realized his voice was growing louder with every word. The need for quiet didn't settle his racing thoughts, though.

Jim knew what he was, knew what the dangers were. He'd known when he'd gone off to crime scenes all through the week, into that construction site earlier that day. Who knew how long Jim had been hiding his condition from the world. He kept everyone at arm's length with his reputation and unapproachable nature, was thi the reason why? Blair certainly knew how hard Jim tried to keep him away. Maybe it was partly because he was a Guide that Jim was always so unpleasant to Blair. That would make sense considering what Jim was hiding. But the hiding the senses in the first place still didn't make any sense! Sentinels weren't discriminated against in public or the work force, almost the opposite, particularly in the police force. There was plenty of support and aid to anyone who needed it. If he got injured the hospital could accidentally kill him if they didn't know he was a Sentinel. Any way Blair looked at it, he couldn't see any reason why someone would actively go and hide abilities like that from the world.

"Probably why he got away with it for so long," Blair muttered to himself, frustrated.

Blair's eye's drifted over to the phone sitting on Jim's kitchen counter. He should call the GSC, tell them about Jim, get the detective the help he needed, even if Jim didn't realize it. Blair knew he should do it, everything he had been taught in all of his training classes told him a Sentinel couldn't survive alone for very long.

Still, Blair hesitated. Jim had survived on his own. Blair didn't know for how long but certainly long enough, none of the modifications for Sentinels in the apartment looked new. Part of Blair, the scientific part that loved anthropology and understanding, desperately wanted to know how Jim survived. Modern understanding of Sentinels said it wasn't possible with the increased amount of input and pollutants from the modern world. Yet, Jim was clearly functional in day to day life and even excelling in his career. The detective even managed his own adverse reaction to the chemicals at the construction site, for the most part. Blair wanted, needed to know how he did it.

Plus, if Blair turned Jim into the GSC, Jim would never talk to him again, not that he spoke very much now, but it would be worse. Jim would absolutely despise him. Blair didn't want that. A part of Blair still thought that if he kept at it he could crack the wall Jim placed between himself and everyone else, but if Blair turned Jim over to the GSC there wouldn't be any chance for that. They would take him away. Give him a different Guide, one trained to deal with late bloomers. That as much as anything decided it for Blair.

While Blair didn't know if he liked Jim very much, it was difficult to like anyone who kept everyone at arm's length the way Jim did, Blair did respect the detective. He knew Jim's determined focus on ensuring the guilty were caught, the innocent left in peace, and the victims gained justice. Jim had principles and he followed them regardless of the consequences. There was a good man beneath the ice, Blair was certain of it, and he wasn't going to destroy any chance he had of getting to know the man better.

"So no GSC for now," Blair said to himself. That meant he was on his own in dealing with Jim. Even without the GSC, Blair knew Jim wouldn't be happy with someone knowing, much less a Guide. This would take some careful thinking and planning. He looked up to the doorway into Jim's bed room. The room was still and silent, pitch black from the curtains. He blinked, realizing how dark the entire apartment had become as the sun went down. Only a faint orange glow remained from the one uncovered window and the island of light above the stove. Blair navigated his way over to the dim outline of a lamp, switching it on. He wasn't surprised when the lamp only emitted a soft yellow glow. That and the kitchen light were enough for him to use, though. There was time before Jim woke. Blair had time to figure out exactly what he needed to do and after that he could wait for however long it took.

XXXXX

Jim's tired brain struggled its way to consciousness. The world around him was calm and quiet. It was so quiet, it took him a moment to remember what happened. Jim was pretty sure it was impossible to wake up after the reaction he had at the raid to a world this calm or quiet. Either his senses should be spinning out of control, even in a minor way, Simon should be raging at him for hiding the whole Sentinel thing, or nurses and GSC reps should be poking and prodding him from all sides. None of that was the case, though. Jim was in his own bed, the telltale bubble of white noise generators running all through the apartment. At the moment, all he wanted to do was lay there and revel in the quiet. Silence as complete as this didn't come often for a Sentinel, so he intended to take advantage of it while he could.

Jim shifted under the covers, a part of his brain wondering on how he'd been coherent enough to crawl under the covers, or set out white noise generators, or get home even. As he pondered those things, he realized that it wasn't as perfectly quiet as he originally thought. There was a low thumping just below the perception of normal hearing. It beat a steady rhythm, though, and with the even cadence gave him something anchor himself. He relaxed into the sound, his still fuzzy brain ready to go back to sleep when another sound caught his attention, this one much more recognizable and much less welcome. More than just the sound he could feel the weight spread out over his feet at the bottom of the bed.

Unwillingly, Jim cracked open one eye, then two as he craned his neck to see the bottom of the bed. The room was dark, much darker than it should have been. While he could maybe believe that he'd been with-it enough to pull the blankets over him and kick off his shoes, however unlikely, Jim had a much more difficult time believing that he would have remembered to close the shades before collapsing into bed. This thought left him as his eyes adjusted to the almost nonexistent light and he caught hold of two glowing eyes of his over-sized housecat lounging across his feet at the foot of the bed. The rumbling purr emitting from its throat only increased as it caught Jim's gaze.

Jim scowled at the cat. He was not in the mood to deal with spirit animals harboring delusions of house pet. Besides, the cat was late. It was supposed to show up yesterday, or whenever, before Jim walked into a construction site filled with dust and chemicals.

"Shove off, fur ball, I'm not in the mood," Jim mumbled, though it barely penetrated his mouth, much less the quiet of the room. He tried kicking his feet to emphasize his point but the cat only settled down more.

Then, to Jim's near horror another pair of glowing eyes joined them on the bed, except these belonged to wolf. A wolf that trotted in from the doorway and was now laying down next to the panther with a settled familiarity.

For a moment, Jim only stared. He'd only ever saw one spirit animal, the panther. However, unless timber wolves had taken to wandering the streets of Cascade and entering random apartment buildings to snuggle up with inhabitants' spirit guides, Jim couldn't find any other explanation than it being another one of them.

But where the HELL had it come from?!

"No!" was all Jim could get out as he stared in disbelief at the two spirit guides lounging on his covers, "You are not allowed to have any friends over!" He knew talking to spirit animals this way was irrational, but in his shock he couldn't seem to come to any other reaction.

The panther didn't really take any notice. Simply let out a very wide yawn before swiping a tongue over the wolf's head and directing a challenging eye in Jim's direction.

Jim grabbed a pillow, not quite sure what he would do with it considering both animals were spirits, when he froze. That thumping noise he heard earlier was a heartbeat in his apartment.

Suddenly, Jim felt wide awake.

Yanking his feet out from under the heavy cat, Jim threw them over the side of the bed. Touching down to the floor, Jim stumbled over a pair of shoes left on the floor. He picked up the shoes and looked at them a moment.

"Sandburg," Jim growled to himself, "Son of a bitch."

Jim took the shoes and stalked toward the stairs, worst case scenarios ran through his head like a hundred yard dash. He stopped when he realized he still wore the slacks from yesterday and whatever residue left on them was starting to itch again. He stripped off his slacks and shirt replacing them with a pair of sweats and old unit tee-shirt from the military before stepping out onto the landing.

There was a light on in the living room and the kitchen giving a dim glow to one half of the space. All the curtains were drawn and even a towel thrown over a side of the lamp to prevent unnecessary glare from shining into his bed room. The white noise generators lay spread around the room. He could hear them creating a small bubble safe from the ambient sounds of the outside world. Any notice Jim may have taken of the Sandburg's consideration was drowned out by the realization that Sandburg knew. The thought sent rocks dropping through Jim's stomach.

Jim looked down at the living room and heard the muffled clatter of someone in the kitchen, heart racing. He didn't know what he was going to do. He didn't have a leg to stand on. Now that Sandburg knew, all the kid had to do was make a phone call, if he hadn't already, and that was it. Jim could try to intimidate him, but he knew that wouldn't work. Sandburg already lasted two weeks of Jim's cold shoulder and it hadn't scared him off yet. Maybe if he explained to the Guide the situation, they could come to an understanding…

Fat chance, Jim said to himself, he's going to tell, he's a Guide it's his job to tell.

Maybe, if Jim tried a little bit of intimidation mixed with a deal. That could work, right? Jim honestly didn't know, but he sure wasn't going down without a fight.

Heading down the stairs, Jim decided to start out with the aggressive approach. He was mad enough that he didn't think he could go with any other emotion at the moment. The sounds from the kitchen continued as he crossed the living room.

"Sandburg! What the hell are you doing in my apartment?"

Sandburg gave a satisfying jump, spilling hot water over his hands from the mug, as he spun around. "Jim!" he gasped, wincing from the water. "You're awake."

"Clearly," Jim growled, drawing from years of experience in the interrogation room to assume the right posture. "Mind answering the question now?"

Sandburg rolled his eyes, the worried look on his face hardening as he turned back to finish making his tea. "Oh I don't know, I just thought it might be a bad idea to leave a Sentinel alone while they're in the middle of a reaction."

Jim's scowl deepened at the reply. Time for the first line of defense, deny everything. "I don't know what you're talking about, Sandburg."

Sandburg shot Jim a flat, unimpressed look. "Let's cut the crap. I know and you know I know. Listen to my heartbeat if you don't believe me."

Alright, denial wasn't working. Next step: deflection. "Still didn't give you permission to enter into my private residence."

"Probable cause and concern for the health and safety of the individual at risk of an ongoing medical condition," Sandburg shot back, dunking one of Jim's tea bags into one of Jim's cups. The man had been snooping through Jim's kitchen.

Clearly Sandburg spent too much time to his own devices the last two weeks reading up on police procedure. Now Jim regretted ignoring the observer instead of giving the Sandburg busy work. "I was handling it," Jim growled.

Sandburg paused at that before continuing his movements and squirting honey into his brewing tea. With a reluctant half nod he agreed in the most annoyingly reasonable voice Jim had ever heard, "Actually you were. I didn't have to do anything for you sensory wise, except setup the safe guards," he swept a hand around the apartment, "but I didn't see you driving yourself home, or getting yourself in bed."

Jim opened his mouth to interrupt, but Sandburg continued on regardless.

"So Jim, exactly how long have you been hiding the fact that you're a Sentinel?"

"That is none of your business," Jim ground out, stiffening if possible more than before with his arms crossed in front of him. He was losing control of this conversation, if he ever had control of it in the first place.

Sandburg tensed, an edge of anger coming into his tone as his gaze narrowed, "Oh, I think it's my business, considering I'm a Guide."

"And that automatically gives you the right to pry into every aspect of my life, does it?" Jim exploded, throwing his hands up. He always did have a tempter but right now it was going to help him put Sandburg on the defensive.

The anger came through and shattered Sandburg's calm façade, his voice rose and took a harsh tone, "It's too dangerous, Jim! Don't you realize the number of things that could go wrong? The number of unknown factors, especially in a city, that react badly with your senses? Don't you get it? It's for-"

"For my own good," Jim cut, trying to keep his voice at a reasonable level in case the neighbors heard but unable to rid it of the bitterness. "Bullshit. I've seen how Sentinels live under your care. They're not allowed to make their own decisions, live their own lives. Do you honestly think people are really going to want to live like that? Maybe in other places, but not here. We've gotten just a little too used to the whole idea of personal freedom."

Sandburg opened his mouth to deny the accusation but Jim pushed forward.

"Can you honestly tell me that if I had gone to you Guides at the GSC that you would have let me live wherever I wanted, eat what I wanted, worked where I wanted, done what I wanted?"

For a moment, Sandburg didn't seem to know how to respond to that. His mouth snapped shut with a click and a heavy silence fell between the two. The white noise generators worked in the background and the shadows hung thick outside the dim circle of light.

"You…" Sandburg faltered, grimacing, "You would have had options."

"Options like I had in the Army?" Jim scoffed, "I've known what those options are like. I could give my opinion but in the end I'm at service of the powers that be. That's fine in the military. At least, they're honest about it. I volunteered to go into the military and then had a chance to leave when my time was done. I never volunteered to be a Sentinel. That's something that was forced on me. You and your GSC like to pretend you're honestly giving people a choice instead of plain old coercion or manipulating them with threats about their health. Nobody's going to want to live that way, not their whole life."

XXXXX

Blair remained silent for a long time after that, his forgotten tea cooling in his hand. Jim said more and spoke more openly in those few moments than Blair had heard from him in the past few weeks. The man spoke as though he'd been keeping those sentiments bottled inside him for a long time, exploding out with all of the frustration and anger along with it. This was Jim's powder keg. The thing he carried around with him every day at work and Blair just lit a match to it.

Blair didn't know how to respond. He'd never thought of it that way. It just didn't make sense to him. People who were sick got medical help. People who were in danger called the police. There wasn't any sense in condemning yourself to a life of pain and difficulty when there was open and easy help within reach. Then again, those people didn't give up control of their entire life to a group of relative strangers, he debated with himself. True, he had to admit that some people refused police protection for that exact reason, they didn't see living life in protective custody as life at all. Still, those were relatively temporary, limited problems. A Sentinel's situation was in many ways much more complex and dangerous. It would be like refusing treatment for cancer. It went against every self protective instinct in human nature. It wasn't as though the GSC forced people by gun point. There weren't any laws requiring Sentinels to live a certain way. Still, the uneasy feeling of doubt grew.

Suddenly, Blair realized the full impact of Jim's words. He'd spoken in the plural, this entire time Blair, himself, had been thinking in the plural, multiple Sentinels, not just one. "Jim," Blair said, his face paling as the horrible thought struck him, "Are there others?"

"Others?" Jim grunted, his expression closing off and refusing to take Blair's meaning.

"Others!" Blair nearly yelled, "Other Sentinels, hiding!"

Jim stared at him for a moment, a hard glint in his eye. The response was flat and definitive. "No." Jim was a good liar according to his body language, but emotions were different. While Jim's control over his own emotions, was admirable, the feelings of dread and foreboding still seeped into the room.

"You're lying," Blair hissed. He didn't need Jim's confirmation, he already knew. That gut feeling that he had about so many things, the same one that tried to warn him about Jim if he hadn't ignored it for so long, told him it was true. "How many?"

Jim didn't answer. His shoulders squared and stiff, his back ramrod straight, jaw tense and hands clenched ready for a fight. Blair knew he wouldn't be getting any answers from the stubborn man in front of him. The anthropological observer in Blair noticed the same steel-strong loyalty that was so common in Sentinels clamping down to protect those in their care, like when a Sentinel's Guide was in danger, but here the Sentinel was not protecting his Guide. He was protecting other Sentinels from the Guides. The idea was so foreign, so irrational that Blair couldn't say anything for several minutes.

Blair finally shattered the crushing silence that flooded the room. "That many, huh?" he whispered, unable to speak any louder.

What had happened? Why would Sentinels suddenly decide to hide from their Guides, the very people who were trying to help them? Was it something the Guides had done? It must be. Blair felt a surge of failure in his chest. He knew it was probably not due to any personal mistake, but knowing that the Guide community in general could have caused such a rift of distrust cut deeply. What had they done wrong? Had they really become as controlling as Jim claimed? Jim certainly believed it. In the anger coming from the other man, Blair recognized suspicion and hostility directed specifically at him.

"Why?" Blair finally choked out, his throat dry and voice cracking.

Jim looked at him for a long moment, his gaze cold and serious. "It's like I said, nobody wants to be told how to live their own life," he finally said in a flat voice.

"It's not as bad as that," Blair responded automatically, though the words seemed hollow as he thought of all the new regulations pushed through in the past ten years concerning Sentinel living habits. No, there weren't any laws, yet, but there might as well have been.

"No?" Jim asked, a hard edge in his voice. "Not too long ago they found another Sentinel living nearby, a late bloomer. Took him to the community home and went through all his belongings, getting rid of what they deemed "unsafe" for a Sentinel. They didn't even give him a choice in the matter."

"That was-" Blair started. He was going to say "standard procedure" but stopped himself short when he realized it would only prove Jim's point. "Wrong," he finally admitted as he deflated, "They shouldn't have done that."

Jim didn't say anything more. He didn't need to, Blair reflected as his gaze drifted to some unfixed point. He thought he understood, at least in part. Thinking of his own mother and her constant efforts to evade the restrictions from the all powerful "man", he could see why people would go to the lengths Jim did to hide their condition. It was a sobering thought and frightening when he realized of where it had lead, where it could lead.

Where it could lead, Blair reminded himself, there was time to change it. They could redirect, change their approach, find a way that would both help Sentinels and allow them to keep their autonomy and independence. Still, that didn't mean that Jim should be left to struggle with his senses alone. If anything, the incident at the raid showed that even with his impressive control he could use the help and support of a Guide. Plus, the scientist in Blair still wondered how Jim managed to get through days, months, years, of surviving with Sentinel senses without the help of a Guide or the specialized treatment provided to known Sentinels. How was the man still healthy? How was he still sane?

"You're right," Blair said, nodding his head as he ran over his plan in his head. "You're completely right. I won't tell them"

The statement threw Jim for a loop. His hands dropped to his sides. "You won't… You haven't? You didn't call?" Jim asked, the astonishment and disbelief apparent in his tone.

"No," Blair said after a pause. He moved to where Jim dropped Blair's shoes on the floor. Putting them on, Blair straightened and looked directly at the Sentinel. "But come tomorrow there's going to be some new rules. One: You don't leave the building without me right beside you-"

Jim opened his mouth to interrupt, his eyes darkening with the new turn of events.

Blair continued on a little louder, "I want to see how you cope. Plus, we can't have another episode like today occurring. Two: I'm moving in for a little while just as a precaution. Three…" he didn't really have a three but he made one up anyway, "you have to start being nicer to people, no sense in your bad mood ruining everyone else's day. Four…well, we'll make it up as we go along."

"You can't seriously expect me-" Jim started.

Blair folded his arms over his chest, appearing as much an immovable object as possible, "Or I can make a phone call right now."

Jim's voice lowered to a hiss, "That's blackmail."

Thinking over it for a second, Blair nodded, "Yes, yes it is, and while I usually don't approve of those things, in this case I'm willing to make an exception. Don't go anywhere. It's almost midnight. I'll be back in twenty minutes." Then, without another word and before Jim could answer, Blair spun on the spot and left the apartment.

TBC….