~*~*~*~

~*~*~*~

From "The Cascade Times," December 16, 1999:

POST-GRADUATE CEREMONY TOMORROW

"Rainier University Will Honor Forty-Three Graduates of its Masters and Doctorate Programs in an Afternoon Ceremony."

~*~*~*~

Jim had dual purposes for tonight's poker game. Sure, it was Friday night, no one was working overtime, and it gave them an excuse to just be guys. It also gave Jim the opportunity to "come out" about his senses. Blair was graduating tomorrow and neither wanted to continue lying to their friends about the subject of his thesis. The past month had been filled with many long talks between Jim and Blair, talks about what to say and when to say it. Whom to say it to was also a big issue.

Hundreds of hours of deliberation had brought Jim to this table, surrounded by these people.

Simon Banks sat to Jim's left. The captain had been the first to know about Jim's extraordinary senses. He'd been a fantastic friend and support, coming to understand the value Jim placed on Blair and on their partnership. Simon had stuck his neck out with the brass countless times, helping Jim go on evidence they could never explain having. Jim had told him what he planned to say tonight. Simon said he would back Jim's decision one hundred percent.

Next to Simon sat Henri Brown. He currently had all the money, his amazing luck holding out for a change. Jim had known Henri for three years and trusted him without reservation. While Jim knew Henri would understand, he also knew the hip detective would facilitate the most teasing. It didn't bother Jim that much.

Beside Henri was his partner. Four months of marriage had agreed with Rafe. He had gained a few pounds, but on his lean form it only served to make the handsome policeman more attractive. Rafe was young, but an intelligent and instinct-driven detective.

Joel Taggart was next, the only soon-to-be grandfather among them. His son, Lucas, had announced the pregnancy of his girlfriend three weeks ago. The two had no plans to marry, but Lucas was excited about being a father. Joel had taken it with dignity, but Jim knew that was not what Joel wanted for his only child. Jim often wondered if Joel didn't already know about his senses, or at least suspect something of the ilk. They had worked on several big cases in the past, and Jim could remember specific instances of Joel observing him quietly.

The last of the poker party, at Jim's right, was David "Boomer" Noble. He was an enigma to Jim, a man he'd only known a short time, but already trusted impeccably. Boomer was the sort that made a powerful friend, but had the potential to be a devastating enemy. He was private, but self-sacrificing. Jim was glad to have Boomer around.

Two faces were missing from the crowd that evening. Blair was out on the town with Naomi, mother and son celebrating the capstone of his years of work and research. Naomi was staying the weekend to visit with her son, then flying to Big Sur on Monday to spend the holidays.

Megan Connor was also missing; out on a date with a young attorney she'd met back in October. After two months of being pestered, she had finally agreed to go out with him. Jim attributed her absence to the slightly sour expression that had been plastered across David's face all evening. Half the department knew Megan and David were in love; however, they seemed to have no clue.

"Jim?"

Jim looked at Simon, aware everyone was watching him. "What?"

"Your bet."

Jim looked at the cards in his hand. He had two pair, aces high. He tossed his money onto the center of the table. "Call."

"Call," David said.

"Straight, king high," Henri said, laying down his cards.

The rest of the players groaned and tossed their cards down.

"I swear he's cheating," Rafe grumbled.

Henri flashed him a toothy grin. "Do I detect a hint of jealousy?"

"Damn straight," Rafe said. "You've got all my money."

Simon laughed. "Tracey'll kick your butt onto the couch if you lose any more."

The comment sent the men into a round of laughter. The cards were collected and Rafe dealt out a new hand. Jim organized his cards carefully, taking more time than necessary to do so. Simon seemed to sense Jim's tension and gave him a perfect opening.

"I'm looking forward to reading a copy of Blair's dissertation," Simon said.

"Me, too, now that you mention it," Rafe said. "I want to see what he wrote about me."

"Why would he write about you?" Henri asked. "I am a much more interesting subject in regards to, what was it? Closed societies and the police subculture?"

"Actually," Jim said, "that's not Blair's topic."

Several curious faces turned to Jim.

"He changed it?" Rafe asked.

"Not exactly." Jim stood and walked over to the bookshelf where he'd placed Burton's monograph earlier that evening. "He never intended to write about subcultures. Ever since Blair was an undergrad, he's wanted to write about one thing…Sentinels."

"Sentinels," David echoed.

Picking carefully over the words he had rehearsed, Jim described the Sentinel mythology to his friends. He showed them Burton's book and described the necessity of hyperactive senses for the tribal warriors in the everyday task of protecting the tribe.

"Ancient hunters are one thing," Henri said. "But what does that—wait."

It was sinking in for Henri. Joel watched Jim carefully, as his mind seemed to put it all together. Rafe and David remained perplexed.

"I am a Sentinel," Jim said. A great weight seemed to rise off his shoulders then; the weight of such a great secret kept from close friends. "Back in '96, I thought I was going crazy. Then Blair showed up, spouted some stuff about genetic throwbacks and I blew him off. But he was right and he's been helping me control and develop my senses ever since. The trade-off was he used what he learned from me in his dissertation."

"So all those times," Joel said, "you saw things or heard things that we couldn't. That was because of this Sentinel thing?"

"It's not a thing," Jim said. "It's what I am. Trust me, I've tried to make it go away. Sometimes it seems more like a hindrance than a gift, but it's saved a lot of lives."

"Your name and your abilities," David said, catching on. "It's plastered all over Blair's dissertation?"

"Not all over," Jim said. "The dissertation is about Sentinels in general. Blair used me in sections of it, proving that Sentinels do exist today and the things we can and cannot do with our senses."

"You say us and our," Rafe sad. "Have you ever met another Sentinel?"

Jim and Simon exchanged a look. They knew this one was going to come up.

"Alex Barnes was a Sentinel," Jim said.

"Barnes?" Henri repeated. "The psycho that stole nerve gas and led you guys to Peru?"

"Yeah," Jim said. "It was her senses that drove her insane. She didn't understand how to use them. Alex never had anyone to teach her. If Blair hadn't sought me out, I could have ended up like that."

There were a few moments of silence.

David cleared his throat. "Won't having Blair's dissertation approved set you up as a media target? Or at least a criminal target?"

"We've taken care of that," Jim said. "Except for the people at Rainier who need to see it, the thesis is going to be restricted. No one can access it without Blair's approval. Blair's telling Naomi tonight. Besides my dad and Connor, you are the only people who know. And it has to stay that way."

"Megan knows?" David asked.

Jim nodded. "She found out in Peru. Simon's known since the beginning. That's all. I'm sorry I've kept this secret for so long, but it's taken me a long time to get used to it myself. And I trust each one of you to keep it a secret."

Jim looked at his friends, each one meeting his gaze and nodding. It was a simple gesture, but one Jim knew he could count on. The silent promise made, quiet settled over the group.

"How far can you hear?" Henri asked.

"Depends," Jim said. "On how loud it is and the kind of interference."

A sly grin spread across Henri's face. "You ever listen to your neighbors, see who's getting some?"

The horrified look on Jim's face was enough to send the group into a fit of laughter.

It was all right.

~*~*~*~

It was after midnight when Simon left. He had stayed to talk a bit after the rest had gone. They knew it would take their friends a while to completely absorb what Jim had told them. But they agreed again that this had been the right choice. Jim had answered a few more of their questions and fielded more jokes, but no one had reacted in the negative.

Jim tossed empty beer bottles into the recycle bucket and slid pretzel crumbs into the garbage. His elbow hit the deck of playing cards, sending them flying to the floor. Jim groaned. He knelt and began to gather them together. Most had landed face down.

A single card had landed face-up and it was this one Jim picked up. It was a king of hearts, the suicide king. The only card in the deck in which the face impaled itself with a sword. Jim ran his finger across the card.

It struck him at that moment, hard like a blow; something that had been churning in the back of his mind for months; a fuzzy connection that had just now become clear.

He dropped the card, grabbed his keys and coat, and bolted out of the loft.

~*~*~*~

Major Crime was silent at two-thirty a.m. The night shift filtered in and out, mostly busying themselves outside the Communications office. Jim sat at his desk under the light of a small lamp. He shuffled through a pile of case files he had just finished scraping together until he found the one he needed.

On December 13, Joel Ridley, divorced father of two, had been found dead in an alley between Hanover and 46th Streets. He was shot at close range by his own rifle. His eldest son Ryan confessed his father would go out late at night and mug drug dealers, taking their cash and flushing the drugs. Ridley had believed no intelligent drug dealer would call the police and report they had been robbed of their drug money. Ridley had apparently been at this for over eighteen months and paid for part of Ryan's college tuition with the money, feeling this was the only way he could afford to send two kids to college on his janitor's salary.

Jim scanned the file and various reports. It wasn't the details of the crime that interested him; it was what he remembered seeing at the crime scene. Jim flipped through the photographs of the alley.

"Bingo," he said.

In a high angle of Ridley's body, a line of trashcans was clearly visible in the background. Jim's finger traced a white mark by the cans, not needing a magnifying glass to see what the mark was. Jim had noticed the king of hearts during the initial survey of the crime scene and had logged it into evidence. This case was Jim's most recent memory of finding a playing card at a crime scene. The other instances were piled on his desk.

Jim sifted through the case files, scanning names and dates. Maury Dickinson committed suicide March 19 with a deck of cards in his pocket. Matt Robbins, Rainier's Easter Break attacker, found dead on campus April 24, a card in the flower bed nearby. Luther Jacobson, on parole for rape, killed by a hit-and-run November 30, a card on the pavement across the street. Tom Creeler, May 6; Patrick Swanson, February 29; Rusty Whitford, September 9; each paroled felons that met untimely deaths or suicides, each one found with a king of hearts on or nearby him.

One file stood out from the rest, a file that Jim wished he didn't have to reopen. Traces of anger still swirled around this case, feelings that something more should have been done to punish the man whose name was on the file. Jim flipped open Rolph Kroeger's file and began to read.

Minutes melted into hours, hours passing quickly. While none of the men seemed to have any personal connection—other than several serving time in the same prison—there was a common thread linking them together. A thread you could only see when you read the entire rap sheet, not just the convictions. Every man on Jim's desk, every scene where a king of hearts had appeared belonged to that of a man who would have gotten away with a crime.

For Kroeger it was rape and murder. For Ridley it was mugging and assault. For Jacobson it was grand theft auto. Each man had walked for a different crime, but each had finally paid the price. And they paid it with their lives.

~*~*~*~

There was that chirping sound again. He'd thought it was part of his dream. But that meant he would have to be asleep, and Jim was fairly sure he was awake now. His eyes focused on the object in front of him—his hand. Groaning softly from the crick in his neck, Jim picked his head up off his desk and yanked his cell phone out of his pocket.

"Ellison."

The phone continued to ring.

Jim rubbed sleep from his eyes and hit "receive."

"Ellison," he tried again.

<"Jim?"> Blair's concerned voice asked. <"Where are you, man?">

"At the station," was Jim's foggy reply. "I wanted to check on something and fell asleep at my desk."

Blair chuckled. <"I've done that several time myself. You should come home, it's six o'clock.">

Jim looked down at the hands on his watch. It was ten after six.

"I'll be there soon."

<"Hey, what was so important you had to check it out in the middle of the night?">

Jim hesitated. It was Blair's day and Jim didn't want to ruin it with details like these. It was something he would discuss with Simon later in the day. But for now, it would keep.

"Nothing. I'll tell you later."

Jim hung up and stared at the pile of files on his desk. It would keep.

~*~*~*~

Blair flew around the loft all morning, fairly bursting with energy. He and Naomi had gone out the night before and spent an amazing evening together. Blair knew he had an unusual relationship with his mother—more best friends than mother and son—but it was not something he would ever trade.

He spent several hours reorganizing the shelves in the loft. He had cleaned out his office at Rainier the day before. This term was his last as a teaching fellow. Blair knew he would miss the work, but it also gave him more time to attend to his work with the police department. He had approached Simon on Tuesday with thoughts on working full-time with Major Crime. Simon promised to look into it.

Blair repositioned a tribal mask next to a clay urn. He caught bits and pieces of Jim's phone conversation with Simon. Something about kings, cards and criminals. He knew it was whatever had taken Jim to the precinct at midnight, so it must be important to bother Simon with on his day off.

He heard Jim say something about Monday, then good bye. The cordless clicked off and Jim padded softly down the steps from his bedroom.

"Now are you going to tell me what you did last night?" Blair asked.

Jim walked into the kitchen and poured another cup of coffee. "Nah. It's more fun to torture you with it."

"Funny, Jim." Blair bounced on his toes, eyes wandering to the kitchen clock. "Four more hours."

"Sandburg, you're going to sprain something if you don't calm down." Jim sipped his coffee. "Coffee's kinda bitter this morning."

Blair nodded. "I bought something new yesterday at the Farmer's Market. It's free-trade coffee, which means it's—"

"I know what free-trade means," Jim said. He sipped again and grimaced. "Maybe we can stick with Folger's."

~*~*~*~

Megan Connor sat on the hood of her car, grateful it was not raining. The unreliable rental had decided it was not going to start this afternoon. After several minutes of colorful swearing, Megan had given in and called David. He said he would swing by and pick her up on his way to Rainier.

She picked at the hem of her blue dress, trying not to think about last night's disaster date. Megan had run into Robin McCarthy during a court date back in October. The young lawyer had chatter her up and insisted on taking her out to dinner. After two months of putting him off, Megan had run out of excuses. And she figured if she went out with him, he would leave her alone.

After last night, he'd probably move out of Cascade. Suffice it to say the evening had included missing tickets, a bad choice of wine, a flaming desert and scorched table linens.

David's Jeep Cherokee pulled up in front of Megan's car and the horn tooted softly. Megan slid off her car, adjusted the back of her dress and climbed into the passenger seat.

"Did you call a tow truck?" David asked.

Megan nodded. "They'll come get it this afternoon. If they can't fix it this weekend, the rental agency will give me a new one until they can."

"That's good."

An awkward silence fell over the car. Soft jazz played on the radio, but that only added to the odd gulf between them.

Megan stole a glance at David. He wore black slacks and a white sweater, perfectly accenting his salt-and-pepper hair. It occurred to Megan that in the ten months since they'd met, she had never asked how old he was. Around Jim's age, she would guess. But there was something in his presence that made David seem older than he looked, a heavy burden he refused to share.

A mile down the road, he pulled over and shifted into park.

"What's the matter?" Megan asked.

David twisted in his seat to face Megan. "I've been acting like an ass," he said.

"What?" She would admit their conversations had been snappish the last few days, and his reaction to her date with Robin a bit acidic; however, David's statement still came as a bit of a shock. "What are you talking about?"

"When you told me you were going out with that lawyer," he said. "I was jealous."

"Jealous?" she echoed.

"That you were going out with him"—David paused, flushing slightly—"and not with me."

Megan was struck dumb. She stared at him blankly, even as a tiny seed of joy began to swell inside of her. She remembered countless jokes from Rhonda and Blair about how she and Boomer acted like a married couple; the anticipation with which she greeted each new day at work over the last few months. The tender kiss they had shared at Easter.

Pieces began to slowly fall into place.

"I think I wished the date would go badly," she said. "I didn't want to get involved with him. I just wanted the man off my back."

"I could have had him shot."

Megan laughed. "You still can. He is a criminal lawyer, after all."

She knew in that instant that they had reached a turning point in their relationship. He seemed to sense it too, evidenced in the hesitancy of his next words.

"Megan," he said softly. "Will you do me the honor of being my date to this afternoon's ceremony?"

Her heart leapt. "Yes."

David grinned. He held her gaze for several more moments, then shifted into drive and merged back into traffic.

"So how was your date, anyhow?" he asked as they entered the expressway.

She began to laugh, as much from his attempt to ask nonchalantly as from her memories of the disaster date. She laughed so hard she was afraid tears would smudge her mascara.

"That good, huh?" David said.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," Megan replied.

"That bad?"

Megan nodded. "But the fire didn't cause too much damage."

David's curious stare sent Megan into a fit of giggles, the earlier tension forgotten. As they headed toward the university, she began to recant the date in detail, stopping several times to calm her own laughter.

"I think that's one for the record books," David said at the story's end. He exited the expressway and followed the ramp to University Avenue.

~*~*~*~

The auditorium was packed with friends and relatives of the day's graduates. The various members of Major Crime and their families had commandeered a section of the seventh row, dead center. Simon and Daryl Banks, Rafe and Tracey, Amy West, Henri Brown, Joel Taggart, Megan and Boomer, Rhonda and Alan. Naomi sat between Jim and Simon; her expressive eyes glimmered with unshed tears.

They had sat through the traditional introductions, greetings, the processional, and the President's speech. Jordan Cleese, executive-producer and host of the long-running and award-winning children's program "Rockin' Schoolhouse," was the day's guest of honor. He gave a humorous speech filled with encouragement for the audience as much as the graduates. Cleese was then awarded an honorary degree as a Doctor of Human Letters.

The presentation of the Masters Degrees had concluded and the eleven students receiving Doctorates began.

"Elaine Rochelle Buchannon, Doctor of Psychology."

Jim focused in on the back of Blair's head. He could hear his friend's heartbeat thumping hard in his chest. Jim felt his own heart beating with the same excitement he knew Blair must feel. Jim was proud of Blair, much more proud than he thought possible. He had read the final draft of the thesis and was impressed, to say the least. It was a masterwork and part of Jim wished Blair could receive the attention such a manuscript deserved. But fame had never been Blair's desire in writing about Sentinels.

It was the human element that drew Blair to the subject. The idea that people still lived with these abilities and many probably didn't know how to handle them. Jim knew there were more Sentinels out there. Someday, perhaps, Blair's thesis could serve as a teaching tool.

Someday, but not today.

Jim turned and scanned the faces of his friends. Simon grinned proudly, as if watching his own son graduate all over again. Tracey whispered something in her husband's ear and Rafe laughed softly. Megan and David sat close together, their fingers intertwined. Jim shook his head, glad the pair had finally come to their senses.

"Blair Sandburg, Doctor of Anthropology."

A soft cheer rose from Jim's row. He clapped loudly, surprised to discover tears pricking the corners of his eyes. Tears of joy as four years of research, questions, tests, laughter, and exasperation had finally culminated in this moment.

Blair walked across the stage slowly, savoring this sweet moment. His chin trembled softly as he accepted his degree. He paused and looked out into the crowd, his eyes catching Jim's. Blair's lips moved, making sounds that only Jim could hear. Blair grinned and walked off the stage, holding back tears of his own.

Naomi leaned toward Jim, tears streaking her cheeks. "What did he say?" she asked softly.

Jim cleared his throat and blinked hard. "He said 'thank you.'"

~*~*~*~

Lucas Taggart and Jeremy Raines missed the ceremony, opting to spend those hours decorating the loft and preparing food for the party. Jim had left strict instructions to clean up any messes before turning over a key. About the time the graduation ceremony ended, the two young men stepped back to admire their work.

The living room furniture had been moved to the left and rearranged with various folding chairs to provide optimum sitting space. The floor area nearest the balcony had been cleared to create a makeshift dance floor. Silver and blue streamers and balloons were draped around expertly. An enormous banner reading "Congrats Dr. Sandburg!" was hung on the wall by the front door; several markers were sticky-tacked to it so guests could sign it. The kitchen table was covered with food of all varieties: chips and salsa; veggies and dip; fruit salad; baked beans; cold cuts and rolls; a bowl of M&M's. The island held a bucket of ice, bottled water, diet and regular cola, plates and cups. An ice chest sat on the floor, chilling four different kinds of beer. Santana played softly on the stereo.

Jeremy took the lens cap off his camera and backed up to the front door, taking several shots of the loft. Lucas stood at his elbow, grinning.

"We make a good team, pal," Lucas said.

"Yeah, we do," Jeremy said.

Guests began to arrive less than ten minutes later, mostly friends of Blair's unable to attend the ceremony. Jeremy propped the front door open so everyone wouldn't have to knock. Simon, Daryl and Joel came together, followed almost immediately by Rafe, Tracey and Amy. The loft filled quickly over the next half-hour. Some guests brought gifts or cards, and these were placed on the coffee table beneath the wall banner. Megan and David arrived together, fingers still intertwined, trailed by Rhonda, Alan and Maggie.

The guest of honor appeared at seven o'clock, flanked by Jim and Naomi. A soft cheer erupted when the trio walked in.

Blair stopped just inside the loft, still wearing his cap, and announced, "The doctor is in!"

Laughter and scattered applause followed. Blair hadn't seen many of his friends at the ceremony and began making the rounds, receiving heartfelt hugs and congratulations from the people he treasured most in the world.

Jim watched his partner with nothing but open pride. Naomi's arm encircled his waist and she leaned her head on his shoulder.

"I've never seen him so happy," Naomi said.

"Me, either," Jim said.

Someone handed Jim a beer. He accepted it gratefully. Let the party begin.

~*~*~*~

An hour later, Jim climbed halfway up the steps to his bedroom and signaled for Rafe to cut the music. Lenny Kravitz stopped singing about his American Woman. Jim whistled, attracting the attention of the crowd below him. Simon snagged Blair lightly by the shirt collar and led him over to the steps. Blair walked up and stood next to Jim, his eyes flitting around nervously. Naomi stood at the base of the steps.

"You guys know I'm not very good at speeches," Jim said, eliciting soft laughter from below. "I have something to confess to Dr. Sandburg here, but I'll be quick."

Blair chuckled. "I don't think I want to know, man."

"Remember how the Volvo wouldn't start this afternoon?" Jim asked.

"Yeah, I was running late so you drove me over in the truck." Blair's brow furrowed. "Come to think of it, the car wasn't parked outside when we got here."

"That's because I drove it over to Nielsen's Garage."

"Drove?"

Jim nodded, biting back the grin that kept threatening. "I put the battery back in and drove it over."

"Jim, what—?"

Jim held up a silencing hand. "Naomi and I decided your car, as it is, is a safety hazard, so this is our gift to you, Chief. When you pick up the Volvo on Tuesday, it will have a brand-new engine inside."

Blair's jaw dropped. He stood speechless as his guests applauded. It was nothing he had expected and was stunned into silence. Vaguely aware of anyone else, Blair threw his arms around Jim's neck. Blair hugged him tight and whispered, "Thanks, Jim."

Jim hugged back. "Welcome."

Blair suddenly released Jim and bolted down the steps to envelop his mom in a crushing hug. Naomi kissed his temple, her beautiful laugh echoing through the loft.

"While we have everyone's attention," Simon boomed as he climbed the steps to where Jim stood. "I might as well do this. Sandburg!"

"Yeah?" Blair said, whipping around.

"Front and center, Doctor," Simon said.

Blair walked up and stood on the step just above Simon and below Jim. This time, he looked nervous.

"After our conversation last Tuesday," Simon said, as much to Blair as to the crowd, "I talked with a few people, including Jim. We decided that since you won't be teaching at Rainier this winter, we needed to do something to keep an eye on you."

Hope sprang up on Blair's face.

"You're finished in the department, Chief," Jim said. At the expression of fear on Blair's face, he quickly amended, "As an observer."

"Where's your observer's pass?" Simon asked.

"Uh, my coat," Blair said.

Rafe, standing nearest the front door, felt around in Blair's jacket until he found the pass. It was passed hand-over-hand until it reached the trio on the steps. Naomi reached up and gave it to Simon.

Simon pocketed the pass and handed Blair a leather billfold. It was just like Jim's, but empty of a badge or identification. Blair brushed his fingers over the soft leather and looked at Simon, bewildered.

"I am offering you a full-time position as a special advisor to the Cascade Police Department. The Chief and Commissioner both agree your track record speaks for itself and feel you would be an invaluable asset to the PD. And Detective Ellison is in need of a permanent partner."

Blair had hoped for an offer like this, but had never imagined actually getting a full-time position. It was more than he could process. He looked at Naomi, who beamed up at him with the pride only a mother can express. He looked at Jim, who grinned like a mad fool.

"Fill out the paperwork on Monday," Simon said. "You get your new credentials and officially start on Wednesday."

"Say something, Sandy," Megan urged from below.

Blair finally looked at Simon and found his voice. "Does this mean a paycheck?" he asked.

The room erupted in laughter. Simon placed a hand on Blair's shoulder.

"Yes, it does," Simon said. "It also means filing daily reports—"

"I'm used to that," Blair said. "I've been doing Jim's for years." He ducked as Jim tried to cuff the back of his head.

"It also means following orders from superiors," Simon added.

Jim grinned. "So when I say stay in the car—"

"I nod my head and get out anyway," Blair joked. "And Jim?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm still not cutting my hair."

~*~*~*~

By midnight, the beer was gone and the crowd has thinned slightly. Oldies had replaced rock on the stereo. Henri, Blair and David—drunk off their collective asses—had overtaken a corner of the living room, belting out "If You Wanna Be Happy" with Jimmy Soul.

"If you wanna be happy for the rest of your life," they sang, off-key and out of sync. "Never make a pretty woman your wife. So from my personal point of view, get an ugly girl to marry you…"

Rafe hummed along from his seat on the couch, receiving teasing pokes from Tracey. Megan and Amy watched the trio sing, passing whispered comments between themselves. Jim, Simon and Joel laughed at them from the kitchen, dividing the last of the baked beans. Various knots of friends dotted the loft.

As the song gave way to "Rockin' Robin," the trio received hearty applause. Henri bowed and stumbled as he lost his balance. David grabbed him by the shirt to keep Henri from pitching forward onto his face.

Amy, a bit snoggered herself, broke from her conversation with Megan and bounced over to Blair. She grabbed his hands and led him into an impromptu swing dance to the upbeat song.

Unsteady on his feet and a bit fuzzy in the mind, David shambled over to Megan sat down hard beside her.

"Think I got a shot at being a singer?" he asked.

"You've got the same shot I do at being a folk dancer," Megan said.

David frowned. "You don't like folk dancing."

"And when you're sober, you don't like singing," she countered.

He took several moments to process what she'd said, then began to laugh. Megan laughed with him, shaking her head.

"I'm definitely driving you home," she said.

"Good idea," David said.

"Smile!"

The pair looked up in time to be blinded by the flash of Jeremy's camera. Colorful spots clouded their vision.

Jeremy grinned and moved on to his next victim. He took careful focus of Blair and Amy, snapping the shot just as Amy spun out, her flared skirt rising upward. Jeremy laughed, then walked away. They didn’t notice their picture had been taken.

The young photographer had been snapping photos all evening and was on his fifth roll of film. As much as he loved working for the CPD, sometimes crime scenes were too much for him. He hoped some of these turned out well enough for his portfolio.

"Smile, Captain," Jeremy said.

Simon froze with a spoon in his mouth, cutting his eyes at Jeremy as he took the shot. Simon blinked hard.

"I want that negative!" Simon called out as Jeremy walked away. That was the third time Simon had been photographed doing something silly.

"I might want a copy of that for the office," Jim teased.

"Not if you wanna keep working," Simon said.

Next to Jim, Joel belched loudly. The three intoxicated men began giggling. Simon tried to stop, which only made him laugh harder. They quickly descended into mad guffaws, gaining the attention of several people around the loft.

Lucas wandered over with two coats. "Dad?" he said, tapping Joel on the shoulder. "Time to go, old man."

Joel swallowed the bulk of his giggles and stood up, taking his coat. "Yeah, okay. Great party, Jim."

Jim nodded, and he watched Joel wander over to where Blair and Amy were hand jiving with Rafe and Tracey. Blair hugged both Taggart men, trading jibes with Lucas as he led his dad out of the loft.

Blair's eyes met Jim's and Blair smiled playfully. He made a face that threatened to spill Jim back into the holds of incurable laughter. Jim smiled back and crunched down a handful of M&M's.

~*~*~*~

"I'm never letting you drive my car again."

"No way you were driving it, Noble. We'd have been wrapped around a tree."

"Well, next time drink a little more, Connor. Then we'll both be too plastered to drive. Problem solved."

"Then we'd be sleeping on Jim's floor."

Their voices drifted loudly across the yard as Megan and David stumbled toward his garage-apartment. David fumbled with his keys, dropping them twice. Megan laughed. He finally managed to slip the correct key into the slot and unlock the door.

Megan glanced back at David's car, parked awkwardly on the gravel driveway. "I guess now that you're home, I'll have to drive your—"

Arms were around her waist and Megan's words were silenced by David's lips on her own. She kissed back, her hand sliding behind his neck. Her head felt swimmy, but not from the two beers she'd consumed earlier. The feeling was more intoxicating that alcohol and her body protested when their contact ended.

David gazed at her, his green eyes filled with a kind of adoration Megan had never seen directed at her before. "Stay with me?" he asked.

Megan's heart leapt. "Yes," she breathed.

They kissed again, a deep and searching kiss that made her head spin. With one hand, David twisted the knob and opened the front door. They inched inside, never parting. As they crossed the thresh hold, Megan pulled back. David blinked, startled.

"I just have one question," she said.

"Anything."

Megan's lips parted in a sly grin. "Why Boomer?"

David stroked her cheek with his left hand. "After being promoted to sergeant, I worked on the Bomb Squad for exactly seventeen days. There was a nasty incident involving a pipe bomb and the mayor's car."

Megan giggled. She kissed him and reached out with her foot, kicking the front door closed on the world.

~*~*~*~

Tracey steered Rafe and Amy toward the front door of the loft, amused by their inability to walk straight. All in all, she didn't miss drinking. It had never done anything for her, anyway. Blair saw them out, thanking each person for coming. Amy dropped a fat kiss on his cheek and wandered out, whistling "At the Hop."

Blair closed the door and turned the lock. He was sad the party was over. He couldn't remember having a better time in his life.

A soft snore led Blair's eyes to the couch where Simon slept under a quilt. Daryl had left earlier in the evening. Tracey had offered to drive Simon home, but the captain was already passed out. Jim decided it would be best to "let sleeping bears lie." That had drawn a good line of laughter from his roommate.

Jim stood by the large banner, reading the messages scrawled there during the course of the party. Blair wandered over and stood by Jim's shoulder.

"Lots of lofty praise, I assume," Blair said in his snootiest voice.

"A couple of 'thanks for saving my life' messages. 'Thanks for the advice,' 'thanks for being there,' 'thanks for the support over the years." Jim paused. "There's one that isn't on there."

Blair scanned the multitude of signatures. "What one?"

Jim took a black marker and in large, bold letters wrote: Thanks for being my best friend. Jim Ellison.

Blair looked up, blue eyes meeting blue. Jim smiled and Blair returned it.

"You're welcome," Blair said.

~End Part 1~

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