Author: Daydreamer Posted: 23 March 2003

Edenton

He's been nervous since we got on the plane. I've worked so hard to get him out here without telling him the real reason, but he's so jumpy, I'm really wondering if I'm being fair to him.

"I don't know, Jim," he says once again. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

I'm not used to this insecurity in my normally brazen partner, and every time I see it, it throws me for a loop. I want to go and beat Don Stanley again -- as if that would take away this power he has over Sandburg. As if that would restore his confidence and joy in life. I take a deep breath, wishing I was better with words. I always worry that I'm going to say the wrong thing, or not say something when I should.

But he just turns his head to the window and says, "Sorry," as if he'd done something wrong. I shake my head. I really don't understand how he can think he's done something wrong.

These seats in coach are uncomfortable. Too small and too close together and not nearly enough room for my long legs, but I could forgive all of that if I could somehow figure a way to get my arms around Sandburg right now. I don't know what to say, but I'm pretty sure he could use a hug about now. He's needed my touch so much more since all this started surfacing.

I shift a little and sigh, frustrated at the lack of room, but I manage to get my hand on his arm and I give a little rub, working upwards until I reach his neck. He's taut as a bowstring and I work the muscles there for a moment, happy when I feel him start to relax. With my thumb, I trace his jaw, feeling his beard already reappearing eight hours after he shaved. It's rough, but in a good way, if that makes any sense and I let my finger stroke the stubble for a moment, enjoying the sensation until I realize he is still turned away from me, his shoulders hunched as if he's committed some offense and is awaiting his punishment.

"There's nothing to be sorry for, Blair," I say, taking his chin in my hand and turning his head to look at me. His eyes fill at my words and I have to clamp down on the rage that says Don got off far too lightly for what he had done. "This is hard for you, Chief, and that's okay. It should be hard. No one should have to go through what you did -- your strength amazes me."

And it's so true. He is amazingly strong. I know it had to have baffled him when I took off a few weeks ago, ostensibly to go to a police convention at a time when a major murder case was looming over us and more importantly, he'd needed me so badly.

But he'd never uttered a word of complaint and he'd even gone along with my see-through plan to have Simon stay over while I was gone. I think he knew I wanted to know he wasn't alone, and so, as he often does, he let me have my way because it was what I needed. Strength. It takes strength to put other people first and Sandburg always puts me first.

It just amazes me that he was so horribly mistreated as a child, dragged all over the freaking world when it was convenient and left behind when it wasn't, and yet, he still has this incredible heart that reaches out to all he meets. He still has this burning desire to make the world a better place. He still has an enormous capacity to give of himself, to love, to see only the good in others and I am humbled by his strength.

The tears that have been threatening to fall do so now and I use my thumb to brush them from his cheeks. Only a few fall but I let my hand linger on his skin, feeling the hard ridge of bone under soft skin, then I shift again and drop my arm over his shoulder, pulling him as close as the damned armrest will allow.

He rests his head against me for a moment, then says, "I just don't know why this girl would want me to come to her baby's baptism ..."

It makes me smile. He honestly can't imagine that someone would admire him so much that they would honor him in this manner. "She named the baby after you," I remind him, the same way I have every other time he's made this comment. "And she thinks you sent me out there -- to save her and her brother from Don."

He shudders when I say the name, and I try to tighten my awkward grip on him. I hate it that that bastard still has such a grip on him -- hate that he ever had to suffer at that monster's hands. I've rethought the way I handled the whole thing a thousand times and despite the outcome, or maybe because of it, I wish I could have found a better way. A way that didn't involve a little boy getting his arm broken. A way that did involve a bit more punishment for Don. He was so fond of dishing it out; seems only fair he should have had the opportunity to experience it himself.

Blair shudders again and I hear him mumble under his breath, "Not going to think about that."

What is he thinking of? Is he remembering the beatings Don gave him? Or thinking of how easy the son of a bitch got off when he killed himself? Or could he be, like me, thinking of an eleven-year-old boy, small for his age, who was living with another broken arm now?

"Think about what, Chief?" I ask, almost afraid to hear his answer.

He looks at me for a minute as if he can't find the words to speak, and I curse Don again. And I curse Naomi as well. She left him with that bastard, left him alone and defenseless. And she was always leaving him. His whole life was one big series of leaving. Leaving with Naomi, being left by Naomi, being passed from one surrogate to another to another. He even told me that one time he thought he'd gotten lost forever. Apparently Naomi left him with a friend, and that was okay, he says. But then the friend was in a car accident and so the friend's cousin took him in. It wasn't as good there. And then, the cousin decided to get married and she left him with someone else that she knew, and that place was really not good.

I close my eyes for a moment, wondering exactly what 'really not good' translates to in Blairspeak.

But as if that hadn't been enough, the people he was with moved to another state, taking him with them and it was almost six months before Naomi tracked him down and reclaimed him.

He was eight that year.

Eight.

It infuriates me that she ever left him to be in that situation in the first place, but at least she did come and get him. When he told me, his eyes were so filled with joy at the memory of his mother finally coming to retrieve him. He'd been so -- proud -- that she'd been willing to work to find him. So happy that she really had come back for him.

I think all the leaving has given him scars far more serious than those on his legs and butt. He projects a confident image, comes across as cool and self-possessed, but I think deep down, he's just waiting for the next person to leave him behind again.

He's looking out the window again now, and I lean over to whisper in his ear, "It's okay, Sandburg. I'm here and it's over -- all of it. Nothing to worry about anymore."

"God, Jim!" His words are barely audible, breathed against the thick triple-pane window as he stares out into endless blue sky. "I can't believe you took that risk for me -- that you confronted that bastard for me."

He still doesn't understand his importance in my life, can't accept his value, and I am at a loss as to how to tell him. I let my head drop to rest against the back of his. His hair is soft and silky against my skin and as I breathe, it parts in little tufts then falls gently back together. "I can't believe no one did it years ago, Blair," I murmur. "It was long overdue."

I'm sitting there, all twisted in my little seat, my head against his, my arm over his shoulder and all of a sudden, he snickers. Not a laugh, not a snort, but an amused snicker. It makes me smile. What on earth can be going through his head now? I lift my head and wait until he turns to look at me. "Want to share with the rest of the class, Chief?" I ask indulgently.

"My hero," he simpers and just the way he says it, the look in his eye, makes me burst out laughing. That's my Sandburg, down but not out. Never out. I take my arm back and smack him lightly on the head, then tug at the long curls.

"Nuts, Sandburg," I say to him. "You are completely nuts."

He fell asleep almost as soon as we got out of the city. I-64 dropped us on a smaller road that put us en route to North Carolina and Edenton. I was glad to see him rest -- he still looked so tired all the time. When we finally got to Edenton, I dug out the directions I'd been given and then carefully wove through the neighborhood streets until I found the house I was looking for.

A mid-sized ranch in a nice, older neighborhood. Large yard with a fence around the back and a big swingset off to the side by the privacy hedge. A large tree with spreading limbs graced the front yard -- dogwood. As I pulled to the curb, Blair started and then woke. He blinked sleepily for a minute, looking around to get his bearings and then stared at the house, his jaw slack.

"God, Jim," he gasped. "I know this place!"

I shrug, fighting the smile that wants to burst across my face. Oh yeah, buddy. You certainly do know this place. And the woman in there waiting for you. You know her too. "The kids live here now," I say. "The woman who took them is Don's mother's sister. From what the Sheriff told me, she lost her own child when he was very young and she's been taking in strays ever since."

I get out of the car and walk around to his side, then wait. He's a little slower, taking his time to really study the house, the yard, the neighborhood. He finally gets out and I put my hand on his back and gently nudge him up the walk. I'm still swallowing my cat who ate the canary grin, just waiting to see the look on his face when he see who opens the door, when he freezes. He wheels around and grabs my shirt, his fingers fisting the material. "You're not going to leave me again, are you?" he whimpers and I'm thinking 'way to go, Ellison. Can you inflict just a little more trauma with your good surprises?' I should have known this might bring back some bad memories as well as the good ones I'm hoping are waiting inside.

But for now, I can't think. I can do nothing but react. He's in pain -- he needs me. I reach out and engulf him in my arms, pulling him as tight against me as I can and I start crooning, "Never leaving you, never." My voice is rough, threatening to break with emotion and I'm thinking I should be put through six different kinds of hell for doing this to him, for making him relive the agony of being left behind again. I just want him to know it's okay. "You and me, partner," I whisper. "We're just visiting ... Not leaving you, I promise."

A promise I absolutely will keep. If I have any say in the matter, this man will never be left behind again.

He leans against me and I know that even if my words have failed, my touch has reassured him. Blair is so tactile, and that works well for us, because there are so many times a hug or a gentle touch, my hand on his arm or tousling his hair, is all I can offer. He sniffs back tears again and says, "I don't know what's going on with me."

"Shhhh," I tell him. "It doesn't matter." I don't want him to be embarrassed by his feelings -- not with me. I want to be the one place, the one person that he can tell anything to. I want to be his safe place. "There's a lot of stuff getting stirred up, Chief. The dust will settle eventually."

He leans against me, letting me support him for a moment longer then hauls himself upright. "I sure hope you're right, Jim," he says with feeling, "'cause this sucks."

It makes me laugh and I watch as he battles his wayward hair into a semblance of order. Once he's gotten it in place, I can't resist -- I reach out and muss it again. He gives me a semi-annoyed look and shakes his head, so feeling repentant, I produce one of his hair ties from my pocket. He shakes his head again and I am almost mesmerized by the way the light brings out the hundreds of different shades of browns and reds and auburns that comprise his hair. I force my eyes away before I am lost and shove the hair thing back into my pocket, my hand lingering on it for a moment as if it were a lucky talisman.

"You ready, Chief?" I ask, smiling as I stroke the little band of elastic.

He looks around again, then takes a deep breath and nods.

I knock on the door then turn and look at him. "Remember, Blair," I say, using his name so he knows how serious I am, "this is a good visit -- nice people, a new baby -- good things."

He's nodding at me as the door opens and I finally see the famous NanaKat. Amazingly, she's almost exactly as I pictured. I remembered Sandburg saying she had long hair and it appears she still does because there's a loose bun of silver-gray pulled up on the back of her neck. She's about sixty, with a fair complexion that speaks of her being blonde or perhaps, a redhead, before she went gray. She's about a foot shorter than me, pleasingly plump in that grandmotherly way, and wears wire rim glasses that do nothing to hide startlingly clear green eyes.

And she smells good.

That was the other thing Sandburg had said: she was soft and had long hair and she smelled good. I catch the scent of pine and lemon cleansers on her hands along with soap and baby powder. Cinnamon, nutmeg, and apples spice the air. There are cookies in the oven -- chocolate chip -- and somewhere a pot roast simmers, the scent of carrots and potatoes and onions overlaying the wonderful odor of beef.

My stomach growls and I think, I like this woman. Okay, okay, so when it comes to my stomach, maybe I am a throwback to pre-civilized man.

Sandburg just stands there, staring at her like he's won the lottery, or found another Holy Grail -- me being the first one, I think smugly. But then he bursts into tears, huge gulping sobs that make his whole body shudder and I'm kicking myself once again. What the hell was I thinking? Why didn't I just tell him what was going on? Why did I decide to surprise him like this?

But Ms. Mercer -- NanaKat -- takes it all in stride, as if my partner's breakdown is a perfectly normal, totally understandable occurrence. She reaches out and grabs him, pulling him against her and it only highlights how small she is. I watch him angle his body downward, bending his neck, hunching his shoulders to make himself fit within her arms. His face is buried in her neck and he's keening, "NanaKat, Nana, Nana -- Naomi told me you were dead ..."

"It's okay, baby, it's okay," she coos to him. She's patting his back and stroking his hair and for a second, a bit of jealousy flares. For so long, I've been the only one who could comfort him when he hurts like this. But I shove it down, refusing to acknowledge it and something Sandburg once said comes back to me. We were at a PD barbecue and Brown was there. He was keeping his nephew because his brother's wife was in the hospital having a baby. The kid was about nine and, of course, he found a kindred soul in Sandburg. So the two of them are playing, kicking a ball back and forth and Blair asks if he's excited about the baby. The kid kinda freezes and looks up, but doesn't answer.

"You a little worried about the new baby?" Sandburg asks him. He picks up the ball and walks over to the kid, then puts it down and sits on it. "You've been the only one for a long time, haven't you?"

The boy kinda shrugs and kicks at the dirt. "Babies take a lot of work, and a lot of time," he mumbles.

"Yeah, they do," my partner replies. "Are you worried your mom and dad won't have time for you?"

The boy nods, suddenly angry. "They'll have to divide their time and their attention and their love now -- everything! What if there isn't enough to divide; what if they have to pick?"

Sandburg held out his arms and the kid just fell into them. He held the little guy for a minute and I was amused to see that in addition to Brown and me, he'd drawn an audience of Rafe and Simon and several other cops, as well as some folks I didn't even know. We were all waiting to see how Sandburg the Great was going to handle this.

And so my partner, who really is Sandburg the Great, hugs the boy and then pushes him back so he can look him in the face. "Terrence," he says in his best schoolteacher voice. "Love is not about division. You can never divide love."

The boy's face scrunches up as if he doesn't understand, and Sandburg just gives him this huge smile and pats his arm. "You multiply love," he says. "The more people you have to love, the more love you have."

The kid is staring at him like he's just saved his life and the rest of us are just as gape-jawed. You multiply love, he'd said. The more people you have to love, the more love you have.

Have I mentioned how incredibly wise my partner is?

Ms. Mercer is still patting Sandburg, stroking his hair and whispering, "Hush, baby, baby, baby," over and over again. She murmurs, "I'm not dead, not dead," and starts towing Blair into the house.

Sandburg's still crying, but he's smiling through his tears now, and I'm thinking, 'Oh, yeah, Jimbo, you may have actually done good this time, old boy.' Sandburg looks at me with exasperation, like he can't decide if he wants to kiss me or hit me and I just grin back.

She's got him settled on the couch and is wiping his face with a towel she had draped over her shoulder. She looks at me and I step forward, leaning over to hear her tell me to go get a wet cloth and some water from the kitchen. It never occurs to me to question her, and it is only when I am in the kitchen that I realize there is no one else in the world I would have left my partner alone with -- not when he was still crying like this.

A soft spot is rapidly developing in my heart for this woman, and I'm thinking that despite my father's teachings on competition and survival of the fittest, I can actually multiply love too. The thought makes me smile. There may be hope for me yet.

I find a clean dishcloth and wet it, then fill a glass with cold water from a container in the fridge. I step back to the living room and pass the cloth over, watching as Blair's Nana gently washes his face as if he were a child. She passes the rag back to me and takes the glass, urging him to drink.

"I could die right now," he says and I immediately move forward, wondering what brought that on. His heart rate is steady though, and he's stopped crying. He's cuddled against this little woman, snuggled up tight against her side and he says again, "I could die and it would be all right. You love me Nana, right? You love me?"

My heart wants to break. There is such plaintiveness to his voice as he begs to be reassured that I am frankly quite glad that Naomi is not here right now or I might just kill her. On general principles.

I don't know what to say; don't know what to do and all I can think of is to swoop down and enfold him in my arms until he knows that he is loved.

But NanaKat answers before I can move. She's nodding almost frantically and swearing, "Oh baby, yes! Yes, I love you!" She raining little kisses all over his face and his eyes are closed and he's got this gentle little smile on his face, like he's been told something he knew all along, but he just needed to hear it out loud. She holds his face in both her hands and rubs her nose against his. "I adore you, Blair," she whispers, and I start multiplying all over again.

I adore this woman. We haven't even been formally introduced and I swear, I am falling in love.

But then, the way to my heart has always been through Sandburg.

And my stomach, I think with amusement as the odor of pot roast wafts through the room.

"And Jim loves me," Blair says with a sigh. "Two people. "Two people who love me."

He sounds so happy to have that -- just two people and I notice that Naomi has not made his list. I think he knows she loves him, but I'm thinking this is the list of people who love him unconditionally -- no matter what. And Naomi definitely did not make that list.

He snuggles into Nana's side and sighs again. "I could die happy, right now."

I understand his sentiment, but I'm getting a little worried hearing him repeat it yet again. Once more, I'm struggling for words when Nana beats me to it.

"Oh, baby," she says in this quiet but firm voice, "let's not talk about dying. I thought you were dead and now here you are. A precious gift returned to me."

Multiplying. Multiplying. I definitely approve of this woman and the way she handles my guide.

She pulls him up from her side so she can look into his eyes. "And so, young man, let's talk no more of death. I won't have it."

I love it! She won't have it. Only older women can get away with saying things like that and have people listen. If she won't have it, then it will just have to stop. I can't help myself -- I'm grinning so hard my face hurts.

"We'll talk of happy things," she says and I wholeheartedly agree.

"Yes ma'am," Sandburg says and I do a double take.

He was just given an order, and I know how he responds to being told what to do, and all he says is 'yes ma'am?' And have I ever even heard him call someone 'ma'am' before?

He's looking around now, as if he's searching for something and his eyes light on an old wooden rocker in the corner of the room. A well-washed, faded blue and white afghan hangs over the back of the chair and beside it sits a table and lamp. Books are stacked under the table and they spill out onto the floor beside the chair.

He gets up slowly and walks over to the old chair, entranced by its existence.

"You used to rock me," he whispers.

I am reminded of him telling me the same thing. That NanaKat would rock him, even when he was too big.

"When I cried, you would rock me."

She's followed him over now, and her hand is on his back. I'm so used to him being smaller than I am, it keeps surprising me to see him seem to tower over this tiny woman. "It comforted you," she says softly.

"Even when I was too big, you still would rock me."

Don, Don, Don, I think again. You got off too easily, you bastard. Will he never be able to erase your words? Will the pain you caused never end?

"A child is never too big to be rocked," NanaKat says, and I certainly wouldn't argue with her. I scan her and I can see that she absolutely believes what she says. I have this sudden image of her sitting in that chair, with my partner in her lap. He'd stayed with her until he was nine and I bet by then his legs hung to the floor when he sat with her, and I could just imagine them laughing over how big he was now, but still, she'd find a way to make it work.

Sandburg pushes the rocker and it moves back and forth, creaking against the hardwood floor. The sound is sharp and I want to cover my ears, but I settle for dialing down for the moment. I don't want Sandburg to start worrying about me. He reaches out and touches the old afghan. "You made this for me, the first time I was here."

"You would sit in my lap," she says with a soft smile, the memory obviously a good one for her. "We'd rock, and you'd watch TV and I would crochet."

Blair is fingering the blue yarn and he says, "I remember. When it started getting big, you would wrap the part that was done around me." He looks over at me and for a second I don't see the twenty-seven year old man anymore; I see the four-year-old boy. "This is mine, Jim," he says with pride. "Nana made it for me."

My heart crumbles a little more. She made it for me. As if no one else in the world had ever done anything just for him. And that was the sad part -- no one else ever had. I tried to picture his room, thinking over his belongings. Did he have anything from his childhood other than that box of paper kisses? There was nothing. I knew he'd had a bear, but that must have been lost somewhere along the line. And now, as if it was the most precious gift, he had the afghan that had been made just for him.

I hated Naomi.

But I just smile and say, "It's beautiful, Blair."

"I loved it here," he says, and I can understand why. He was safe here. He was loved here. He was valued and cherished and cared for here. Here, he was wanted.

NanaKat suddenly bursts into tears and throws herself at Blair. He wraps his arms around her and then gives me a puzzled look over her head. "I didn't know," she says, weeping as if her heart was breaking. "I didn't know how bad it was, baby boy," she breathes. "You have to believe me."

I believe her. I can't imagine this woman letting anyone hurt a child of hers -- and Sandburg was certainly her child. A child of the heart, if not of blood. I could see her going tooth and nail after anyone who dared to mess with her baby, and because of that, I knew that she had not known what happened to my partner.

She reaches up and takes his face in her hands, staring up at him. "Blair, you have to believe me," she says. "I didn't know what was happening."

He nods.

I have to wonder how Don hid the abuse, but if she says she didn't know and Sandburg agrees, then Don must have had a way to keep her from finding out. Hell, maybe he was afraid of her. Knew what she'd do to him if she found out he was hurting Blair. Whatever it was, she didn't know how Sandburg had suffered.

"It's okay, NanaKat," he says with a smile, and once again I marvel at his unending ability to forgive -- to just let go of things. "I believe you."

Her tears have stopped now and she looks at him seriously. "Your mother loved you, Blair," she says. "I'm not making excuses for her here, but she was young and immature, and I was so delighted every time she brought you to me."

I can see that. I can understand how someone would find Blair to be a delightful gift. A little hyperactive, maybe, and requiring a bit of energy to keep up with, but a gift nonetheless. A gift that should have been treasured everywhere but was only appreciated here.

"I tried so hard to help her see how you needed some stability, but she was just so..." She stops and Sandburg and I are both waiting to see what adjective she's going to use to describe Naomi.

I have several suggestions.

Immature?

Self-centered?

Negligent?

Unworthy to have a child like my partner?

"Flighty," she finally says, laughing, and I give her points for that one, especially when I see Sandburg's face light up. He can deal with a flighty mother. Any one of my words would just have hurt him. I have to keep reminding myself -- he loves his mother.

"I tried to help her see how much more you needed," NanaKat says, "but Naomi was just too determined to live up to this image she had created of herself as a free spirit."

And if that doesn't sum it up in a nutshell. Naomi came in on the end of the sixties, being only sixteen when she had Blair in '69. I think she regretted not having lived through more of the decade and had spent the rest of her life trying to recapture something she'd never really experienced to begin with. Trying to live up to her image of what a free spirit was like.

Blair is still smiling and he says, " 's okay, Nana."

And somehow, I think for him, it really is.

"Why did she tell me you were dead?" he asks.

She tugs him back to the couch, waiting until he sits then she settles next to him, letting him wrap his arm around her. "You're so big now," she says and I have to smile.

I admit it. I have trouble thinking of my partner as big. Logically, I know that he's really fairly average for most men -- I'm the one who's on the tall side. But still, from my perspective, he's smaller than I am so her words make me smile.

"All grown up and I missed so much." I can hear the wistfulness in her voice, the longing for the things she missed, the times that can never be recaptured.

His eyes are misty and he looks like he's not sure if he wants to say anything, but then he asks, "Am I still your baby?" His voice is small and child-like and when she nods and hugs him, he just beams.

I really, really like this woman.

"Always, baby boy, always. You'll never be too big to be my baby."

He's relaxed now, leaning back against the couch and she's settled at his side. I can see the two of them are just basking in the chance to be together, something both had thought would never happen again.

"Why did Naomi tell me that?" Sandburg asks.

"When you stopped coming, I called Don," she says with a sigh. "He told me you and Naomi had been killed in an accident."

Son of a bitch.

Something else to hold against the bastard.

It struck me that Don, as all abusers are, was a control freak. And when he could no longer control Naomi, or Blair, he made sure to sever any connections he might have had -- to cause as much damage as he possibly could.

"We had a memorial service at the church," NanaKat says, "and Rabbi Gelman led a prayer service at the temple, too."

Temple? I look at the crucifix that hangs over the door and think how we're here for a baptism. This is a Catholic home if ever there was one.

But Blair is looking at me, explaining. "When I stayed with NanaKat, we went to temple on Saturdays and church on Sundays."

She cared so much for him -- even to the extent of trying to honor his faith. It would have been so easy for her to just cart him off to church every Sunday and forget his Jewish heritage, but she wanted him to have that -- to know that part of his history. It was more than his mother'd ever done for him.

"It was important that the boy know his own religious heritage," Nana says to me, though she is watching Blair. "I think Don told Naomi I was dead, too. For years after y'all moved away, she'd still show up on my doorstep with no warning, with you in tow, wanting to know if I could keep you for a while."

Sandburg's face just blossoms. He grins from ear to ear and says, "And you always did. You never made me feel like I was a burden or an inconvenience."

Go, Nana! I love you! I love you! Just to hear the joy in his voice again, to hear him talking about something good from his childhood -- there is no way I can ever repay this woman for what she's done, for what she means to my partner.

"You never were, my beautiful boy," she says with a smile. "Having you here was such a joy -- I loved you so much and you were such a delight." She looks over at me now, and I know I am still just grinning like a fool. I love seeing Sandburg happy, love listening to the two of them and hearing the love in their voices.

"He was so incredibly smart, Detective," she says and she is so proud. "This child had a hundred and ten questions for everything he saw. It was incredible."

"He hasn't changed much then, Ms. Mercer," I say with a laugh. "He's still questioning everything."

She looks at me for a minute and I am aware of being scanned -- almost as thoroughly as I could do it. She gives a little nod. Obviously I pass muster. "Nana," she says quietly, and with that simple word I am home. I am part of the family. I belong, too. "Everyone calls me NanaKat."

"I'm Jim," I say, and Sandburg? He just sits there and beams.

She's still smiling as she says, "Blair was always the scientist. He would find something that interested him, and then -- you won't believe this -- he'd start thinking up tests to see what made it tick."

"Oh, I think I can believe that, Ms. -- uh, Nana," I say with a snort, memories of too many tests dancing in my mind. "He's still got a penchant for thinking up tests about the damnedest things."

She strokes his hair, smoothing the wayward curls into place and laughing with delight when they bounce back up. "It's because he's brilliant, you know," she says, and Sandburg flushes.

"Nana ..." he almost whines. It's that half-peeved voice a kid uses when they don't know whether they should be proud or embarrassed.

"Well, you are," she says firmly. "You were the most brilliant child I'd ever seen." She looks at him, and she's just glowing with pride. "And now," she says, "you are a wonderful, loving, brilliant man."

Amen to that. I wholeheartedly agree. I'm thinking of all the times that it's been Blair's insight, Blair's questioning mind and razor-sharp acuity that has seen something the rest of us missed, and has provided the lead we needed to close a case. Yes, indeed. Amen to that.

Just then the front door opens and Sara comes in. She's no longer sporting a protruding belly, but instead has a small, blanket wrapped bundle held in her arms. She waits, holding the door and a very dirty, but very satisfied-looking Ryan scoots through.

Nana jumps up from her spot on the couch and meets them by the door. "There you are!" she scolds with a smile. "I was starting to get worried about y'all."

I rise, years of being told to stand when someone enters the room kicking in. Sandburg follows almost immediately, but there is a sudden look of insecurity on his face and the air is filled with the beginnings of his fearscent. I move to stand by him and rest my hand against his back.

Kissing Nana's cheek, the girl giggles and says, "Sorry, NanaKat." It's obvious she is not the least bit worried about being scolded by this big-hearted woman and I wonder how different this is from the rest of her life. "Ryan met some kids and he didn't want to leave. He was having a good time." You can tell from her words and from the way she looks at him, that she loves her little brother and she's thrilled that he's making friends.

"Wonderful!" Nana declares and she scoops the boy into her arms and smothers him in kisses.

He shoots an uncomfortable look at me and Sandburg and makes the requisite protest. "Nana..." But I can tell his heart isn't in it and there's a large part of him that is relishing being loved and cared for.

She snuggles him a minute more, then holds him at arm's length and says, "Ryan Stanley, you are a mess."

His eyes widen at her tone but then he giggles when she tickles him. "You go take a bath before dinner and get into some clean clothes. I'm not having you sit down to the table looking like that."

The boy is still studying me and Blair and I know he remembers me. I can't take my eyes off the cast on his arm. Does he blame me? Does he resent me being here? What else could I have done? How could I have kept him safe? I shake my head and drop my eyes, shamed by my failure to protect him.

"Ah, Nana ..." the boy whines, "do I have to?"

"Yes, you have to," she says briskly. "But you'll have plenty of time to talk to our guests after dinner, okay?"

The boy holds his arm up and I wince. The cast is a bright blue, but it still looks heavy and uncomfortable. I'm staring at it, words from that day ringing in my ears. 'His arm hurts. He thinks it's broken again.'

Broken again.

Broken.

I'm about to zone on the color, the memory, when Sandburg touches me and I look at him, see him smiling at me. I can almost hear him -- 'It's not your fault, Jim.' I nod agreement to his silent words.

"I need someone to wrap this for me," Ryan says.

"C'mon, Squirt," Sara says as she passes the baby to NanaKat, "I'll help you."

The baby is tucked up against Nana's shoulder and I am amazed at how deftly she handles it. It's so damned tiny -- I have a sudden vision of me, all ham-handed and awkward, dropping the little thing on the floor.

"Make it quick, you two," she calls down the hallway to their retreating backs, "Dinner's in twenty minutes." Then she turns to Sandburg and studies him for a moment. "Ready to meet your namesake, Blair?" she asks.

He looks at me like he wants to panic, but I nod and pat his arm in encouragement. 'You can do this, Sandburg.' He swallows hard and then stutters, "Uh, yeah," as he steps forward.

NanaKat just reaches out and deposits the bundle in his arms, taking only a second to make sure his grip is firm and the baby is seated securely. Sandburg is entranced. He stares down at the tiny thing and I can see him getting lost in her eyes. "She's so small," he says, as he turns to show me.

I look down and see what he sees. Tiny little baby. Thick shock of dark hair. Clear blue eyes that gaze up at us with what seems to be understanding far beyond her age. "She's a beauty, Blair," I whisper, afraid to speak any louder for fear I may startle this itty bitty person. Almost of its own accord, my hand goes out and I touch hers. Soft! Incredibly soft! And she smells so good! It's all I can do to keep from leaning over and burying my nose in her neck. I stroke the tiny hand and suddenly find myself caught in a surprisingly strong hold. She's grabbed my finger and is pulling it toward her mouth. "Look at that," I say, awed. "Kid knows a good thing and won't let go."

Nana pats my arm in approval. "Just like my Blair," she says. "I'm going to check on dinner. Why don't you rock her for a bit?"

"Nana?" Blair's voice has gone up an octave and his heart is suddenly racing. He reaches out and catches NanaKat before she can step away. "Nana, who ..." he says. "Sara? The, uh ... Who's the father, NanaKat?" he finally asks.

I look at the baby. She looks just like her mother. I think I can figure out who the father is, and my gut clenches. Suicide was definitely too good for that bastard.

Nana's smiling now, and for the first time I have the feeling that I'm being left out a little bit. That something is going on that I've missed and no one is going to explain it to me this time. Normally that would make me nuts, but this time, it's okay. I trust this woman not to hurt my partner and that makes whatever she wants to say okay. "Does it matter, baby?" she asks in a soft, gentle voice.

Emotions flitter across Blair's face -- memory, comfort, belief.

"No," he says with absolute conviction. "No, it doesn't. Ann Blair here is her own person, and who she becomes doesn't depend on who her father was -- it depends on who she is."

Oh, yeah! And you too, Sandburg, you too.

And just look at how wonderful you've become.

She pulls him down -- it makes me smile to watch -- and drops a kiss on the top of his head. "You remember," she says as her lips brush his hair. She steps back, waving at him as if he were the most amazing thing she had ever seen. "And look, Blair," she says, "just look at what a wonderful person you've become."

Hey, great minds think alike. Didn't I say I love this woman?

I'd made reservations at the local Day's Inn, but I ended up canceling them. NanaKat was insistent that we stay with her, and I could tell Sandburg really wanted to. When I found out there was only one room with one bed, I thought about heading over to the motel myself, leave Blair here for the night, but then I remembered what I'd promised him on the front steps. I wouldn't leave him -- even if this was a good place. And since we'd slept together in my bed when his nightmares were really bad, I wasn't overly concerned about the sleeping arrangements.

Though I was surprised when I woke to find him gently trying to extricate himself from my arms. He was so damned cold all the time and he always seems to just gravitate toward me in his sleep. I guess I got used to the weight of him, and when it was gone, I woke.

I watched him slip out of the room and disappear down the hall and so I rose and pulled on my robe. He hadn't put anything on his feet, so I dug through his bag and found a pair of warm socks and carried them with me.

He's sitting in the old rocking chair when I step up, the afghan -- his afghan -- wrapped around him. "Here, Chief," I say, holding out the socks. "Want some tea?"

He nods and I head for the kitchen. As I wait for the water to boil, I can hear the gentle but steady creak of the chair as Blair rocks back and forth, back and forth.

I make two cups of tea, add sugar to his even though I know he'd rather have honey. I just don't want to do too much rummaging in this woman's house, and the sugar is on the counter. I pass his cup to him then pull a rectangular ottoman over in front of the rocker and sit. I've got a cup of tea, too, and as I sip it, the warmth slides through me.

"What's up, Blair?" I ask quietly.

He rocks a bit longer and then he says, "I was seven years old and this one kid who lived down the road kept bullying me. NanaKat had talked with his parents, talked with the boy, and he didn't hit me anymore, but then he started name calling -- and bastard was his favorite, even though it was a bad word and he knew he'd get in trouble if his mother heard him use it. But it bothered me. Don had called me a bastard; some of Naomi's other boyfriends had too, and I was intelligent enough to know that it meant I didn't have a father."

Don called him a bastard at four.

This kid called him one at seven.

How many times had that ugly word haunted his life?

I thought back to his question about Ann Blair's father and realized that my Blair's acceptance of not knowing his full parentage was largely due to this extraordinary woman.

"So one night, after I'd had a bad scene with Robbie, Nana was rocking me. My afghan was wrapped around us both and she was reading me The Hobbit. Bilbo had just found the ring, and I suddenly blurted out, 'Do you know who my father is?'"

"Why?" she asked me. "Did someone say something to you? Is Robbie Elkins after you again?"

He looks up at me in total disbelief. "She just jumped right in there, Jim, ready to pounce on anyone who was hurting me." He's got tears in his eyes again and I don't think I can bear to hear anymore. "I'd never had anyone immediately jump to my defense like that -- ever! And after NanaKat, it never happened again."

I close my eyes so he can't see the pain in them. It kills me to think of him being so alone, without anyone to take up for him for so many, many years. And I thanked God for NanaKat -- that she was at least there when she was, and that her gentle love and fierce devotion had made such an deep impact on this man.

"Until you," he adds and I just can't take it anymore. I drop my head onto his lap and reach for him, needing to touch him, to connect with him. "Chief ..." I whisper. I don't know what to say to him.

" 's all right, Jim," he says, and I can hear the worry for me in his voice. His hand strokes my head and I know he wants to soothe me, to comfort me. "Twice in one lifetime," he says in amazement. "It's almost too much."

My heart breaks just a little bit more. This incredible man, talented and smart and so gifted in so many ways, and he finds it amazing that there are two people who love him. There should be thousands ... "You deserve so much more," I say and my voice is rough, my throat raw with unshed tears. "So much more ..."

"This is more than I ever expected," he says and I move beneath his touch, a sigh of pleasure slipping out before I can swallow it. I let him touch me a moment longer, then I sit up.

"Maybe we should get a rocking chair," I suggest, thinking that he might like that reminder of this place in his home,

"It would make marks," he says, pointing to the lines on Nana's floor.

Hmmm. Have I changed or what? It really doesn't matter to me. I shrug. "No biggie. We could put a rug under it, or something."

"Or something," he agrees. He looks so content there, rocking in the rocking chair, cup of tea in his hand, afghan wrapped around him.

This is a piece of his past he didn't even dream of having, let alone sharing and I am so grateful he is sharing it with me.

Down the hall, his NanaKat sleeps and he is secure in her presence, comfortable in her love.

And here I sit; a big, dumb cop who can't imagine his life without a long-haired anthropologist. And he is content with me as well -- comfortable and well-loved.

It's not enough.

Nothing will ever be enough to make up for the horrors he suffered as a child.

But it's a beginning.