Jim Ellison rounded the corner at a full run, slamming into the short criminal just as Blair Sandburg tackled him from the side. The three men crashed heavily into one of the crates lining the warehouse interior. There was the sound of breaking pottery and the faint aroma of ancient incense, but to the three people struggling to clear themselves from the fall, it seemed like nothing extraordinary.

They were incredibly wrong.

/Free! I Am Free!/ After far, far too long being caught in a jar, Ninget Lompo stretched his glorious Dinjin self and exalted in the feeling of being released. After all this time, he wasn't even angry at his Beloved for putting him there. Ilisha's cunning in tricking him into the clay prison had actually impressed him.

Ninget had begun to believe she no longer cared. Still, it was no reason for him to fall for the charms of his Beloved's best friend, Domanca - but there it was. He had been a fool. Ilisha's revenge showed that she did care. Very much. It was amazing the perspective time spent in a jar had given him.

Finally the Dinjin looked about and a small furrow marked his brow. The magnetics of this place were all wrong. He had been freed into the wrong plain of existence. No matter, he would dispense the three wishes required of him to his liberators and depart. Home to Ilisha and Domanca - to see if he could salvage anything of his marriage, and a dear friendship that had gotten out of hand.

Two of his rescuers were arguing forcibly near by, their hands low on their hips, faces going red, voices raising with their ire.

"I told you to stay in the truck. Most people would have stayed in the truck!"

"In case you hadn't noticed Jim, I am not most people! You can't go running after a criminal and expect me to sit on my ass, wondering what's going on. I wish you understood me a little better - I'm not going to change anytime soon!"

"No, you're going to keep on acting like a spoiled child, putting yourself and other people in danger. I wish you were a kid Sandburg, then I could put you over my knee and spank you!"

"Just try it, man! Just try it!"

Aii, that was both easier and harder than he hoped. Ninget looked to his third benefactor. The short gray haired mortal was restrained and being towed towards an exit by a dark skinned mortal using some type of far speaker.

"Yeah, we got him. Phillipe the Great. The paintings too, don't worry Joan. We'll charge him with theft, forgery, resisting arrest, and using a terrible fake accent with intent."

At this, the bound art thief drew himself up in indignation. "Shust because you are zee 'oh oh' great Simon Banks, militant leader of ze Cascade poh-lease, zair is no reason for ze rudeness! I ham French, shoo poor ehxcuse for a piss pot!"

"Sure you are," Simon hauled him along, laughing at something said over the phone. Phillipe was not amused.

"Unhand me! I ham a world rrrenound hart critic, I ham an interrr nationan-al perzonalitay! This is outrageous!"

"I'll tell you what's outrageous, that accent. Joan, how did this guy fool the Mayor's staff?" Pulling the man more firmly towards him Simon mock frowned down into his face. "You know, we have some graffiti artists in our holding cells. You might want to give them a few pointers. I'm sure they'll appreciate it." His captive began to sputter with fury.

"You call yourzelf a police officer? You are nothing! You are a pig, I spit upon you. I curse upon you. I wish you cursed unto ze fifth shenheration!"

"And I wish you'd shut up. This guy's been watching too much Monty Python." Banks continued into the phone, as he resumed his march towards the door. "I sent Rafe to the Mayors office, so he get's to deliver the bad news. He has a thing for our cat crazy Mayoress, so I generously let him go. Wish I could be a kitty in the corner when he tells her that Bastet painting was a fake!"

/Oh Well, Why Not? Let It Be So!/ There was the diffusion of imploded air, a brief run of static electricity, the faint scent of ginger. Jim Ellison twitched as if a huge goose had just stomped over his grave. With a satisfied nod the Dinjin opened a Gate into the Well of Worlds and headed home.

Jim woke up and stared at the ceiling. That had to be the weirdest dream he'd had since Peru. He'd been some kind of ancient being caught in a trap, released and granting the wishes of the three men that accidentally released him. Then there had been a re-run of the previous day's art thief bust. It was probably just his subconscious telling him he'd been an asshole to Sandburg again.

Narrowing his hearing, Ellison checked to see if Blair was awake yet, then suddenly jerked out of bed. He was halfway down the stairs before his consciousness clicked that Blair's heart rate was racing, his breathing fast and shallow. More than that, he just had a feeling. Blair needed him, now.

Hesitating only briefly at the door, Jim entered his partner's room.

"Blair?" The lump on the bed didn't move. Walking over, Jim took hold of the coverlet and pulled it down. Wide blue eyes looked up at him, Blair's eyes, but not Blair. A child lay huddled in the bed, maybe six or seven years old. The kid's dark hair was shaved short in a crew cut, he was wearing Blair's gray tank top and sweat pants, and there were visible bruises on his face and arms.

"Blair?" Jim gasped. The boy blinked once, then nodded. Holy shit. Oh, god. Oh shit!

Jim Ellison went to work that morning towing a six-year-old boy in ill fitting clothes behind him. He had taken the opportunity of helping the kid change to gently probe the unresisting body and found one cracked rib, a worryingly swollen liver, and a heap more bruising around his stomach. This child had been seriously beaten. The bruises overlapped and formed great swaths of bluish red and gray yellow along his torso, arms, legs, and up under his hairline.

As gently as he could he'd asked the child who had done this, but got no response. In fact, other than nodding or shaking his head, the boy had made no attempt at communication what so ever.

Jim had even tried handing him pen and paper in hopes of getting some written answers. But the kid had just stared at the notepad, then at him, until he took it away. Well, the kid was only six, what had he expected?

Not this. Definitely not this. When he had pictured Blair's childhood (and for want of a better explanation, he was assuming this was Blair. He smelt like Blair, damn it) he'd imagined a semi wild urchin with brambles in his hair, dirt on his knees and berry juice staining his chin.

This child looked like an escapee from a prison camp, with ultra short hair, flat-unresponsive eyes and vivid bruising. Blair simply watched him as Jim hunted round for things he could wear. It disturbed Jim in a way he couldn't explain. What had turned this child, Blair or not, into a hollow eyed zombie? And who had given him those bruises?

When he had finished examining the damage he had concluded they were recent, but not new and all came from around the same time. There were no older ones or newer ones to point to long term abuse. Jim had had to stand back for a bit, then, and let the urge to find who ever did this go. He felt his fingers itch, a sure sign that when that person was found, there would be retribution.

He needed to think. Needed to try to find a logical reason for all this. He needed his friend back. He needed help. And right then he also needed to be at work, so Blair was coming with him.

"Jim, why is there a child sitting at your desk playing a computer game?" Captain Banks leaned over his best Detective and frowned. The precinct was not a place for children. He knew, look what happened to his own son when Kincaid had come calling.

"He's there because Rafe was good enough to loan us the CD, and that's the only computer with a CD-ROM free at the moment. Sir."

"That's not what I meant detective, and you know it."

The Sentinel nodded, then pressed his fingers against the bridge of his nose. "Simon, I need to talk. Can we use your office?"

Warily the taller man nodded, and they headed over to his private room. Jim closed the door but left the blind open so he could keep an eye on his charge. "Simon, have you ever had something so bizarre happen, so weird, that you just can't take it all in?"

"Sounds like a Sandburg thing. Why aren't you talking to him about this, whatever this is."

Jim hesitated, looked out the window, looked back at his friend. Banks felt the hair on the back of his neck stir. He wasn't going to like this. "Captain, I have reason to believe that the child sitting at the monitor out there is Sandburg."

"What? Have you been drinking cough medicine again?" Nope, definitely didn't like it.

"No sir, I swear, I had this dream..."

"Me too, detective. It was all about being caught in a clay jar and granting three wishes and other bizarreness like that," In truth the dream had unsettled him, he'd even considered asking Sandburg what it could be about. Stupid idea, "but today I'm not claiming passing vagrants are my transformed pets either."

Simon had had a rough night, and wasn't in the mood for any Ellison/Sandburg weirdness. And for some reason, Jim started to seem threatening, even though he was just standing there. Simon hated feeling threatened. It made him defensive.

"Blair's not my pet, and this is serious...wait a minute. Did you say clay jar? Was there some kind of Ginii involved? A domestic dispute, the art bust from yesterday..."

"Yes, yes and yes. Are you saying we had the same dream?" Simon looked incredulous.

"I'm saying we better figure out how to get Sandburg back, this is his area of expertise."

"Well you were the one to wish he was a kid so you could put him over your knee!" Ellison gave him a disbelieving look, then nodded slowly.

"Yeah, I said that, didn't I? Damn it. Okay, what did Blair wish for?" He looked hopefully to his boss.

"Something about the car, not being left behind...Getting more respect! I don't see how this works into it."

"No, no. It was more like, about understanding. And you wished that guy would shut up."

"So I did. Maybe only your wish got granted, I know that French guy was still cursing fluently the last time I saw him."

"Christ Simon, what am I gonna do?" Jim ran his hands over his head, trying to physically quiet his panicked mind.

"Calm down. I'm sure there is a perfectly simple explanation for all of this." Simon stood up and began to pace a little, somewhat hampered by the size of the room. "When did this kid appear?"

"This morning. He was in Blair's bed, wearing Blair's night clothes."

"Well, maybe someone put him there - did you think of that?"

"Look Simon, I'm a Sentinel, nobody gives me those kind of surprises in my own home. Besides, all the doors were still locked, I checked."

"Okay, could this be a practical joke, something cooked up by that partner of yours?"

Jim moved to the window and looked out at the child, still diligently playing his computer game. "You can't see it from here, but that kid is covered in bruises. I've got an appointment with a doctor this afternoon to make sure, but I think he has a cracked rib too. Sandburg didn't do this. He'd never do something like this. But something like this may have happened to him. He moved around a lot, they stayed in refuges."

"Someone hit Sandburg as a child? Who!" Simon looked first stunned, then furious.

"I can't get him to tell me."

"Naomi. We need to talk to Naomi." Simon stalked to his desk and began flicking through a roller deck, eventually holding up a card in triumph. "We can leave a message with this person and Naomi will get back to us. It's worth a try."

"Thank you, Captain." Jim murmured quietly, sincerity in his eyes.

"You're welcome. I'll try to keep you on paperwork today, but if there is a case, leave Blair with me. I have a way with children." Simon adjusted his shirtsleeves smugly and dismissed his detective.

He wasn't smiling when he handed the child Blair back to Jim later that day. He was worried, tense, and very angry. Mostly he hoped this wasn't Blair, because if it was, then something very bad had happened to him. Something he wasn't talking to Simon about. This worried Simon the most. He hadn't been kidding. Children trusted the large black cop with the booming voice. Blair's continual silence spoke of a deep hurt and distrust. And that made Simon Banks want to find who ever did this, throw them against a wall, then snap their neck like the vermin they were.

Doctor Greentree couldn't get Blair to talk either, though the poor woman tried every trick in the book.

"There's no physical reason he can't speak that I can see. This cracked rib is the worst of the injuries." She had done an ultra sound to make sure everything was alright, and Jim had a list of signs to watch out for, just in case. "It's a miracle he didn't have worse internal damage, the bruising goes quite far into the abdominal cavity." She had also gauged the beating to be at least a month old, the bruises would have been quite disfiguring when they were fresh, and prevented him from eating well, which accounted for the loss of weight.

"I'd say his silence is trauma induced muteness. With time, he should come out of it. I do strongly recommend you find a councilor. And Mr. Ellison, if you need my testimony in court, I shall be only too happy."

"Thank you. If I ever find out who did this, I'll be in contact." He shook hands with her, and then ushered his silent charge out to the truck.

"How does Wonder burger sound for dinner, Blair?" The child nodded once then went back to contemplating his shoes. "Wonder burger it is then." Jim changed lanes and pulled into the fast food drive through. He ordered one adult and one child's meal, then they took the food home to eat.

Once in the loft, Jim put the burgers on plates, arranged fries around them and poured coke into two tall glasses. The doctor had warned that Blair probably couldn't eat too much, as it would still hurt his bruised stomach. No wonder the kid was so thin. He helped Blair to set the table, then sat down to eat.

The meal was uneventful. Unable to help himself, Jim took the opportunity to get Blair to keep his elbows off the table and chew with his mouth shut. They watched TV, then Blair had a shower while the cop did a shake down of his cleaning detergents. Anything that might be harmful was put up out of reach. The loft now marginally more secure Jim dressed the kid in one of Blair's t-shirts and then tucked him into bed.

"It'll be alright Sandburg. We'll sort things out." He brushed a hand over the criminally short hair cut, something deep inside hurting. Had this beaten child really become his vibrant, talkative guide? What had happened, and how could he turn it all back? He needed it to all turn back. He missed Blair.

When Blair was sleeping Jim made a few quick phone calls. Officer Wann had some good practical advice, she was the only woman he knew that he could turn to that had a six-year-old. Simon had agreed to give him the morning off, and would arrange for a longer period as soon as the roster allowed for it. Luckily, Jim had holiday time up his sleeve.

The next morning he did some power shopping, grabbing Blair shirts, trousers and a backpack. Then he had a whirlwind trip through the shopping center and grabbed a lunchbox, small drink and a cap. Thus supplied he drove to a childcare center Wann had recommended last night. He spent half an hour grilling the teacher's aid, then another half-hour filling in forms of consent. After a firm admonishment to keep an eye on Blair's cracked rib, and handing over the painkillers the doctor had prescribed, he prepared to leave.

The room the teacher's aid led them to was large and open, filled with toys and lined with book shelves and imaginative pictures. Blair's hand momentarily tightened in Jim's, then he meekly let go. He took two steps, turned and looked back up at the tall adult who had been his only constant since waking up the other night.

Jim's throat threatened to close, and he had to clench his hands to prevent himself reaching out for the kid. He felt like he was abandoning Blair when he was at his most vulnerable. Dashing back Blair patted his clenched hands, a curiously adult look on his little face. Gulping hard, Ellison nodded and the child gave one last pat before slowly turning back to join the others.

Officer Wann's son, Pham, came up and led him to where the other children sat listening to a story. Jim stood there a few moments more, then willed himself to turn and walk away. It was surprisingly hard to do, it felt as if he left a piece of his soul behind. Perhaps he did.

Jim managed to hold out until he was at his desk in Major Crimes at lunch before phoning the day care center. Blair was allegedly fine, and taking a nap, which the teacher's aid refused to wake him from. Jim just wanted to talk to him, tell him everything was going okay. Not to miss him. He'd be back to pick him up. Could come back now if...but the teacher's aid was firm, Blair would be playing in the sandpit when he woke and then they would make bubbles - whatever that meant.

Well, great. Blair was playing in a sandpit, while Jim Ellison struggled to hold back the tide of criminal activity rolling into Cascade. He'd had a near zone at a robbery in a florists, couldn't find the file for the Zenoben case, was fed up to the gills with fielding Blair's phone calls. ("Yeah, I'll tell him to get right back to you with the genuine colour of pre Aztec clay bricks.")

And what's more, there hadn't been any prune Danish on the donut trolley - again. Flints down in traffic was buying them up, and Jim had no partner to send down and hijack the trolley before it got to Sargent Flints' floor. Life wasn't fair.

There had been one Danish left, but it was pineapple, and had last been seen disappearing into Simon Banks' office. Simon had been acting a little off today, too. He'd rearranged his office, and had the cleaners in for a talk on 'hygiene protocol'. Jim was about to start pulling out non-existent hair when the phone call came in. It was Naomi.

"Hi Naomi." Ellison thought fast, and luckily came up with a cover. He'd been round Sandburg to long, obviously. "It's about Blair. I'm afraid he's had a knock to the head. We need to know, was there ever a time in his childhood when he wouldn't speak?"

"What's wrong? Is he going to be alright?" her voice had the slight echo effect that distance sometimes gave a phone call, but the worry still came though loud and clear.

"Er, yeah. The doc's think whatever this is is temporary. We're just trying to find out if he's reverted to a time in his childhood, or simply withdrawn into himself. It's important they know which it is, to give him the right treatment."

"Oh dear. Well, there was a time, when he was eight." She said timidly.

Yes! Jim did a little touchdown dance in his chair, progress at last. "Go on." He said, struggling to keep his voice even.

"I had an invitation to join in a retreat. It was very special, but required fasting and other extreme methods that I didn't want to expose Blair to. So I...I left him with some friends." Naomi's voice broke, and for awhile Jim didn't think she was going to continue.

"It was a stupid thing to do. It was this little red neck town, I didn't even stop to think about it, just left him there and went on to the retreat. About a week later my friends contacted me through the police. Blair was beaten by a group of the local boys. There were about twelve of them, all about his age. Jim, I was so scared, rushing back to pick him up. He was such a little child, the teachers always thought he was a year or two younger than he was. I remember walking into his room. The sheets were so white. His face was...unrecognizable."

Jim had to swallow against the emotion building in his chest. Naomi sounded on the edge of a breakdown, he could hear the tears in her voice.

"The ones who beat him were known. But because they were local children, and we were out-of-towners, nobody was prepared to take responsibility. The police laughed when I tried to press charges. They made...certain comments. What could I do. I gathered my child, and caught the next bus out of there. He was so bruised."

A single sob escaped her, but she went on, anger coloring her voice now. "Little children, so full of hate that they beat my baby until he lay unconscious. What their parents said to them to make them do that to my little boy, I never knew. They weren't strong enough to do 'serious' harm. But what they did was bad enough. It took six months before Blair would even talk again, and he never spoke of the attack."

"He didn't speak...?"

"He didn't anything. He withdrew into his own little world. Then I came home one day to find he'd cut off all his hair. Remember that day, the first time I visited you, how surprised I was that he had it long? It was long then, too. Before the attack. After, he started copying the things the children at his new school did. He pretended he couldn't read or write, hardly ever laughed, stopped eating anything but store brought lunches, it was as if all the life was gone out of him."

"I took him to a therapist, of course. He seemed to think Blair was just having difficulty fitting in. He blamed me for it, truth be told. Said I shouldn't be such a bad influence, I should settle down, be normal. And I tried, I really did. But it didn't seem to work. He just grew quieter, blending in more and more with the background. It drove me nuts!"

"What happened?" Jim broke in, "How did you bring him out of it?"

"I wish I could tell you. One morning I came down to find he'd drawn giant daisies all over the walls. I was so relieved, we spent the day at the zoo, and he talked non-stop, I just couldn't get enough. He was fine after that. I think he just had to process it all. Are you sure every thing is going to be all right? I can come down if you want me to."

"No, no, but thank you, Naomi. And for what its worth, I think you did a great job bringing Blair up. He's a fine human being."

"He loves you too, Jim. Now, I've got to go. Keep me informed if anything changes, I can be on the next hovercraft out of here."

"Will do Naomi. Take care." He hung up. Now he knew. But just what to do with the information he had, that he didn't know. He sat and worried for awhile, before deciding it was late enough for him to pack up and leave without reprimand. Tonight he would pick up Blair, get out a video for him to watch, then sit down and think. Think hard.

As the big detective swept up his coat and departed the Bull Pen, the door to the fire escape opened and Simon Banks stepped in.

/Good, the predator is gone,/ he thought, stalking back to his office. He stopped to straiten out a stack of files on Brown's desk and throw a half eaten donut in the waste basket, lips curling at the detective's sloppy regard to hygiene. Then he continued on to finish his own paper work. He'd have a word with Brown later. Things were going to change around here, and soon. Very soon.

They ate Wonder burger again for dinner, and Jim let Blair help with the washing up. The child had no enthusiasm for the task, but did as he was told to any way. Jim tidied up the loft while Blair watched One Hundred and One Dalmatians on video. Jim always thought best if he did something with his hands, and housework fit the bill perfectly. He finished ironing the tea towels as the movie ended, and had a plan ready. He tucked Blair into bed, and waited until he heard the child's breathing even out in sleep.

Then he began his preparations, feeling just a touch ridiculous as he did so. First, he set up a semi circle of candles. He used the emergency blackout candles from under the sink; god knows where Blair kept his 'special' ones. Next he put a relaxation CD on the player, the volume turned low. Last he settled himself cross-legged before the candles, and lit them with a match. He closed his eyes, breathed deeply and thought about a calm lake. In no time, he was sound asleep.

"Hey, Jim. Hey - wake up." Someone was shaking his shoulder. Startled, the big cop jerked open his eyes, and stared at a wild haired Blair Sandburg, who was sitting directly in front of him. The anthropologist was wearing a blue T-shirt with a spotted puppy dog on it and jeans. No shoes. There was berry juice on his chin.

"Hey, hi! Bout time you showed up!" Blue eyes twinkled at him, a marked contrast to the listless gaze of his younger self.

"Sandburg, why are we sitting in the middle of a jungle?"

"It's your dream, you tell me."

"We've got to talk." Jim was shocked at the sound of desperation in his voice. "I need to know how to change you back again."

"You're telling me? Have you any idea how much I hated that part of my life?"

"No," Jim whispered. "Tell me."

Unable to sit still any longer, Blair leapt up and began pacing. He swept his hair over one shoulder and began using his hands to emphasize each point with wide gestures. Jim almost smiled; he'd missed those gestures, these past two days. Missed Blair and his unstoppable energy. Just missed Blair.

"It sucked. My life sucked. I tried sooo hard to fit in. No more smart arsed little chatterbox with the goofy clothes and weird eating habits. I wore what they wore, ate what they ate, and knew what they knew. I kept my mouth shut so no slip up could occur, no reference to books I'd read, or places I'd been that they hadn't. And do you know what?" he stopped his pacing and fixed Jim with diamond bright eyes. "It didn't matter. I was still the new kid on the block, still different, still the one they picked on. Kids can't be fooled, Jim. They saw through it. Saw that I was a fraud. Saw...whatever it was they always saw, wherever I went. And they hated me for it."

"I'm sorry," Jim didn't know what else to say.

"Yeah, well...I finally came to the conclusion that it wasn't worth it. Pretending to be like they were. I still got the grief, and it was driving Naomi nuts. I just decided to go back to being me, just as hard as I could. That's who I am." Blair wrapped his arms around himself defensively, looking a little defiant, and a lot scared.

"I like the real you, Chief. I miss him."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Cool."

"I need him. Need you. How can I get you back?"

"I think you just did. But Jim?"

"Yeah?"

"Go with it. Do what you have to do, man. I'll understand."

"What?"

"It's time to wake up now, Jim. You fell asleep on the floor, if you don't get up soon, you'll have a stiff neck."

"Sandburg! Forget that, what about..."

And he woke up. He did, indeed, have the beginnings of a sore neck. He reached over and wearily snuffed out what candles remained alight, then struggled to his feet. God, he felt old. Silently he checked in on Blair's room. The child still slept soundly, and Jim's heart felt heavier. He had hoped...but still, maybe next time.

He checked that the doors and windows were locked, then went to get the last minute purchase he had made before going to pick Blair up. With the solemn air of a ritual, he placed the scrapbook on the table, then the other box on top. A brand new set of never been used crayons now waited there, in every colour of the rainbow, and many in between. He straightened one corner, so the box and scrap book lay even, then the wearied man went up to bed.

*****

Sound. A soft thump. Sandburg.

Racing down the stairs, Jim was brought up short at the bottom by the site of his denuded lounge seats. The cushions had all been pilfered to create a wobbly structure near the patio doors. Pillows from Blair's room and the sofa throw rug also contributed to the cubby. And there was somebody inside it. Creeping up, Jim was just about to peek through a gap between a pillow and a cushion when the whole thing exploded upwards - revealing a jubilant, giggling child.

"Surprise!"

Jim valiantly tried to recapture his heart, which was currently racing away in an attempt at escape. Through sleep bleary eyes, he regarded the cushion monster in his living room.

Hair - longer, the ends beginning to curl and creating a wild mop that sprung out at all angles. Eyes - a wickedly sparkling blue. Height - a little taller. Weight, much better for his height. Skin - clear of injury, if you didn't count the scrapes on his knees. And oh yeah. This child could talk. Lots.

"I surprised ya! I made this hideout myself, its neat. You haven't got any orange juice in the fridge; can I go out and play? I saw a park out the window; there was a dog. I want a dog but Naomi says it wouldn't like moving around all the time. Are you really a police man?"

"Yes." At the first sign of a gap, Jim squatted down and looked into the bright shinning eyes. "I'm a police officer. Do you know why you're here, Blair?"

"Um." A hint of concern crossed the little face, but the kid regained his confidence quickly. "Naomi must have had to leave and she asked you to look after me. She hates good-byes. I'm Blair. Who are you?"

"Er, I'm Jim, er, Mr. Ellison." God, he sounded like his father.

"Hi Jim." Well, okay, not like his father. Blair stood on one foot and scratched aimlessly at his knee. "Do I have to go to school or anything? Its kinda late."

Jim looked at his watch, and swore softly. Blair smiled and opened his mouth to comment, so Jim herded the boy quickly into his bedroom. Jim managed to get the child partially dressed (shoes apparently were not a Sandburg accessory at this age) and spent a frustrating ten minutes trying to comb his hair. In one unguarded moment Blair slipped from his grip and dashed out to the living room again.

This time Jim noticed that the kid had already helped himself to breakfast, toast, cereal and an apple, but no orange juice. Blair pointed out the lack of his favorite morning beverage once more. From his fervor, one would think the lack was worthy of capital punishment.

The little urchin set about listing all the reasons orange juice was good for you. He did so in a gleefully piercing soprano voice that had Jim reaching for the coffee as soon as he'd persuaded the little dear to go and brush his teeth.

Okay, so Blair had aged a little over night. Was this significant? Did it have anything to do with the meditation he had attempted? He peeked over at the table. The crayons had been ripped into, and a picture drawn in the scrapbook. It looked like it was of a dog in a park. There were flowers; trees and a smiling sun. Jim smiled himself. This was more like the Blair he had been expecting.

He scrambled to pull himself together after that, he was late enough for work already. Blair's backpack was loaded up with crayons, and a green teddy bear. Jim asked where the bear came from, and Blair informed him that it was Mr. Biggles, and it had been in the top draw where he always ended up whenever he and Naomi moved.

Jim smiled to himself, and thought fondly of the furry huggy bear that Grace kept in the room that used to be his at home. Mr. Biggles appeared to have had more than the occasional hug to contend with though. He only had one eye. And one ear had been thoroughly chewed on.

Jim eventually got them both into the truck.

"Wow, cool car." Blair began to play with the seat belt, running it up and down, talking non stop about everything. Jim tried to answer Blair's many questions as best he could. No wonder the little brat knew so much as an adult, he'd spent his childhood asking questions!

If Jim had thought handing over the self confident little urchin of today would be easier than it had yesterday, he was wrong. Blair grew quiet as they pulled up to the child care center, then gave him a brave little smile as he stopped and waved from the door. Jim nearly cracked, but he saw young Pham waiting to play with his new friend by the sandpit, and once more steeled himself to go.

Things were well in hand at the arson site, Joel had more than enough evidence to work out the what, when and who of the crime, and Jim found himself to be superfluous. Then he got the call to come and pick up Blair.

At the child care center he stood and listened as the harassed teacher informed him of his charges doings. Apparently, he had shown the other children that by adding detergent to the slide, it became more slippery.

Delighted with this discovery, they had then decided to see what effect it had on the rest of the playground. The sandpit was now quicksand, and the roundabout had taken out the teacher's aid and a passing seagull.

Stonily Jim asked where the children had gotten ahold of so much detergent in the first place. And how had they managed to cause so much damage, when he had been assured of constant supervision?

"I'm sorry Mr. Ellison, but we don't want your boy here."

"Well if that's your level of care lady, I don't want him here either!" Jim's face was red with suppressed fury, and a vein throbbed at the side of his forehead. Time to go and cool off; before he did something he was gonna regret. Blair meekly followed him out to the truck and allowed himself to be buckled in. It wasn't until they were on the open road that he turned on a huge grin and directed it at the driver.

"Did ya see how everything was squish? That was the best fun. I got covered in goop, but Lin, um, Mrs. Howard; she washed most of it off before you got there. Boy, was she mad."

"Blair...."

"You forgot to pack any lunch. Everyone else was eating and I got bored."

Damn. "That's no reason to go pouring detergent over everything. Detergent can make you sick. How would you have felt if Pham or one of the others got sick, huh?"

<giggle> "Pham was covered worse than me. He went in the sandpit, and had goop mixed with sand all over his head."

"Blair..."

"Pham says his mom says you're gay. Are you?"

<Choke> "No!"

"She says a guy who chases so many girls is really looking for another guy."

"I'm not gay."

"Don't see why you wanna chase girls for, they're easy to catch. What's gay mean?"

"Um,.."

"I'm hungry, can we eat soon?"

"Yes!" At last, a question he had an answer to. He quickly pulled into the next Wonder burger he came across. (Kid's liked Wonder burger, why was Blair giving him that look?) Once they were inside the imp that had taken his partner's place scoffed down his burger, his fries, Jim's fries and the fries of a lady sitting across from them.

He informed this startled young woman that Jim was probably gay, Pham's mom said so, and he carried a big gun.

"Goodness," she squeaked, as Jim turned beet red and tried to sink through the floor.

It was as the brat was munching his way through the last of Jim's burger that the big man snapped. "Blair, elbows off the table and close your mouth when you chew."

Blair immediately opened his mouth and poked his tongue out to display the half-chewed contents. The lady across from them snorted coke through her nose, then hastily departed. Unrepentant, Blair chewed the rest of his burger, allowing bits to fall out and litter the table.

/The little monster./ Jim thought darkly. /Just wait till I get you home./

Over the phone, which was as close as Jim seemed to be able to get to his friend today, Simon agreed to let Jim have the rest of the afternoon off. He took the kid shopping for groceries, and Blair helped pick out orange juice, bread, fruit, rice paper, licorice toothpaste, vegetable soup, incense, and Jim's favorite coffee.

At the checkout counter, he tried to smuggle a big bottle of detergent out with the tins of soup, but Jim was watching and put it back. Blair commandeered a shopping cart in the car park, and Jim nearly had a coronary when he steered it practically into traffic. He frog marched the kid to the truck, and belted him in securely.

Next Jim stopped to pick up some dry cleaning and do a little banking. He left Blair with strict instructions to stay in the truck. So Blair escaped and went for a paddle in an ornamental fishpond out front of the bank. He didn't know why Jim went so white-faced and quite over that one, but he could tell it had really upset the big man. But not enough.

Jim took Blair back to the apartment, stowed the groceries (with help) and tried to find another day care center. Blair informed him that he was eight, and to old for day care, he went to school.

Jim did not want to face the hassle of getting Blair enrolled in a school just yet. He would rather wait to see how permanent all this would be. In a state of posttraumatic collapse, he fell boneless-ly into the safety of his sofa. Blair came and peered at him intently, but he could only whimper.

"You look tired." Blair pronounced, and went into his room. He came out with a big picture book called 'Nursery Rhymes from Around the World.' He settled himself cross-legged on the couch besides the detective, and began to read. As Jim began to nod off, his hand slipped behind a cushion. There he found the crusts off the toast Blair had had for breakfast that morning. Sighing tiredly, he fell asleep.

"Blair," <swallow> "put the gun down. It's not a toy. Put it..."

<snap> The trigger was pulled.

As Jim closed his eyes and willed his heart to return to his chest, Blair dropped the empty weapon and fled to his room, giggling all the way.

/I. Am. Going. To. Kill. Him./

"Open this door!" Jim strode over and began pounding on the flimsy wood work.

"Not by the hair on my chinny chin chin!" came the falsetto reply.

Taking a deep breath, Jim forced himself to calm down. There was no way he could allow himself to punish Blair while in this kind of a mood. It was time to bring in a third party. Simon, or Joel. Blair could not be permitted to get away with using his gun as a toy.

But so help him, if he got the little brat over his knee there was no telling...no telling...over his knee...do what you have to, Jim...I wish I could put you over my knee...oh. That simple? There was only one way to find out.

First, he went to the kitchen and forced himself to drink some of Sandburg's god-awful tea. Thus, somewhat calmer, he set about the subterfuge needed to wrinkle his prey from its hole. Heck, he'd been in special ops. Sneaky was his middle name. He turned out the lights in the loft, and prepared to catch his culprit.

"Damn, a power black out." He said loudly, just outside Blair's door. "Looks like the fridge is down, and look at all this pine nut and orange ice cream. I'll have to eat it all on my own. Now, where did I put that spoon."

A head of matted hair (he'd combed it first thing, as soon as they got home, Jim was sure of it!) popped out the doorway. And Jim pounced. Bundling the squealing child up, he strode over to the couch, and set him across his knee. Blair continued to giggle and squirm, even as Jim lifted his hand for a powerful swat.

The hand stayed raised. It just wasn't in Jim's nature to hit a laughing child. But then he gritted his teeth. Damn it, he wanted his partner back, he wanted Blair. The hand descended and landed with a muffled 'slap'.

Closing his eyes, Jim went for a second one, with an equally lackluster result. Well, damn it, he was trying here. Suddenly the weight across his knees increased, and a well known voice said,

"Harder, Jim, harder!"

"Blair?"

"Don't stop, I'm starting to enjoy it!"

Jim opened his eyes, just as Sandburg gave an expert wiggle and escaped onto the floor.

"Guess I didn't need this after all." Blair reached into his pants (the ones he had been using as sleep wear, when had the kid changed?) and pulled out a thick pamphlet on the resurgence of Aztec building, he'd been using it as padding.

Ellison gaped. A grown up, fully adult and wholly beloved Blair Sandburg sprawled at his feet. Jim happily feasted his eyes. Blair's hair was once more down to his shoulders, the clothes he wore fit tight across his chest, and the moonlight did mysterious things to his face.

/I am totally in love, here./ Jim realized. /With a man devoted to being himself, just as hard as he can be. A guy who won't stay in the truck if I tell him to. Who won't stay out of danger, or back down, or change to please me. One who will play music at ear shattering volumes, and eat things found at the bottom of ponds. Who will insist on not putting the toilet roll on properly. Damn, I wouldn't want it any other way./

Blair watched, as Jim seemed to soak him up with his eyes. What was that look? He'd never seen it before. He got a little uncomfortable on the ground and scrambled up. Jim stood too, and as one they went to put the kettle on. Jim scrounged up some tomato and cheese sandwiches as well and they set up for a late night snack.

"So, what can you remember?" Jim took a bite of his sandwich and munched happily. It was the first meal he'd enjoyed in nearly three days.

"Not much, it's all kinda blurry now. I can remember not being able to just tell you what to do. I just had to be bad and hope you got the hint."

"I almost didn't."

"I know, and that scared me. I also remember...detergent?"

<sigh>"I forgot to pack you lunch and you got - bored."

"Oh. What have I been eating lately Jim?"

"Um," the big man had the grace to blush, "mainly Wonder burger."

"Explains the taste in my mouth."

"Nah, that would by the licorice toothpaste you insisted on buying." Jim smiled at him.

Blair just rolled his eyes and took a large bite of his sandwich. He waited until Jim took a sip of tea, then tilted his head back and poked out his tongue. The munched tomato and cheese sandwich was displayed nicely.

Jim was resignedly wiping tea off the counter top when the phone rang. He picked it up, then frowned at the receiver. Handing it over to Blair, he said.

"It's for you."

"Thanks man...um, hello?"

"Meow."

"Oh, shit. Jim, who else was at that warehouse?"

"Huh? Er, Simon and the French guy. Alleged French guy."

"I think I'm having a Guide inspired moment here."

"Meow."

"Jim!"

"I've got the keys."

"Good, good. Hang on Simon, we're on the way."

"Meow!"

"Yeah, buddy, we know. Be there soon."